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THE {/ 



rOETICAIi WORKS 



OF 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, 



WITH 



A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE, 



BY J. "W. LAKE. 



@ow»Ut^ itt owe ^Olttttlt* 



PHILADELPHIA. 

PUBLISHED BY J. CRISSY AND J. GRIGG. 



STEKEOTTPED BY J. C. & J. MAXWELl, JH. 

1830. 



PR530S 
. ES.0 



Otft 
H. L. Mencken. 



JAN 9 



7929 



eotttmt^. 



Pafve 
LIFI': OF SIR WALTER SCOTT vii 

THE Lay of THE LAST MINSTREL 1 
Notes 25 

MARMION 53 

Notes 99 

i 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE 124 

Notes 161 

ROKEBY 190 

Notes 227 

vTHB LORD OF THE ISLES 250 

Notes 285 

THOMAS THE RHYMER 317 

Notes and Appendix » 326 

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 328 

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 346 

^ , Notes 365 

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 367 

Notes. 375 

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 381 

Notes 386 

HALIDON HILL 387 

Notes 399 

BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 

Glenfinlas; or Lord Ronald's Coronach 400 

Notes 4t)2 

The Eve ol Saint John , 403 

Notes 405 

Cadyow Castle 406 

Notes 408 

The Gray Brother 410 

Notes i 411 

The Fire King (imitated from Goethe) 412 
Frederick and Alice (imitated from BUr- 

ger) 413 

The Wild Huntsmen 414 

William and Helen (imitated from Bur- 
ger) 41 6 

The Battle of Sempach (translated from 

Tchudi) 418 

The Noble Moringer (translated from the 
German) 420 

MISCELLANIES. 

War-song of the Royal Edinburgh Light 

Dragoons 423 

The Norman Horse-shoe 424 

The Last Words of Cadwallon 424 

The Maid of Toro 425 

Hellvellyn 425 

Jock of Hazeldeau 425 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief 426 



Paga 

Pibroch of Donald Dhu 426 

Nora's Vow. 426 

Mac-Gregor's Gathering 427 

Donald Caird's come again 427 

Mackrimmon's Lament 427 

On EUrick Forest's mountains dun 428 

The Sun upon the Wierdlaw-hill 428 

The Maid of Isla 428 

The Foray 429 

The Monks of Bangor's March 429 

The Search after Happiness; or the Quest 

of Sultaun Solimaun. 429 

The Foaclier 432 

The Dance of Death 433 

Farewell to the Muse 434 

Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine 435 

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address, on tak- 
ing leave of the Edinburgh Stage 435 

Epilogue to The Appeal. 435 

Song — Oh say not, my love, with that 

mortified air 436 

The Palmer 436 

The Maid of Neidpath 436 

Wandering Willie 436 

Hunting Song — Waken, lords and ladies 

gay 437 

The Violet 437 

To a lady, with flowers from a Roman 

wall 437 

The Bard's Incantation, wTiiten under 
the threat of invasion, in the autumn 

of 1804 437 

The Resolve (in imitation of an old En- 
glish poem) 438 

Epitaph designed for a monument in 
Lichfield Cathedral, at the Burial 
Place of the Family of Miss Seward 438 

The Return to Ulster 438 

On the Massacre of Glencoe 439 

Prologue to Miss Baillie's play of the 

Family Legend. 439 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail (from the Gaelic) 439 

Imitation of the preceding song 440 

War-song of Lachlan, High Chief of 

Maclean (from the Gaelic) 440 

Saint Cloud (written in September, 1815) 440 
Romance of Dunois (from the French) 441 

Tlie Troubadour 441 

From the French — It chanced that Cupid 

on a season 441 

Song, for the Anniversary Meeting of the 

Pitt Club of Scotland 441 

Song, on the lifting of the Banner of the 
house of Buccleugh, at a great Foot- 
ball-Match on Carterhaugh 442 

Carle, now the king's come 442 

Impromptu, to M. Alexandre 443 



-vj 



j^ewofv of Bit TOalttt Stott* 



BY J. W. liAKE. 



Sir Waltek Scott, descended from one of the 
most ancient families of Scotland — the Scotts of 
Harden, is the eldest surviving son of a gentleman 
of the saFne name, who was an eminent writer to 
the signet at Edinburgh, -where the subject of tliis 
sketch was born, August 15, 1771. His mother, 
Mrs. Elizabeth Scott, was the daughter of David 
Rutherford, esq., writer to the signet, from whom 
she obtained a handsome fortune. She was a wo- 
man of great virtue and accomplishments, with a 



this time totlie year 1798, his li'fe appears to have 
passed in a devoted attention to his professional 
duties, mindful of the advice, 

Not to pen stanzas when he should eng^ss. 
At the last-mentioned date he entered into the 
matrimonial state with Miss Carpenter, by whom 
he has four children. At the close of the year fol- 
lowing, he received the appointment of sheriff- 
depute of the county of Selkirk; and in March, 



man 01 great virtue anu accompli snmems, wivn a igyg^ j^g ^^^ ^^med one of the principal clerks of 
good taste for poetry, as appeared from some of session in Scotland. With regard to this last pre- 
ferment, it shoidd be observed that his warrant. 



her productions, which were deemed worthy of 
being printed after her death, in 1789. Walter, 
from the tenderness of his constitution, and the 
circumstance of his lameness, occasioned by a fall 
from his nurse's arms at two years of age, was in 
a great measure brought up at home, under the 
immediate care 'and instruction of this excellent 
parent, to whom he was much attached through 
life, and whose loss he sincerely lamented. Of 
his early pursuits little is known, except that he 
evinced a genius for drawing landscapes after na- 
ture. — At a proper age he was sent to the high 
school at Edinburgh, then directed by Dr. Alex- 
ander Adam. In this school, young Scott passed 
through the different forms without exhibiting any 
of those extraordinary powers of genius, which are 
seldom remembered till the person to whom they 
are ascribed has become, by the maturity of his 
talents, an object of distinction. It is said, that he 
was considered in his boyhood rather heavj' than 
otherwise, and that the late Dr. Hugh Blair had 
discernment enough to predict his future eminence, 
when the master of the school lamented his dul- 
ness; but this only affords another instance of the 
fallacy of human opinion in pronouncing upon the 
re.ll capacity of the youthful understanding.* Bar- 
row, the gi-eatest scholar of his age, was discarded 
as a blockhead by successive teachers; and his pu- 
pil, the illustrious Newton, was declared to be fit 
for nothing but to drive the team, till some friends 
succeeded in getting him transplanted to college. 

Having completed his classical studies at the 
high school, with as much reputation, we suppose, 
as others of his standing, Walter Scott was re- 
moved to the university of Edinburgh, where, also, 
he passed the classes in a similar manner. 

His continuance here, however, could not Iiave 
been long; for, after serving the prescribed terms 
in the office of a writer to the signet, he was ad- 
mitted an advocate of the Scotch bar, when he had 
not quite attained the age of twenty-one. — From 



* The prediction of Dr. Blair, here alluded to, arose out 
of the following circumstances. Shortly after Dr. Pater- 
Don succeeded to the grammar-school, Musselburgh, where 
Walter Scott was a short time a pupil, Blair, accompanied 
by some friends, paid him a ^isit; in the course of which 
he examined several of his pupils, and paid particular at- 
tention to young Scott. Dr. Paterson thought it was the 
youth's stupidity that engaged the doctor's notice, and 
said, " My predecessor tells me, that boy has the thickest 
skull in the school." " May be so,'' replied Dr. Blair, " but 
through that thick skull I can discern many bright rays 
of future genius." 



though drawn, had not passed the seals when the 
death of Mr. Pitt produced an entire change in 
the ministry. The appointment of Mr. Scott had 
been effected through the friendship of lord Mel- 
ville, who was then actually under impeachment. 
This circumstance seemed very ominous against 
the confirmation of the nomination; but, fortunately 
for Mr. Scott, the new ministry consisted of such 
men as the late Mr. Fox, Sheridan, lord Erskine, 
and the marquis of Lansdowne, with several others 
attaclied to literature and philosophy; and, in a 
manner that did them infinite honour, they made 
no objection to the advancement of their poetical 
opponent. Thus, as a witty friend remarked, this 
appointment was the "last lay of the old ministiy." 

Released now from the drudgery of professional 
labour, by the acquisition of two lucrative situa- 
tions, and tlie possession of a handsome estate 
through the death of his father and that of an un- 
cle, Mr. Scott was enabled to court the muses at 
his pleasure, and to indulge in a variety of literary 
pursuits without interruption. — His first publica- 
tions were translations from the German, at a time 
when the wildest productions of that country were 
much sought after in England, owing to the recent 
appearance of that horrible story of Lenora of Bur- 
ger. The very year when different versions of that 
tale came out, and some of these highly ornament- 
ed, Mr. Scott produced two German ballads in art 
English dress, entitled, "The Wild Huntsman," 
and "William and Helen." 

These little pieces, however, were not originally 
intended for the press, being nothing more than 
exercises in the way of amusement, till a friend, 
to whom they were shown, prevailed upon the au- 
thor to publish them, and at the same time con- 
tributed the preface. Three years elapsed before 
Mr. Scott ventured to appear again in print, wheii 
he produced another translation from the German, 
" Goetz of Berlichingen," a tragedy, by Gcethe. 
Two years afterwards the late Matthew Gregory 
(commonly called Monk) Lewis, enriched his 
" Tales of Wonder" with two ballads communi- 
cated to him by our author, one entitled "The 
Eve of Saint John," and the other " Glenfinlas." 

In 1802 his first great work, "The Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border," came out, beautifully 
printed at Kelso, by Ballantyne. This collection 
immediately aiTested general attention, and though 
the pieces of whicli it is composed are very une- 



MBM0I51 OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



qiiul, the master-mind and soaring genius of the 
poet are conspicuous throughout. 

The studies of our author at this time were en- 
tirely antiquarian. He lived and breathed only 
among the knights, the heroes, the monks, and 
robbers of olden time; the feats of chivalry, and 
the rough heroism of northern warfare and border 
feuds, were the scenes in which his soul delighted 
to dwell. He drank deeply of the stream of his- 
tory as it darkly flowed over the middle ages, and 
his spirit seemed for a time to be imbued with the 
mysteries, the superstitious, and the romantic va- 
lour which characterised the then chieftains of the 
7iorth countrie. 

His next production was " Sir Tristram, a me- 
trical romance of the thirteenth century, by Tho- 
mas of Ercildoun," printed in 1804. Still, how- 
ever, Mr. Scott may be said as yet to have been 
only rising in feme: but he soon gained enough to 
have intoxicated an ordinary mind in the applause 
bestowed upon his "Lay of the last Minstrel," 
which appeared, in quarto, in 1805. — The follow- 
ing year he published a collection of " Ballads and 
Lyrical Pieces." Shortly after this, public expec- 
tation was raised by the promise of a poem, on the 
perfection of wliich the bard was said to labour as 
for immortality. Accordingly, in 1808, appeared 
"Marmion, a tale of Flodden Field," which the 
author himself has characterised as " containing 
the best and the worst poetry he has ever written. " 

The same year Mr. Scott favoui-ed the world 
with a complete edition of the Works of Dryden, 
in whicli he gave a new life of that great writer, 
and numerous notes. But this was not the only 
instance of the fecundity of his genius and the ra- 
pidity of his pen, for, while these volumes were 
proceeding through the press, he found time for a 
quarto of " Descriptions and Illustrations of the 
Lay of the Last Minstrel." 

Within a few months after this he undertook, 
at the request of the booksellers, the superintend- 
ence of a new edition of lord Somers's collection 
of Historical Tracts; and at the same time edited 
sir Ralph Sadler's State Papers, and Anna Seward's 
Poetical Works. Yet the verj^ year in which these 
last publications appeared witnessed the birth of 
another original offspring of his prolific muse. 
This was " The Lady of the Lake," the most po- 
pular of all his poems, though, in the opinion of 
manj', inferior in several respects to his " Lay of 
the Last Minstrel. " 

" The Vision of Don Roderick" appeared in 
1811, and was intended by its author to comme- 
morate the achievements of the duke of Welling- 
ton and the British army in Spain. This poem is 
considered a complete failure. 

" Rokeby" was published in 1812-13. It com- 
prises, in an eminent degree, all the beauties and 
all the defects of our poet's muse. 

In 1814 " The Lord of the Isles" appeared, but 
failed to excite equal interest with most of its pre- 
decessors. This is the last grand original poem of 
the northern bard. 

In the last-mentioned year he also published a 
prose work, entitled, " The Border Antiquities of 
England and Scotland, with Descriptions and Il- 
lustrations," and brought out a new edition of Swift, 
with a biographical memoir and annotations. 

These were followed by two performances, one 
in prose and the other in verse, the first entitled 
"Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk," and the other 
" The Battle of Waterloo." 



As an instance of the popularity of Scott's poems, 
we subjoin a statement of the sale of " Rokeby" 
and "The Lady of the Lake," in nearly four 
months, as submitted by the publishers. 

Sold of " The Lady of the Lake, " from June 2d 
to September 22, 1810, 

2,000 quarto, at 2^. 2s 4,200/. 

6,000 octavo, at 12s 3,600/. 



8,000 



7,800/. 



Sold of "Rokeby," in three months (Jan. 14th 
to April 14th, 1813,) 

3,000 quarto, at 21. 2s. (less 

120 remaining) 6,048/. 

5,000 octavo, at 14s 3,500/. 



8,000 



9,548/. 



We shall now attempt to offer a few critical ob- 
servations on the three most deservedly popular 
poems of Walter Scott, viz. The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel, Marmion, and The Lady of the Lake. 

The Lay OF the Last Mifsthel is an endeavour 
to transfer the refinements of modern poetry to the 
matter and the manner of the ancient metrical ro- 
mance. The author, enamoured of the lofty visions 
of chivalry, and partial to the strains in which they 
were formerly embodied, employed all the re- 
sources of his genius in endeavouring to recal them 
to the favour and admiration of the public, and in 
adapting to the taste of modern readers a species 
of poetry, which was once the delight of the courtly, 
but which has long ceased to gladden any other 
eyes than those of the scholar and the antiquai-y. 
This is a romance, therefore, composed by a min- 
strel of the present day, or such a romance as we 
may suppose would have been written in modern 
times, if that style of composition had been culti- 
vated, and partaken, consequently, of the improve- 
ments which every branch of literature has re- 
ceived since the time of its desertion. 

Upon this supposition, it was evidently the au- 
thor's business to retain all that was good, and to 
reject all that was bad, in the models upon which 
he was to form himself; adding, at the same time, 
all the interest and beauty which could possibly 
be assimilated to the manner and spirit of his origi- 
nal. It was his duty, therefore, to reform the ram- 
bling, obscure, and interminable naixatives of the 
ancient romancers, — to moderate their digi-essions, 
— to abridge or retrench their prolix or needless 
descriptions, — and to expunge altogether those 
feeble and prosaic passages, the rude stupidity of 
which is so apt to excite the derision of a modern 
reader: at the same time he was to rival, if he 
could, the force and vivacity of their minute and 
varied representations-.-the characteristic simpli- 
city of their pictures of manners — the energy and 
conciseness with which they frequently describe 
great events — and the lively colouring and accu- 
rate drawing b)"^ which they give the effect of re- 
ality to every scene they undertake to delineate. 
In executing this arduous task, he was permitted 
to avail himself of all the variety of style and man- 
ner which had been sanctioned by the ancient prac- 
tice, and bound to embellish his performance with 
all the graces of diction, and versification which 
could be reconciled to the simplicity and familiari- 
ty of the minstrel's song. 

The success which attended Mr. Scott's efforts 
in the execution of this adventurous essay is well 
known; — he produced a very beautiful and enter- 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



tainiiiy; poem, in a style wliich might fairly be con- 
sult-red as original, and the public approbation af- 
forded the most flattering evidence of the genius 
of the author. Perhaps, indeed, his partiality for the 
strains of antiquity imposed a little upon the seve- 
rity of hisjudgment, and impaired the beauty of his 
imitation, by directing his attention rather to what 
was characteristic, than to what was unexception- 
able in his originals. Though he spared too many 
of their faults, however, he improved upon their 
beauties, and while it was regretted by many, that 
the feuds of border chieftains should have mono- 
polized as much poetry as might have served to 
immortalize the whole baronage of the empire, 
yet it produced a stronger inclination to admire 
the interest and magnificence which he contrived 
to communicate to a subject so unpromising. 

Marmiox has more tedious and flat passages, 
and more ostentation of historical and antiquarian 
lore, than its predecessor, but it has also greater 
richness and variet)', both of character and inci- 
dent; and, if it has less sweetness and pathos in 
the softer passages, it has certainly more vehe- 
mence and force of colouring in the loftier and 
busier representations of action and emotion. 
The place of the prologuizing minstrel is but 
ill supplied, indeed, by the epistolary disserta' 
tions which are prefixed to each book of this po' 
era; but there is more airiness and spirit in the 
lighter delineations, and the story, if not more 
skilfully conducted, is at least better complicated, 
and extended through a wider field of adventure. 
The characteristics of both, however, are evidently 
the same; — a broken narrative — a redundancy of 
minute description — bursts of unequal and ener 
getic poetry — and a general tone of spirit and ani- 
mation, unchecked by timidity or aftectation, and 
unchastened by any great delicacy of taste, or ele- 
gance of fancy. 

The Lady of the Lake is more polished in its 
diction, and more regular in its versification, than 
the author's preceding poems; the story is con- 
structed with infinitely more skill and address; 
there is a greater proportion of pleasing and ten-t 
der pa:ssages, with mucli less antiquarian detail, 
and, upon the whole, a larger variety of characters, 
more artfullj^ and judiciously contrasted. There 
is nothing so fine, perhaps, as the battle in Mar- 
mion, or so picturesque as some of the scattered 
sketches in the Lay of the Last Minstrel; but there 
is a richness and a spirit in the Lady of the Lake, 
which does not pervade either of these poems; a 
profusion of incident, and a shifting brilliancy of 
colouring, that reminds us of the witchery of Ari- 
osto, and a constant elasticity and occasional ener- 
gy, which seem to belong more peculiarly to the 
author himself. 

At this i>oriod Mr. Scott had outstripped all his 
poetical conn)etitors in the race of popularity. The 
mighty star of Byron had not yet risen; and we 
doubt whether any British poet had ever had so 
many of his books sold, or so many of his verses 
read and admired by such a multitude of persons 
in so short a time as Walter Scott. Confident in 
the force and originality of his own genius, he was 
not afraid to avail himself of diction and of senti- 
ment, wherever they appeared to be beautiful and 
impressive, using them, however, at all times, with 
the skill and spirit of an inventor; and, quite cer- 
tain that he could not be mistaken for a plagiarist 
or imitator, he made free use of that great trea- 
sury of characters, images, and expressions, which 



had been accumulated by the most celebrated ot 
his predecessors; at the same time that the ra- 
pidity of his transitions, the novelty of his combi- 
nations, and the spirit and variety of his own 
thoughts and inventions, show plainly that he was 
a borrower from any thing but poverty, and took 
only what he could have given if he had been born 
in an earlier age. The great secret of his populari- 
ty at the time, and the "leading characteristic of his 
poetry, consisted evidently in this, that he made 
use of more common topics, images, and expres- 
sions, than any original poet of later times; and, 
at the same time, displayed more genius and ori- 
ginality than any recent author who had hitherto 
worked in the same materials. By the latter pe- 
culiarity, he entitled himself to the admiration of 
every description of readers; by the former he 
came recommended in an especial manner to the 
inexperienced, at the hazard of some little oflfence 
to the more cultivated and fastidious. 

In the choice of his subjects, for example, he 
did not attempt to interest merely by fine observa- 
tions or pathetic sentiment, but took the assistance 
of a story, and enlisted the reader's curiosity among 
his motives for attention. Then his characters 
were all selected from the most common dramatis 
personse of poetry — kings, warriors, knights, out- 
laws, nuns, minstrels, secluded damsels, wizards, 
and true lovers. He never ventured to carry us 
into the cottage of the peasant, like Crabbe or Cow- 
per; nor into the bosojn of domestic privacy, like 
Campbell; nor among creatures of the imagination, 
like Southey or Darwin. Such personages, assur- 
edly, are not in themselves so interesting or strik- 
ing as those to which our poet devoted himself; 
but they are far less familiar in poetry, and are 
therefore more likely to engage the attention of 
those to whom poetry is familiar. In the manage- 
ment of the passions, again, he pursued the same 
popular and comparatively easy course. He raised 
all the most familiar and poetical emotions, by the 
most obvious aggravations, and in the most com- 
pendious and judicious way. He dazzled the read- 
er with the splendour, and even warmed him with 
the transient heat of various affections: but he no- 
where fairly kindled him into enthusiasm, or melt- 
ed him into tenderness. Writing for the world at 
large, (unlike Byron,) he wisely abstained fz'om at- 
tempting to raise any passion to a height to which 
worldly people could not be transported, and con- 
tented himself with giving his reader the chance 
of feeling as a brave, kind, and affectionate gentle- 
man should often feel in the ordinary course of his 
existence, without trying to breathe into him ei- 
ther that lofty enthusiasm which disdains the ordi- 
nary business and amusements of life, or that quiet 
and deep sensibility, which unfits for all its pur- 
suits. With regard to diction and imagery, too, 
it is quite obvious that he aimed not at writing 
in either a pure or very common style. He 
seems to have been anxious only to strike, and 
to be easily and universally understood; and, for 
this purpose, to have culled the most glittering and 
conspicuous expressions of the most popular 
authors, and to have interwoven them in s|)lendid 
confusion with his own nervous diction and irregu- 
lar versification. Indifferent whether he coins or 
borrows, and drawing with equal freedom on his 
memory and his imagination, he went boldly for- 
ward, in full reliance on a never failing abundance 
and dazzled, with his richness and variety, even 
those who are most apt to be offended with his 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



glare and irregularity. There is nothing in Scott's 
poetry of the severe and majestic style of Milton — 
or of the terse and fine composition of Pope — or 
of the elaborate elegance and melody of Campbell 
— or even of the flowing and redundant diction of 
Southey; but there is a medley of bright images 
and glowing words, set carelessly and loosely to- 
gether — a diction tinged successively with the 
careless richness of Shakspeare, the harshness and 
antique simplicity of the old romances, the home- 
liness of vulgar ballads and anecdotes, and the 
sentimental glitter of the most modern poetiy — 
passing from the borders of the ludicrous to those 
of the sublime — alternately minute and energetic 
— sometimes artificial, and frequently negligent, 
l)Ut always full of spirit and vivacity — abounding 
in images that are striking, at first sight, to minds 
of every contexture — and never expressing a sen- 
timent which it can cost the most ordinary reader 
any exertion to comprehend. 

Among the peculiarities of Scott, as a poet, we 
might notice his singular talent for description, 
and especially for that of scenes abounding in mo- 
tion or action of any kind. In this departmejit, 
indeed, he may be considered almost without a 
rival, either among modern or ancient bards; and 
the character and process of his descriptions are 
as extraordinary as their efi"ect is astonishing. He 
places before the eyes of his readers a more dis- 
tinct and complete picture, perhaps, than any 
other artist ever presented by mere words; and 
yet he does not enumerate all the visible parts of 
the subject with any degree of minuteness, nor 
confine himself by any means to what is visible. 
The singular merit of liis delineations, on the con- 
trary, consists in this, that, with a few bold and 
abrupt strokes, he sketches a most spirited outline, 
and then instantly kindles it by the sudden light 
and colour of some moral affection. There are 
none of his fine descriptions, accoi-dingly, which 
do not derive a great part of their clearness and 
picturesque eftect, as well as their interest, from 
the quantity of character and moral expression 
which is thus blended with their details, and which, 
so far from interrupting the conception of the ex- 
ternal object, very powerfully stimulate the fancy 
of the reader to complete it; and give a grace and 
a spirit to the whole representation, of which we 
do not know where to look for a similar example. 
Walter Scott has many other characteristic excel- 
lencies, but we must not detain our readers any 
longer with this imperfect sketch of his poetical 
character. 

To the list of poetical works given above, we 
have here to add two poems, at first published 
anonymously, but since acknowledged, viz. " The 
Bridal ofTriermain," and "Harold the Dauntless-," 
and, in 1822, a dramatic sketch called " Halidon 
Hill." In his preface to the latter, the poet says, 
that his dramatic sketch is in no particular de- 
signed or calculated for the stage, and that any 
attempt to produce it in action will be at the peril 
of those who make the experiment. The truth is 
that, like most of the higher poetical spirits of the 
age, he has found out a far safer and surer way to 
equitable judgments and fame, than trusting to the 
hazardous pi-esentment of the characters he draws, 
by the heroes of the sock and buskin, and to the 
dubious and captious shouts of the pit and gallery. 

That llALinoN IIiii, is a native, heroic, and chi- 
valrous drama — clear, brief, and moving in its 
story — full of pictures, living and breathing, and 



impressed with the stamp of romantic and pecu- 
liar times, and expressed in language rich and fe- 
licitous, must be felt by the most obtuse intellect; 
yet we are not sure that its success would be great 
on the stage, if for the stage it had ever been de- 
signed. The beauties by which it charms and en- 
chains attention in the closet — those bright and 
innumerable glimpses of past times — those fre- 
quent allusions to ancient deeds and departed he- 
roes — the action of speech i-ather than of body, 
would be lost in the vast London theatres, where 
a play is wanted, adapted to the eye rather than 
to the head or heart. The time of action equals, 
it is true, the wishes of the most limited critic; 
the place, too, the foot of Halidon, and its barren 
ascent, cannot be much more ample than the 
space from the further side of the stage to the 
upper regions of the gallery; and the heroes who 
are called forth to triumph and to die are native 
flesh and blood, who yet live in their descendants. 
It has all the claims which a dramatic poem can 
well have on a British audience; yet we always 
hoped it would escape the clutches of those who 
cut up quantities for the theatres. 

The transfer which the poet has avowedly made 
of the incidents of the battle of Homildon to the 
Hill of Halidon, seems such a violation of authen- 
tic history, as the remarkable similarity of those 
two disastrous battles can never excuse. It is dan- 
gerous to attempt this violent shifting of heroic 
deeds. The field of Bannockburn would never 
tell of any other victory than the one which has 
rendered it renowned: History lifts up her voice 
against it; nor can the Hill of Homildon tell the 
story of the Hill of Halidon, nor that of any other 
battle but its own. 

It will scarcely be expected that, in this rapid 
sketch, we should enter into a respective analysis 
of those works, so well known, and so universally 
admired, by the appellation of the " Waverley 
Novels." The painful circumstances which com- 
pelled their author to disclose himself are still 
fresh in the recollection and the sympathy of the 
public: the motives, or no motives, which induced 
him so long and so pertinaciously to abstain from 
avowing himself, it is not our province to criticise, 
nor do we wish to make a boast of having always 
believed what could scarcely be ever doubted, viz. 
that the Great Unknown and the author of Mar- 
mion were *' one and indivisible." 

The annexed is a list of the novels in question, 
produced by this great author in the space of only 
twelve years. 

Waverley 1814 

Guy Mannering .... 1815 

The Antiquary 1816 

Tales of My Landlord, 

First Series ..... 1816 

Second Series .... 1818 

Third Series ..... 1819 

Rob Roy ...... 1818 

Ivanhoe . 1820 

The Monastery .... 1820 

The Abbot 1820 

Kenilworth 1821 

The Pirate ...... 1822 

The Fortunes of Nigel . . 1822 

Quentin Durward ... 1 823 

Peveril of the Peak . . . 1823 

St. Ilonan's Well .... 1824 

Eicdgauntlet ...... 182''. 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



the vulgarities of society and nature, maintain, 
through eternal folios, their visionai-y virtues, 
without the stain of any moral frailty, or the de- 
gradation of any human necessities. But this 
high-flown style went out of fashion as the great 
mass of mankind became more inforriied of each 
other's feelings and concerns, and as nearer ob- 
senation taught them that the real course of hu- 
man life is a conflict of duty and desire, of virtue 
and passion, of right and wrong: in the descrip- 
tion of which it is difficult to say whether uniform 
virtue, or unredeemed vice, would be in the greater 
degree tedious and absurd. 

The novelists next endeavoured to exhibit a 
genei'al view of society. The characters in Gil 
Bias and Tom Jones are not individuals so much 
as specimens of the human race; and these de- 
lightful works have been, are, and ever will be, 
popular; because they present lively and accurate 
delineations of the workings of the human soul, 
and that every man who reads them is obliged to 
confess to himself, that, in similai- circumstances 
with the personages of Le Sage and Fielding, he 
would probably have acted in the way in which 
they are described to have done. 

From this species the transition to a third was 
natural. The first class was tlieory — it was im- 
proved into a genuine description, and that again 
led the way to a more particular classification — 
bright thoughts, and not only visibly beset all the la copying not of man in general, but of men of a 
obvious approaches to glory, but swarm in such I peculiar nation, profession, or temper, or to go a 



Tales of the Crusaders . . 1825 
Woodstock 1826 

It may, then, be fearlessly asserted that, since 
the time when Shakspeare wrote his thirty-eight 
plays in the brief space of his eai-ly manhood, 
there has been no such prodigy of literary ferti- 
lity as the author of these novels. In a few brief 
years, he has founded a new school of invention, 
and embellished and endowed it with volumes of 
the most animated and original composition that 
have enriched British literature for a century — 
volumes that have cast into the shade all contem- 
porary prose, and, by their force of colouring and 
depth of feeling, by their variety, vivacity, ma- 
gical facility, and living presentment of character, 
have rendered conceivable to this later age the 
miracles of the mighty dramatist. Shakspeare is, 
undoubtedly, more purely original, but it must be 
remembered that, in his time, there was much 
less to borrow — and that he too has drawn freely 
and largely from the sources that were open to 
him, at least for his fable and graver sentiment; 
for his wit and humour, as well as his poeti-y, are 
always his own. In our times, all the higher walks 
of literature have been so long and so often trod- 
den, tliat it is scarcely possible to keep out of the 
footsteps of some of our precursors; and the an- 
cients, it is well known, have anticipated all our 



ambushed multitudes behind, that when we think 
we have gone fairly beyond their plagiarisms, and 
honestly worked out an original excellence of our 
own, up starts some deep-read antiquary, and 
makes out, much to his own satisfaction, that, 
heaven knows how, many of these busy-bodies 
have been beforehand with us, both in the genus 
and the species of our invention. 

Although sir Walter Scott is certainly in less 
danger from such detections than any other we 
have ever met M'ith, even in him the traces of imi- 
tation are obvious and abundant; and it is impos- 
sible, therefore, to give him the same credit for 
absolute originality as those earlier ^vl•iters, who, 
having no successful author to imitate, were oblig- 
ed to copy directly from nature. In naming him 
along with Shakspeare, we mean still less to say, 
that he is to be put on a level with him, as to the 
richness and sweetness of his fancy, or that living 
vein of pure and lofty poetry which flows with 
such abundance through every part of his compo- 
sition. On that level no other writer has ever 
stood, or will ever stand; though we do think that 
there are fancy and poetry enough in the Wayer- 
ley Novels, if not to justify the comparison we 
have ventured to suggest, at least to save it from 
being altogether ridiculous. The variety stands 
out in the face of eacli of them, and the facility is 
attested, as in the case of Shakspeare himself, both 
by the inimitable freedom and happy carelessness 
of the style in which they are executed, and by 
the matchless rapidity with which they have been 
lavished on the public. 

We must now, however, for the sake of keep- 
ing our chronology in order, be permitted to say 
a word or two on the most popular of these works. 
The earlier novelists wrote at periods when so- 
ciety was not perfectly formed, and we find that 
their picture of life was an embodying of their 
own conceptions of the beau ideal. Heroes all 
generosity, and ladies all chastity, exalted above 



step further — of individuals. 

Thus Alexander and Cyrus could never have 
existed inhuman society — they are neither French, 
nor English, nor Italian, because it is only alle- 
gorically that they are men. Tom Jones might 
have been a Frenchman, and Gil Bias an English- 
man, because the essence of their characters in 
human nature, and the personal situation of the 
individual, are almost indifferent to the success 
of the object which the author proposed to him- 
self; while, on the other hand, the characters of 
the most popular novels of later times are Irish, 
or Scotch, or French, and not, in the abstract, 
men. — The general operations of nature are cir- 
cumscribed to her effects on an individual charac- 
ter, and the modern novels of this class, compared 
with the broad and noble style of the earlier wri- 
ters, may be considered as Dutch pictures, delight- 
ful in their vivid and minute details of cojamoD 
life, wonderfully entertaining to the close observer 
of peculiarities, and highly creditable to the accu- 
racy, observation, and humour of the painter, but 
exciting none of those more exalted feelings, and 
giving none of those higher views of the liuman 
soul, which delight and exalt the mind of the spec- 
tator of Raphael, Corregio, or Murillo. 

The object of Watehlet was evidently to pre- 
sent a faithful and animated picture of the man- 
ners and state of society that prevailed in the 
northern part of the island in the earlier part ol 
last century; and the author judiciously fixed up- 
on the era of the Rebellion in 1745, not only as 
enriching his pages with the interest inseparably 
attached to the narration of such occurrences, but 
as affbrding a fair opportunity for bringing out all 
the contrasted principles and habits which distin- 
guished the different classes of persons who then 
divided the country, and formed among themselves 
the basis of almost all that was peculiar in the na- 
tional character. That unfortunate contention 
brought conspicuously to light, and for the last 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



time, the fading image of feudal chivalry in the 
mountains, and vulgar fanaticism in the plains; 
and startled the more polished parts of the land 
with the wild but brilliant picture of the elevated 
valour, incorruptible fidelity, patriarchal brother- 
hood, and savage habits, of the Celtic clans on the 
one hand,— and the dark, untractable, and domi- 
neering bigotry of the covenanters on the other. 
Both forms of society had indeed been prevalent 
in the other parts of the country, but had there 
been so long superseded by more peaceable habits, 
and milder manners, that their vestiges were al- 
most effaced, and their very memory nearly for- 
gotten. 

The feudal principalities had been extinguished 
in the South for near three hundred years, and 
the dominion of the puritans from the time of the 
Restoration. When the glens of the central high- 
lands, therefore, were opened up to the gaze of 
the English, it seemed as if they were carried 
back to the days of the Heptarchy: when they saw 
the array of the West Country whigs, they might 
imagine themselves tran sported to the age of Crom- 
well. The effect, indeed, is almost as startling at 
the present moment; and one great source of the 
interest which the novel of Waverley possesses is 
to be sought in the surprise that is excited by dis- 
covering, that in our own country, and almost in 
our own age, manners and characters existed, and 
were conspicuous, which we had been accustomed 
to consider as belonging to remote antiquity, or 
extravagant romance. 

The way in which they are here represented 
must at once have satisfied every reader, by an 
internal tact and conviction, that the delineation 
had been made from actual experience and obser- 
vation; — experienced observation employed per- 
haps only on a few surviving relics and specimens 
of what was familiar a little earlier, but general- 
ized from instances sufficiently numerous and com- 
plete, to warrant all that may have been added to 
the portrait. 

Tlie great traits of clannish dependence, pride 
and fidelity, may still be detected in many dis- 
tricts of the highlands, though they do not now 
adhere to the chieftains when they mingle in ge- 
neral society; and the existing contentions of bur- 
ghers and antiburghers, and cameronians, though 
shrunk into comparative insignificance, and left 
indeed without protection to the ridicule of the 
pi-ofane, may still be referred to as complete ve- 
rifications of all that is here stated about Gifted 
Gilfillan, or Ebenezer Cruickshanks. The traits 
of Scottish national chai-acter in the lower ranks 
can still less be regarded as antiquated or tradi- 
tional; nor is there any thing in the whole compass 
of the work which gives us a stronger impression 
of the nice observation and graphical talents of sir 
Walter, than the exti-aordinary fidelity and felici- 
ty with which all the inferior .-igents in the story 
are represented. No one who has not lived long 
among ttie lower orders of all descriptions, and 
made liimself familiar with their various tempers 
and dialects, can perceive the full merit of those 
rapid and characteristic sketches; but it requires 
only a general knowledge of liuman nature, to feel 
that they must be faithful copies from known ori- 
ginals; and to be aware of the extraordinary faci- 
lity and flexibility of hand which has touclied, for 
instance, with such discriminating shades, the va- 
rious gradations of the Celtic character, from the 
savao-e imperturbability of Dugald Mahony, who 



stalks grimly about with his battle-axe on his 
shoulder, without speaking a word to any body, 
to the lively unprincipled activity of Galium Beg, 
tiie coarse unreflecting hardihood and heroism of 
Evan Maccombich, and the pride, gallantry, ele- 
gance, and ambition of Fergus himself. In the 
lower class of the lowland characters, again, the 
vulgarity of Mrs. Flockhart and of Lieutenant J in- 
ker is perfectly distinct and original, as well as 
the puritanism of Gilfillan and Cruickshanks, the 
depravity of Mrs. Mucklewi-ath, and the slow so- 
lemnity of Alexander Saunderson. The baron of 
Bradwardine, and Baillie Macwheeble, are cari- 
catures no doubt, after the fashion of the carica- 
tures in the novels of Smollett, — unique and ex- 
traordinary; but almost all the other personages 
in the history are fair representations of classes 
that are still existing, or may be remembered at 
least to have existed, by many whose recollec- 
tions do not extend quite so far back as the year 
1745. 

Tlie successful reception of Waverley was ow- 
ing not only to the author's being a man of genius, 
but that he had also virtue enough to be true to 
nature throughout, and to content himself, even 
in the marvellous parts of his story, with copying 
from actual existences, rather than from the phan- 
tasms of his own imagination. The charm which 
this communicates to all works that deal in the 
representation of human actions and characters is 
more readily felt than understood, and operates 
with unfailing efticacy even upon those who have 
no acquaintance with the originals from which the 
picture has been borrowed. It requires no ordi- 
nary talent, indeed, to choose such realities as may 
outshine the bright imaginations of the inventive, 
and so to combine them as to produce the most 
advantageous eftect; but when this is once accom- 
plished, the result is sure to be something more 
firm, impressive, and engaging, than can ever be 
produced by mere fiction. There is a consistency 
in nature and truth, the want of which may al- 
ways be detected in the happiest combinations ot 
fancy; and the consciousness of their support gives 
a confidence and assurance to the artist, which en- 
courages him occasionally to risk a strength ot 
colouring, and a boldness of touch, upon which 
he would scarcely have ventured in a sketch that 
was purely ideal. The reader, too, who by these 
or still finer indications, -speedily comes to per- 
ceive that he is engaged with scenes and charac- 
ters that are copied from existing originals, natur- 
ally lends a more eager attention to the story in 
which they are unfolded, and regards witli a keen- 
er interest what he no longer considers as a be- 
wildeinng series of dreams and exaggerations, but 
as an instructive exposition of human actions and 
energies, and of all the singular modifications 
which our plastic nature receives from the circum- 
stances with which it is surrounded. 

Although Gut Mannering is a production far 
below Waverley, it is still a work of considerable 
merit. Its inferiority to Waverley is, however, 
very decided, not only as to general effect, but in 
evei-y individual topic of interest. The story is 
less probable, and is carried on with much machi- 
nery and effort; the incidents are less natural; the 
characters are less distinctly painted, and less 
worth painting; in short, the whole tone of the 
book is pitched in an inferior key. 

The gratuitous introduction of supernatural 
agency in some parts of this novel is certainly to 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



be disapproved of. Even Shakspeare, who has 
been called the mighty magician, was nevei- guilty 
of this mistake. His magic was employed in faiiy- 
land, as in the Tempest; and his ghosts and gob- 
lins in dark ages, as in Macbeth and Hamlet. 
When he introduces a witch in Henry VI, it is 
because, historically, his representation was true; 
when he exhibits the perturbed dreams of a mur- 
derer, in Richard III, it wasbecause his represen- 
tation was morally probable; but he never thought 
of making these fancies actual agents in an histo- 
rical scene. There are no ghosts in Henry VIII, 
and no witches in the Merry Wives of Windsor 
(e.\cept the merry ladies;) and when, in one of his 
comedies, he chooses to wander out of nature, he 
m destly calls iiis drama a dream, and mixes up 
fairies, witches, mythology, and common life, as 
a brilliant extravaganza, wliich aftects no histori- 
cal nor even possible trutli, and which pretends to 
represent neither actual nor possible nature. Not 
so Guy Mannering: it brings down witchery and 
supernatural agency into our own times, not to be 
laughed at by the better informed, or credited by 
the vulgar; but as an active, effective, and real 
part of his machinery. It treats the supernatural 
agency not as a superstition, but as a truth; and 
the result is brought about, not by the imagina- 
tions of men deluded by a fiction, but by the ac- 
tual operation of a miracle, contrary to the opi- 
nion and belief of all the parties concerned. 

The ANTiq,UART is not free from this blame; 
there are two or three marvellous dreams and 
apparitions, upon which the author probably in- 
tended to ground some important parts of his de- 
nouemctit; but his taste luckily took fright: the 
apparitions do not contribute to the catastrophe, 
and they now appear in the work as marks rather 
of the author's own predilection to such agency, 
than as any assistance to him in the way of machi- 
nery. 

The Heart or Mid-Lothian, is remarkable for 
containing fewer characters, and less variety of 
incident, than any of sir Walter's former produc- 
tions: — and it is accordingly, in some places, com- 
paratively languid. The Porteous mob is i-ather 
heavily described; and the whole part of George 
Robertson, or Staunton, is extravagant or unpleas- 
ing. The final catastrophe, too, is needless!}' im- 
probable and startling; and both Saddletree and 
Davie Deans, become at last rather tedious and 
unreasonable; while we miss, throughout, the 
character of the generous and kind-hearted rus- 
tic, which in one form or another, gives such spi- 
rit and interest to the former stories. But with 
all these defects, the work has botli beauty and 
power enough to vindicate its title to a legitimate 
descent from its mighty father — and even to a 
place in " the valued file "of his productions. The 
trial and condemnation of Effie Deans are pathetic 
and beautiful in the very highest degree; and the 
scenes with the duke of Argyle are equally full 
of spirit; and strangely compounded of perfect 
knowledge of life, and strong and deep feeling. 
Hut the great boast of the piece, and the great ex- 
ploit of the aullior, is the character and history 
of Jeanie Deans, from the time she first reproves 
her sister's flirtations at St. Leonard's till she set- 
tles in tlie manse in Argyleshire. The singular 
talent with which he has engrafted on the humble 
and somewhat coarse stock of a quiet and unas- 
suming peasant girl, the powerful affection, the 
strong sense, and lofty pi;rposes, which distinguish 



the heroine — or rather the art with which he has 
so tempered and modified those great qualities, as 
to make them appear nowise unsuitable to the sta- 
tion or ordinary beai'ing of such a person, and so 
ordered and disposed the incidents by which they 
are called out, that they seem throughout adapted, 
and native, as it were, to her condition, is supe- 
rior to any thing we can recollect in the history 
of invention; and must appear to any one, who at- 
tentively consiilers it, as a remarkable triumph 
over the greatest of all difficulties, in the conduct 
of a fictitious narrative. Jeanie Deans, in the 
course of her adventurous undertaking, excites our 
admiration and sympathy more powerfully than 
most heroines, and is in the highest degree both 
pathetic and sublime; — and yet she never says or 
does any thing that the daughter of a Scotch cow- 
feeder might not be supposed to say or to do — and 
scarcely any thing indeed that is not characteris- 
tic of her rank and habitual occupations. She is 
never sentimental, nor refined, nor elegant; and 
though always acting in very difficult situations, 
with the greatest judgment and propriety, never 
seems to exert more than that downright and ob- 
vious good sense, which is so often found to rule 
the conduct of persons of her condition. This is 
the great ornament and charm of the work. Dum- 
biedikes is, however, an admirable sketch in the 
grotesque way; — and the captain of Knockdunder 
is not only a very spirited, but also a very accu- 
rate representation of a Celtic deputy. There is 
less description of scenerj', and less sympathy in 
external nature in this, than in any of the other 
tales. 

The Bride of Lammermoor is more sketchy 
and romantic than the usual vein of the author — 
and loses, perhaps, in the exaggeration that is in- 
cident to the style, some of the deep and heart- 
felt interest that belongs to more familiar situa- 
tions. The humours of Caleb Balderstone are, to 
our taste, the least successful of this author's at- 
tempts at pleasantry, — and belong rather to the 
school of French or Italian buffoonery, than to 
that of English humour; — and yet, to give scope 
to these farcical exhibitions, the poverty of the 
master of Ravenswood is exaggei-ated beyond all 
credibility, and to the injury even of his personal 
dignity. Sir William Ashton is tedious; and Buck- 
law and his captain, though excellently drawn, 
take up rather too much room for subordinate 
agents. There are splendid things, however, in this 
work also. The picture of old Ailie is exquisite 
— and beyond the reach of any other living writer. 
The hags that convene in the church-yard have all 
the terror and sublimity, and more than the na- 
ture of Macbeth's witches; and the courtship at 
the Mermaiden's well, as well as some of the im- 
mediately preceding scenes, are full of dignity and 
beauty. The catastrophe of the bride, though it 
may be founded on fact, is too horrible for fiction. 
Butthat of Ravens wood is magnificent — and, taken 
along with the prediction which it was doomed to 
fulfil, and the mourning and death of Balderstone, 
is one of the finest combinations of superstition 
and sadness, which the gloomy genius of our fic- 
tion ever put together. 

The Legexd of Montrose is also of the nature 
of a sketch or fragment, and is still more vigor- 
ous than its companion. There is too much, per- 
haps, of Dalgetty — or, rather, he engrosses too 
great a proportion of tlie work; for, in himself, 
we think he is uniformly entertaining; — and the 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



author has nowhei-e shown more affinity to that 
matchless spirit, who could bring out his FalstafFs 
aud his Pistols, in act after act, and play after play, 
and exercise them eyei-y time with scenes of un- 
bounded loquacity, without either exhausting their 
humour, or varying a note from its characteristic 
tone, than in his ample and reiterated specimens 
of the eloquence of the redoubted Rittmaster. The 
general idea of the character is familiar to our 
comic dramatists after the restoration — and may 
be said, in some measure, to be compounded of 
captain Fluellen aud Bobadil; — but the ludicrous 
combination of the soldado with the student of 
Mareschal College is entirely original; and the 
mixture of talent, selfishness, covu'age, coarseness, 
and conceit, was never so happily exemplified. 
Numerous as his speeches are, there is not one 
that is not characteristic — and, to our taste, di- 
vertingly lud'yjrous. Annot Lyle, and the Children 
of the Mist, are in a very different manner, and 
are full of genius and poetry. The whole of the 
scenes at Argyle's castle, and in the escape from 
it — though trespassing too far beyond the bounds 
of probability — are given with great spirit and ef- 
fect; and the mixture of romantic incident and si- 
tuation, with the tone of actual business, and the 
real transactions of a camp, give a life and inter- 
est to the warliice part of the story, which belong 
to the fictions of no other hand. 

From the Tales of My Landlord we must pass 
rapidly over to tlie beautiful romance of Ivanhoe, 
the story of which is entirely English, and the 
time laid as for back as tlie reign of Richard I, the 
Saxons and Normans of which age are less known 
to us than the higblanders and cameronians of the 
present. This was the great difficulty the author 
had to contend with, and the great disadvantage 
of the subject with which he had to deal. Nobody 
now alive can have a very clear conception of the 
actual way of life, and maniere d'etre of our an- 
cestors in the year 1194. Some of the more pro- 
minent outlines of their chivalry, their priesthood, 
and their villanage, may be known to antiquaries, 
or even to general readers; but all the filling up 
and details, which alone can give body aud life to 
the picture, have been long since efl'aced by time. 
We have scarcely any notion, in short, of the pri- 
vate life and conversation of any class of persons 
in that remote period; and, in fact, know less how 
the men and women occupied and amused them- 
selves — what they talked about — how they looked 
— or what they actually thought or felt, at that 
time in England, than we know of what they did 
or thought at Rome in the time of Augustus, or at 
Athens in the time of Pericles. The memorials 
and r61ics of fliose earlier ages and remoter na- 
tions are greatly more abundant and more familiar 
to us, than those of our ancestors at the distance 
of seven centuries. Besides ample histories and 
copious orations, wc have plays, poems, and fami- 
liar letters of the former period; while of the lat- 
ter we have only some vague chronicles, supersti- 
tious legends, and a few fragments of foreign ro- 
mance. We scarcely know indeed what language 
■was then either spoken or written. Yet, with all 
these helps, how cold and conjectural a thing 
would a novel bo, ot tvliicli the scene was laid in 
ancient Rome! The authbr might talk with per- 
fect propriety of the bea>uies of the Forum, and 
the arrangeniculs of the ci.cus — of the baths and 
the suppers, and the canvass for office, and the sa- 
crifices, and musters, and assemblies, He might 



be quite correct as to the dress, furniture, and 
utensils he had occasion to mention; and might 
even embody in his work various anecdotes and 
sayings preserved in contemporary authors, lint 
when he came to represent the details of individual 
character and feeling, and to delineate the daily 
conduct, and report the ordinary conversation of 
his persons, he would find himself either frozen 
in among barren generalities, or engaged with 
modern Englishmen in the masquerade habits of 
antiquity. 

In stating these difficulties, howevei', we really 
mean less to account for the defects, than to en- 
hance the merits of the work we are treating of. 
For though the author has not worked impossibi- 
lities, he has done wonders with his subject; and 
though we do sometimes miss those fresh and liv- 
ing pictures of tlie characters which we know, and 
the nature with which we are familiar, and that 
higli and deep interest which the home scenes of 
our own times and own people, could alone ge- 
nerate or sustain, it is impossible to deny that he 
has made marvellous good use of the scanty ma- 
terials he had at his disposal, and eked them out 
both by the greatest skill and dexterity in their 
arrangement, and by all the resources that origi- 
nal genius could render subservient to such a de* 
sign. For this purpose he has laid his scene in a 
period when the rivalry of the victorious Normans 
and the conquered Saxons had not been finally 
composed; and when the courtly petulance and 
chivalrous and military pride of the one race might 
yet be set in splendid opposition to the manly 
steadiness and honest but liomely simplicity of the 
other; and has, at the same time, given an air both 
of dignity and reality to his story, by bringing in 
the personal prowess of Cceur de Lion himself, 
and other personages of historical fame, to assist 
in its development. Though reduced in a great 
measure to the vulgar staple of armed knights, and 
jolly friars and woodmen, imprisoned damsels, 
lawless barons, collared serfs, and household fools, 
he has made such use of his great talents for de- 
scription, and invested those traditional and thea- 
trical persons with so much of the feelings that 
are of all ages and all countries, that we frequent- 
ly cease to regard tliem (as it is generally right to 
regard them) as parts of a fantastical pageant, and 
are often brought to consider the knights who 
joust in panoply in the lists, and the foresters who 
shoot deer with arrows, and plunder travellers in 
the woods, as real individuals, with hearts and 
blood beating in their bosoms like our own — ac- 
tual existences, in short, into whose views we may 
reasonably enter, and with whose emotions we are 
bound to sympathise. To all this he has added, 
out of the prodigality of his high and inventive 
genius, the grace and the interest of some lofty, 
and sweet, and superhuman characters, for which, 
though evidently fictitious, and unnatural in any 
stage of society, the remoteness of the scene on 
which they are introduced may serve as an apolo- 
gy, if they could need any other than what they 
bring along with them in their own sublimity and 
beauty. 

In comparing this work then with the produc- 
tions which had already proceeded from the same 
master-hand, it is impossible not to feel that we 
are passing in some degree from the i-eign of na- 
ture aud reality to that of fancy and romance, and 
exciianging for scenes of wonder and curiosity 
those more homefelt sympathies, and deeper 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



touches of delight, that can only be excited by the 
peo\)leainong whom well ve, and the objects that are 
constantly around us. A far gi-eater proportion of 
the work, is accordingly made up of splendid de- 
scriptions of arms and dresses, moated and mas- 
sive castles, tournaments of mailed champions, 
solemn feasts, formal coui-tesies, and other mat- 
ters of external and visible presentment, that are 
only entitled to such distinction as connected with 
the olden times, and novel by virtue of their anti- 
quity; while the interest of the story is maintained 
far more by surprising adventures and extraordi- 
nary situations, the startling effect of exaggei'ated 
sentiments, and the strong contrast of overdrawn 
characters, than by tlie sober charms of truth and 
reality, tlie exquisite representation of scenes with 
which we are familiar, or the skilful development 
of affections which we have often experienced. 

These bright lights and deep shadows — this 
succession of brilliant pictures, addressed as often 
to the eyes as to the imagination, and oftener to 
the imagination than the heart — this preference 
of striking generalities to homely details, all be- 
long more properly to the province of poetry than 
of prose; and Ivanhoe, accordingly, seems to us 
much more akin to the most splendid of modern 
poems, than the most interesting of modern novels; 
and savours much more of the author of Marmion, 
or the Lady of the Lake, than of Waverley or Old 
Mortality. 

Without disputing the general verdict, which 
places the Monasteut below the rest of our au- 
thor's works, we shall endeavour to ascertain the 
grounds on which it may be supposed to be found- 
ed. We believe the principal deficiency lies in, 
what is usually our author's principal excellence, 
the female characters. In general, his men add to 
the boldness and animation of the scene, but his 
women support almost all its interest. Perhaps 
this must always be the case where both are equal- 
ly well drawn. We sympathize more readily with 
simple than with compound feelings; and there- 
fore less easily with those characters, the differ- 
ent ingredients of which have, by mutual subser- 
vience, been moulded into one uniform mass, than 
with those in wliich they stand unmixed and con- 
trasted. Courage restrained by caution, and libe- 
rality by prudence, loyalty, with a view only to 
the ultimate utility of power, and love, never for- 
getting itself in its object, are the attributes of 
men. Their purposes are formed on a general ba- 
lance of compensating motives, and pursued only 
while their means appear not totally inadequate. 
The greater susceptibility, which is always the 
charm, and sometimes the misfortune, of women, 
deprives them of the same accurate view of the 
proportion of different objects. The one upon 
which they are intent, whether it be a lover, a 
parent, a husband, a child, a king, a preacher, a 
ball, or a bonnet, swallows up the rest. Hence 
the enthusiasm of their loyalty, the devotedness of 
their affection, the abandonment of self, and the 
general vehemence of emotion, which, in fictioi 
as well as in reality, operate contagiously on our 
feelings. But our author has, in the Monasterv, 
neglected the power of representing the female 
character, which he possesses so eminently, and, 
m general, uses so liberally. The heroine is milk 
and water, or any thing still more insipid. Dame 
Glendiuning and Tibbie are the common furni- 
ture of a farm-house; and Mysie Happer and poor 
Catherine, though beautiful, are mere sketches. 



But the great merit of the Monastery is, that it 
is a foundation for the Abbot. This not only re- 
lieves, in a great measure, the reader from the 
slow detail, or the perplexing retracings and 
ddaircissemeiis which detain or interrupt him in a 
narrative that is purely fictitious, but is an im- 
provement on some of tlie peculiar advantages of 
one that is historical. In the latter, the hard and 
meagre outline of his previous knowledge seldom 
contains more than the names and mutual rela- 
tions of the principal personages, and what they 
had previously done, with very little of what they 
had previously felt. But where one fiction is found- 
ed on another, we are introduced not merely to 
persons who are notorious to us, but to old ac- 
quaintances and friends. The knight of Avenel, 
the abbot Ambrosius, and the gardener Blink- 
hoolie, are the Halbert, and Edward, and Boni- 
face, into whose early associations and secret feel- 
ings we had been admitted. We meet them as we 
meet, in real life, with those whom we have known 
in long-past times, and in different situations, and 
are interested in tracing, sometimes the resem- 
blance, and sometimes the contrast, between what 
has past and wliat is present; in observing the ef- 
fect of new circumstances in modifying or confirm- 
ing their old feelings, or in eliciting others which 
before lay unperceived. We view with interest 
the fiery freedom of Halbert's youth ripened into 
the steady and stern composure of the approved 
soldier and skilful politician; and when, as knight 
of Avenel, he sighs for birth and name, we recog- 
nize the feelings that drove him from the obscure 
security of a churcli vassal, to seek with his sword 
the means of ranking with those proud men who 
despised his clownish poverty. And when Am- 
brose acknowledges that, bent as he is by afflic- 
tion, he has not forgotten tlie effect of beauty on 
tlie heart of youth— that even in the watches of 
the night, broken by the tiioughts of an imprison- 
ed queen,a distracted kingdom, a church laid waste 
and ruinous, come other thoughts than these sug- 
gest, and other feelings that belong to an earlier 
and happier course of life; a single allusion sends 
us back tlirough the whole intervening time, and 
we see him again in the deep window-recess of 
Glendcarg, and Mary's looks of simple yet ear- 
nest anxiety, watching for his assistance in their 
childish studies. The allusion would have been 
pretty, but how inferior if Ambrose had been a 
new character, and we had been forced to account 
for it by some vague theory as to his former his- 
tory. The Abbot lias, however, far greater advan- 
tages over its predecessor than those, great as they 
are, that arise from their relative situation. Wees- 
cape from the dull tower of Glendearg, with its nar- 
row valley and homely inmates, to Edinburgh, and 
Holyrood House, and Loch-leven Castle, and the 
field ot Langside, and to high dames and mighty 
earls, and exchange the obscure squabbling of the 
hamlet and the convent for events where the pas- 
sions of individuals decided the fate of kingdoms, 
and, above all, we exchange unintelligible fairyism 
for human actors and human feelings. 

It is true there is a sorceress on the stage, but 
one endued with powers far greater for evil or for 
good than tlie White Lady. Histoiy has never de- 
scribed, or fiction invented, a chai-acter more truly 
tragic than Queen Mary. The most fruitful ima- 
gination could not have adorned her with more 
accomplishments, or exposed her to greater ex- 
tremeb of fortune, or alternated them with greater 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



rapidity. And the mystery which, after all the 
exertions of her friends and enemies, still rests on 
her conduct, and which om* author has most skil- 
fully left as dark as he found it, prevents our be- 
ing either shocked or unmoved by her final cala- 
mities. The former would have been the case, if 
her innocence could have been established. We 
could not have borne to see such a being plunged, 
by a false accusation, from such hapyjiness into 
such misery. The latter would have followed, if 
she could have been proved to be guilty. Her suf- 
ferings, bitter as they were, were less unmixed 
than those of Bothwell. He too endured a long 
imprisonment, but it was in a desolate climate, 
witiiout the alleviations which even Elizabeth al- 
lowed to her rival, without the hope of escape, or 
the sympathy of devoted attendants: such was his 
misery, that his reason sunk under it. And though 
his sufferings were greater than those of his ac- 
complice, if such she were, his crime was less. 
He had not to break the same restraints of intimate 
connexion and of sex. But nobody could read a 
ti'agedy of which his misfortunes formed the sub- 
stance; because we are sure of his guilt, they will 
excite no interest. While we continue to doubt 
hers, Mary's will be intensely affecting. 

Though Kenilworth ranks high among our 
author's works, we think it inferior, as a whole, 
to his other tragedies, the Bride of Lammermoor, 
the historical part of Waverley, and the Abbot, 
both in materials and in execution. 

Amy Robsart and Elizabeth occupy nearly the 
same space upon the canvas as Catherine Seyton 
and Mary. But almost all the points of interest, 
which are divided between Amy and Elizabeth, 
historical recollections, beauty, talents, attractive 
virtues and unhappy errors, exalted rank and deep 
misfortune, are accumulated in Mary; and we 
want altogether that union of the lofty and the 
elegant, of enthusiasm and playfulness, which en- 
chanted us in Catherine. Amy is a beautiful spe- 
cimen of that class which long ago furnished Des- 
demona: the basis of whose character is conjugal 
love, whose charm consists in its purity and its 
devotedness, whose fault springs from its undue 
prevalence over filial duty, and whose sufferings 
are occasioned by the preverted passions of him 
who is the object of it. Elizabeth owes almost all 
her interest to our early associations, and to her 
marvellous combination of the male and female 
dispositions, in those points in which they seem 
most incompatible. The representation of such a 
character loses much of its interest in history, and 
would be intolerable in pure fiction. In the for- 
mer, its peculiarities are softened down by the 
distance, and Elizabeth appears a fine, but not an 
uncommon object — a great, unamiable sovereign; 
and the same peculiarities, shown up by the mi- 
croscopic exaggeration of fiction, would, if judged 
only by the rides of fiction, offend as unnatural; 
but supported by tlie authority of history, would 
be most striking. A portrait might be drawn of 
Elizabeth, uniting the magnanimous courage, the 
persevering but governable anger, the power of 
weighing distant against immediate advantages, 
and the brilliant against the useful, and of subject- 
ing all surrounding minds, even the most manly, 
to her iniluence, with the most craving vanity, the 
most irritable jealousy, the meanest duplicity, 
and the most capricious and unrelenting spite, 
that ever degraded the silliest and most hateful of 
her sex. 



Sir Walter has not, we think, made the most of 
his opportunities. He has complied with the laws 
of poetical consistency, without recollecting that, 
in this instance, the notoriety of Elizabeth's his- 
tory warranted their violation. Instead of pushing 
to the utmost the opposing qualities that formed 
her character, he has softened even the incidents 
that he has directly borrowed. When Leicester* 
knelt before her at Kenil worth, ere she raised him 
she passed her hand over his head, so near as al- 
most to touch his long curled and perfumed hair, 
and with a movement of fondness that seemed to 
intimate she would, if she dared, have made the 
motion a slight caress. Listen to sir James Mel- 
vil's account of the occurrence. 

" I was required to slay till he was made earl 
of Leicester, which was done at Westminster, the 
queen herself helping to put on his ceremonial, 
he sitting upon his knees (kneeling) before her 
with great gravity; but she could not refrain from 
putting her hands into his neck, smilingly tick- 
ling him, the French ambassador and I standina; 
by. Then she turned, asking me how I liked hira P '^' 
Again, when she discovers Leicester's conduct, in 
which every cause of personal irritation is most 
skilfully accumulated, she punishes him only by 
a quarter of an hour's restraint under the custody 
of the earl-marshal. 

When, at a later period, and under circum- 
stances of much less aggravation, she detected his 
marriage with lady Essex, she actually imprison- 
ed him. Our author has not ventured on ttie full 
vehemence of her affection or her rage. But, af- 
ter all, his picture of the lion-nearted queen, 
though it might perhaps have been improved by 
the admission of stronger contrasts, is so vivid, and 
so magnificent, that we can hardly wish it other 
than it is. 

The Pirate is a bold attempt to make out a 
long and eventful story, from a very narrow cir- 
cle of society, and a scene so circumscribed as 
scarcely to admit of any great scope or variety of 
action; and its failure, in a certain degree, must 
in fairness be ascribed chiefly to this scantiness 
and defect of the materials. 

The Fortunes of Nigel is of an historical cha- 
racter, and an attempt to describe and illustrate 
by examples the manners of the court, and, ge- 
nerally speaking, of the age of James 1 of Eng- 
land. 

Without asserting the high excellence of Saint 
Ronan's Well, we may venture to aflirm that it 
does not deserve the contempt with which it has 
been treated by some critics. The story, indeed, 
is not veiy probable, and there are various incon- 
sistencies in the plot; the characters, though ap- 
parently intended to be completely modern, are in 
some instances more suitable to the last genera- 
tion; the hero's portrait is feebly drawn: the mo- 
ral tone of the work is less correct and legitimate 
than that which pervades our author's preceding 
productions, and the impulses of feeling and hu- 
manity are less natural and foixible; but it is still 
a work which bears the marks of a master's hand, 
the interest is well sustained, the incidents are re- 
lated with spirit, many of the dialogues are lively 
and pleasant, and not only the characters of the 
heroine, but also those of the landlady of Touch- 
wood, are drawn with a discriminating and pow- 
erful pencil. 

In the historical novels of Redgauntlet, Quen- 
TiN DcKWARD, and Woodstock, the author dis- 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



plays a truly g^-aphic power in the delineation of been represei\te(l with such an air of truth, and so 



characters, which lie sketches with an ease, and 
colours with a brilliancy, and scatters about with 
a profusion, which but few writers, in any age 
have been able to accomplish. With spells of ma- 
gic potency, and witli the creations of a rich and 
varied fancj', so skilfully has he stolen us from 
ourselves, with such exquisite cunning has he ex- 
tracted a kind of poetry from the common incidents 
of life, with such an extent of legendary knowledge, 
he has displayed so wonderful an aptitude in draw- 
ing from historic research those minute traits of 
manners and modifications in social life, which, by 
reason of the wide range which it traverses, and 
the rapiditj' with which it moves along, are in his- 
tory too general and indistinct; that it would be 
worse than aftectation to stand aloof from the ge- 
neral feeling, and to refuse our humble proportion 
of those " golden opinions he has bought from all 
sorts of men," and which have fixed him in so high 
a rank in the literatui'e of his country. 

The Tales of the Crusaders have not been 
received with that enthusiasm of delight which 
greeted some of our author's former productions: 
yet they undoubtedly possess considerable merit, 
and, amidst much that is feeble, uninteresting, 
and absurd, bear evident marks of sense and talent. 

To sum up our observations on the Waverley 
Novels, in a few words, we think their author has 
succeeded by far the best in the representation of 
rustic and homely characters, and not in the ludi- 
crous or contemptuous representation of them — 
but by making them at once more natural and more 
interesting than they had ever been made before 
in any work of fiction; by showing them, not as 
clowns to be laughed at, or wretches to be pitied 
and despised, — but as human creatures, with as 
many pleasures, and fewer cares, than their supe- 
riors — with aflections not only as strong, but often 
as delicate, as those whose language is smoother — 
and with a vein of humour, a force of sagacity, and 
very frequently an elevation of fancy, as high and 
as natural as can be met with among more culti- 
vated beings. The great merit of all these deline- 
ations is their admirable truth and fidelity, the 
v/hole manner and cast of the characters being ac- 
curately moulded to their condition; and the finer 
attributes, so blended and harmonized with the 
native rudeness and simplicity of their life and oc- 
cupations, that they are made interesting and even 
noble beings, without the least particle of foppery 
or exaggeration, and delight and amuse us, without 
trespassing at all on the province of pastoral or 



much ease and happiness of execution. 

Among his faults and failures, we must give 
the first place to his descriptions of virtuous voun<> 
ladies, and his representations of the ordinary busi- 
ness of courtship and conversation in polished life. 
We admit that those things, as they are common- 
ly conducted, are apt to be a little insipid to a mere 
critical spectator,— and that while they consequent- 
ly require more heightening than strange adven- 
tures or grotesque persons, they admit less of ex- 
aggeration or ambitious ornament: vet we cannot 
think it necessary that they should" be altogether 
so lame and mawkish as we generally find them in 
the hands of this spirited writer, whose powers 
really seem to require some stronger stimulus to 
bring them into action, tlian can be supplied by 
the flat realities of a peaceful and ordinary exis- 
tence. His love of the ludicrous, it must also be 
observed, often betrays him into forced and vul- 
gar exaggerations, and into the repetition of com- 
mon and paltry stories; though it is but fair to add 
that he does not detain us long with them, and 
makes amends, by the copiousness of his as'soit- 
ment, for the indifi'erent quality of some of the 
specimens. It is another consequence of this ex- 
treme abundance in wliicli he revels and riots, and 
of the fertility of the imagination from which it is 
supplied, that he is at all times a little apt to over- 
do even those things which he does best. His 
most striking and highly-coloured characters ap- 
pear rather too often, and go on rather too lon^ 
It is astonishing, indeed, with what spirit they are 
supported, and how fresh and animated they are 
to the very last; but still there is something too 
much of them, and they would be more waited 
for and welcomed, if they were not quite so la- 
vish of theu' presence. It was reserved for Shak- 
speare alone to leave all his characters as new and 
unworn as he found them, and to carry Falstatt 
through the business of three several plays and 
leave us as greedy of his sayings as at the moment 
ot his first introduction. It is no light praise to the 
author before us, that he has sometimes reminded 
us of this, and, as we have before observed of 
other inimitable excellencies in that most gifted of 
all inventors. 



He IS above all things national and Scottish and 
never seems to feel the powers of a giant except 
when he touches his native soil. His countrymen 
alone, therefore, can have a full sense of his me- 
rits, or a perfect relish of his excellencies- and 
those only, indeed, of them. Mho have mingled as 
he has done, pretty freely with the lower orde 



romance. ,v,- ,, t. v, . . u- u ?"'' ""^^''^ themselves familiar not only with their 

Next to these, we thmk, he has found his hap- language, but with the habits and traits of charac 
piest subjects, or at least displayed his greatest ter of which it then only becomes exnressi 
powers, in the delineation of the grand and gloomy is one thing to understand the meaning of words 

as they are explained by other words in a glossary 



aspects of nature, and of the dark and tierce pas- 
sions of the heart. The natural gaiety of his tem- 
per does not indeed allow him to dwell long on 
such themes; but the sketches he occasionally in- 
troduces are executed with admirable force and 
spirit, and give a strong impression both of the 
vigour of his imagination and the variety of his 
talent. It is only in the third rank that we would 
place his pictures of chivalry and chivalrous cha- 
racter, his traits of gallantry, nobleness, and ho- 
nour, and that bewitching assemblage of gay and 
gentle manners, with generosity, candour, and 
courage, which has long been familiar enough to 



It 



or dictionary, and another to know their value as 
expressive of certain feelings and humours in the 
speakers to whom they are native, and as signs 
both ot temper and condition among those who are 
tamiliar with their import. 

We shall make no apology to our readers for 
introducmg here, the following animated delinea- 
tion oi the author of Waverley, from the pen of an 
acute critic. 

" Sir Walter," says this writer, " has found out 
that tacts are better than fiction; that there is no 
romance like the romance of real life; and that 



readers and writers of novels, but has never before ) can we but arrive at what men feel, do, and say! 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



in striking and singular situations, the result will 
be more lively, audible, and full of vent, than the 
fine-spun cobwebs of the brain. Our author has 
conjured up the actual people he has to deal with, 
or as much as he could get of them, in ' their ha- 
bits as they lived.' He has ransacked old chroni- 
cles, and poured the contents upon his page; he 
has squeezed out musty records; he has consulted 
way-faring pilgrims, bed-rid sibyls; he has invok- 
ed the spirits of the air; he has conversed with the 
living and the dead, and let them tell their story 
their own way; and by borrowing of others, has 
enriched his own genius with everlasting variety, 
truth, and freedom. He has taken his materials 
from the original, authentic sources, in large con- 
crete masses, and has not tampered with, or too 
much frittered them away. He is the only amanu- 
ensis of truth and history. It is impossible to say 
how fine his writings in consequence are, unless 
we could describe how fine nature is. All that 
portion of the history of his country that he has 
touched upon, (wide as the scope is,) the manners, 
the personages, the events, the scenery, lives over 
again in his volumes. Nothing is wanting— the il- 
lusion is complete. There is a hurtling in the air, 
a trampling of feet upon tlie ground, as these per- 
fect representations of human character, or fanciful 
belief, come thronging back upon the imagination. 
We will merely recal a few of the subjects of his 
pencil to the reader's recollection, for nothing we 
could add by way of note or commendation, could 
make the impression more vivid. 

" There is (first and foremost, because the ear- 
liest of our acquaintance) the baron of Bradwai-- 
dine, stately, kind-hearted, whimsical, and pedan- 
tic; and Flora Mac-Ivor, (wiiom even we forgive 
for her jacobitism,) the fierce Vich Ian Vohr, and 
Evan Dhu, constant in death, and Davie Gellatley, 
roasting his eggs, or turning his rhymes with rest- 
less volubility, and the two stag hounds that met 
Waverley, as fine as ever Titian painted, or Paul 
Veronese;— then there is old Balfour of Burley, 
brandishing his sword and his bible with fire-eyed 
fury, trying a fall with the insolent, gigantic 
Bothwell, at the change-house, and vanquishing 
him at the noble battle of Loudon-hill;- there is 
Bothwell, himself, drawn to the life, proud, cruel, 
selfish, proflig.'ite-^but with the love-letters of the 
gentle Alice, (written thirty years before,) and his 
verses to her memory, found in his pocket after 
his death; in tlie same volume of Old Mortality, 
is that lone figure, like one in Scripture, of the 
woman sitting on the stone, at the turning to 
the mountain, to warn Burley that there is a 
lion in his path; and the fawning Claverhouse, 
beautiful as a panther, smooth-looking, blood- 
spotted: and the fanatics, Macbriar and Muckle- 
wrath, crazed with zeal and suficrings; and the 
inflexible Morton, and the faithful Edith, who 
refused to * give her hand to another, while her 
heart was with her lover in the deep and dead sea.' 
In The Heart ofMid-LotMan, we have Effie Deans, 
(that sweet faded fiower,) and Jeanie, her more 
than sister, and old David Deans, the patriarch of 
St. Leonard's Crags, and Butler, and Dumbiedikes, 
eloquent in his silence, and Mr. Bartoline Saddle- 
tree, and his prudent helpmate, and Porteous, 
swinging in the wind, and Madge Wildfire, full 
of finery and madness, and her ghastly mother. 
Again, there is Meg Merrilies, standing on her 
rock, stretched on her bier, with ' her head to the 
east,' and Dirk Hatteraick, (equal to Shakspeare's 



Master Barnardine,) and Glossin, the soul of an 
attorney, and Dandie Dinmont, with his terrier- 
pack and his pony Dumple, and the fiery colonel 
Mannering, and the modish old counsellor Pley- 
dell, and Dominie Sampson: and Rob Roy, (like 
the eagle in his eyrie,) and Baillie Nicol Jarvie, 
and the inimitable major Galbraith, llashleigh 
Osbaldistone, and Die Yernon, the best of secret- 
keepers; and in the Jlntujuai'i/, the ingenious Mr. 
Old buck, and the old bedesman, Edie Ochiltree, 
and that preternatural figure of old Elspeth, a liv- 
ing shadow, in whom the lamp of life had been long 
extinguished, had it not been fed by remorse and 
' thick-coming' recollections; and that striking pic- 
ture of feudal tyranny and fiendish pride, the un- 
happy earl of Glenallan; and the Black Dwarf, and 
his friend, Hobbie of the Heughfoot, (the cheerful 
hunter,) and his cousin Grace Armstrong, fresh 
and laughing like the morning; and the Children 
of the Mist, and the baying of the blood-hound, 
tliat tracks their steps at a distance, (the hollow 
echoes are in our ears now, ) and Amy and her hap- 
less love, and the villain Varney, and the deep voice 
of George of Douglas — and the immovable Bala- 
fre, and Master Oliver, the barber, in Quentin 
Durward — and the quaint humour of the Fortunes 
of Nigel, and the comic spirit of Peveril of the 
Peak — and the fine old English romance of Ivan- 
hoe. What a list of names! What a host of asso- 
ciations! Wliat a thing is human life! What a 
power i« that of genius ! What a world of thought 
and feeling is thus rescued from oblivion! How 
many hours of lieartfelt satisfaction has our author 
given to the gay and thoughtless ! How many sad 
hearts has he soothed in pain and solitude! It is 
no wonder that the public repay, with lengthened 
applause and gratitude, the pleasure they receive. 
He writes as fast as they can read, and he does not 
write himself down. He is always in the public eye, 
and we do not tire of him. His worst is better than 
any other person's best. His back-grounds (and 
his latter works are little else but back-grounds 
capitally made out,) are more attractive than the 
principal and most complicated figures of other 
writers. His works (taken together) are almost 
like a new edition of human nature. This is indeed 
to be an auihor! 

" The political bearing of tl^e Scotch JVbvels has 
been a considerable recommendation to them. 
They are a relief to the mind, rarified as it has 
been with modern philosophy, and heated with 
ultra-radicalism. The candour of sir Walter's his- 
toric pen levels our bristling prejudices, and sees 
fair play between roun'dheads and cavaliers — be- 
tween protestant and papist. He is a writer recon- 
ciling all the diversities of human nature to the 
reader. He does not enter into the hostile distinc- 
tions of sects and parties, but treats of the strength 
or the infirmity of the human mind, of the virtues 
and vices of the human breast, as they are to be 
found blended in the whole race of mankind. No- 
thing can show more handsomely, or be more gal- 
lantly executed." 

Another critic attempts a comparison between 
our author and the late lord Byron, as follows: — 
" The two most celebrated writers of this age, 
lord Byron and sir Walter Scott, resemble each 
other not a little in their works. Their respective 
series of productions, from Childe Harold to Don 
Juan, and from Waverley to Woodstock, though 
diftering essentially in structure, object, and sub- 
ject, agree, nevertheless, in several particulars. 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, 



Each scries, for example, evinces a remarkable 
qualification of mind in the author, and each be- 
trays a remarkable defect. It is likewise a singu- 
lar' coincidence, that the same qualification and the 
same defect should exist in both, viz. extraordinary 
facility of invention as far as respects composition, 
and difficulty of invention as far as respects cIm- 
racter. Both authors are about equally remarkable 
for the said power, and (if the expression may be 
used) impotence of luind, in these different pro- 
vinces of invention. 

" And first as to composition. The prodigal ef- 
fusion of poetry, which in Childe Harold, tiie Cor- 
sair, the Giaour, &c., &c., almost overwhelmed 
the reading world, is only to be pai-alleled jjy the 
quantity oi" prose so dissolutely expended in tlie 
composition of Waverley, Guy Mannering, &c., 
&c., a scries to which we can see indeed no pro- 
bable termination. Both the poems and the novels 
indicate a fertility of mind in this respect, amount- 
ing to what miglit be designated even a rank luxu- 
riance. Before we had eaten down one crop of this 
intellectual pasture, another began to present itself, 
and a third growth shot up whilst our heads were 
deep in the second. There is here an obvious re- 
semblance between the two series of works now 
compared. It would be hard to say whether the 
poet or the novelist were the greater spendthrift 
of his words. In both, eloquence is of so splendid 
and profluent a nature, that it takes the form, and 
might assume the name, of splendid loquacity. 
The labour with these authors seems to have been 
merely that of transcribing from the folds of the 
brain to the leaves of their paper. Facility in com- 
position—and when we say this, we do not mean 
fluency witiiouta considerable degree of solidity, — 
is tiie qualification in which these two great wri- 
ters resemble each other, and that, perhaps, in 
■which tliey most surpass all their contemporaries. 
We allow there is much difference between the 
* weighty bullion' of Childe Harold, or Waverle)-, 
and the ' French wire' into which tlie small portion 
of sterling ore, forming the real worth of Sardana- 
palus, or Redgauntlet, is drawn; but still, the same 
ease of language, the same wealth of imagery, is 
everywhere displayed, even in their most precipi- 
tate works, by each writer, — and with about equal 
claims on our admiration. Sir Walter, like his late 
noble competitor for tlie crown of fame, in his 
more recent works, seems to have depended almost 
wholly on the power of writing adiiifnitum, agree- 
ably upon any or no subject. But all-powerful as 
those two great writers may be considered, in the 
department of eloquence, and what may be gene- 
rally described as composition, they are both ra- 
dically, though not perhaps equally, impotent in 
the province of character, variously modified by the 
different circumstances in which it is placed 
throughout all lord Byron's poems, — that of a no- 
ble-minded, but depraved being, of fine feelings, 
but irregular passions, more or less satirical and 
misanthropical in his disposition, gloomy, heart- 
withered, reckless, and irreligious. Sir Walter 
Scott has taken a circle of somewhat greater cir- 
cumference, but within which he is just as strictly 
confined. He has excogitated, or his experience 
has furnished him with'a certain definite number 
of characters, and these he plays as he would chess- 
men, sometimesbringing one forward, sometimes 
.•mother, hut without the power of increasing the 
number of men on the board." 

The Waverley novels were highly admired by 

2 



Byron; he never travelled without them. " They 
are," said he to captain Medwin one day, " a li- 
brary in themselves — a perfect literary treasure. 
I could read them once a year with new pleasure." 
During that morning lie had been reading one of 
sir Walter's novels, and delivered the following 
criticism: " How difficult it is to say any tiling 
new! Who was that voluptuary of antiquity who 
offered a reward for a new pleasure' Perhaps all 
nature and art could not supply a new idea. This 
page, for instance, is a brilliant one; it is full ot 
wit. But let us see how much is original. This 
passage," continued his lordship, "comes from 
Shakspeare; this bon mot from one of Sheridan's 
comedies; this observation from another writer; 
and yet the ideas are new moulded, and perhaps 
Scott was not aware of their being plagiarisms. It 
is a bad thing to have a good memory. " '< I should 
not like to have you fur a critic," observed cap- 
tain Medwin. " Set a thief to catch a thief," was 
the reply. 

On the death of the illustrious Byron, sir Wal- 
ter Scott evinced his candour and liberality of mind 
inthefoUowing tribute to his lordship's niemor)': — 

" That mighty genius, wliich walked amongst 
men as something superior to ordinary mortality, 
and whose powers were beheld with wonder, and 
sometliing approaching to terror, as if we knew 
not whether they were of good or of evil, is laid 
as soundly to rest as the j)Oor peasant whose ideas 
never went beyond his daily task. The voice of 
just blame; and tliat of malignant censure, are at 
once silenced; and we feel almost as if the great 
luminary of heaven had suddenly disappeared from 
the sky, at the moment when every telescope was 
levelled for the examination of the spots which 
dimmed its brightness. It is not now the question 
what were Byi-on's faults — what his mistakes: but 
how is the blank which he has left in British lite- 
rature to be filled up? Not, we fear, in one gene- 
ration, which, among many highly-gifted persons, 
has produced none who approach Byron in origi- 
nality, the first attribute of genius. Only thirty-se- 
ven years old — so much already done for immor- 
tality — so much time remaining, as it seems to us 
sliort-sighted mortals, to maintain and to extend 
his fame, and to atone for errors in conduct and 
levities in composition: who will not grieve that 
such a race has been shortened, though not always 
keeping the strait path — such a light extinguished, 
thougii sometimes flaming to dazzle and to bewil- 
der? One word on this ungrateful subject ere we 
quit it for ever. 

" The errors of lord Byron arose neither from 
depravity of heart, — for Nature had not committed 
the anomaly of uniting to such extraordinary ta- 
lents an imperfect moral sense, — nor from feelings 
dead to the admiration of virtue. No man had 
ever a kinder heart for sympathy, or a more open 
hand for the relief of distress; and no mind was 
ever more formed for the enthusiastic admiration 
of noble actions, provided he was convinced that 
the actors had proceeded on disinterested princi- 
ples. But his wonderful genius was of a nature 
which disdained restraint, even when restraint was 
most wholesome. When at school, tlic tasks in 
wliicli he excelled were those only winch he un- 
d(;rtook voluntarily; and his situation as a young 
man of rank, with strong passions, and in the un- 
controlled enjoyment of considerable fortune, add- 
ed to lliat im]iatience of strictness or coercion 
whicli was natural to him as an aulhurj he refused 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



to plead at the bar of criticism. As a man, he 
would not submit to be morally amenable to the 
tribunal of public opinion. Remonstrances from a 
friend, of whose intentions and kindness he was se- 
cure, had often gveat weight with him; bu( tli(-re 
■were few who could venture on a task so diflitult. 
Reproof he endured witli impatience, and reproach 
hardened him in his error; so that he often resem- 
bled the gallant war-steed, who rushes forward on 
the steel that wounds him. In the most painful cri- 
sis of his private life, he evinced this irritability 
and impatience of censure in such a degree, as al- 
most to resemble the noble victim of the bull-fight, 
which is more maddened by the squibs, darts, and 
petty annoyances of the unworthy crowds beyond 
the lists, than by the lance of his nobler, and (so 
to speak) his more legitimate antagonist. In a word, 
much of that in which he erred was in bravado and 
scorn of his censors, and was done witii the mo- 
tive of Dryden's despot, ' to show his arbitrary 
power.' It is needless to say that his was a false 
and prejudicial view of such a contest; and if the 
noble bard gained a sort of triumph, by compel- 
ling the world to read poetry, thougli mixed with 
baser matter, because it was his, lie gave in return 
an unworthy triumph to tUe unworthy, beside 
deep sorrow to tiiose whose applause, in Lis cool- 
er moments, he most valued. 

" It was the same wiili his politics, wliich on 
several occasions assumed a tone menacing and 
contemptuous to the constitution of his country; 
while, in fact, he was in his own heart sufficiently 
sensible, not only of his privileges as a Briton, but 
of the distinction attending liis high birth and rank, 
and was peculiarly sensitive of those shades wiiicli 
constitute what is termed the marmers of a gentle- 
man. Indeed, notwithstanding his having employ- 
ed epigrams, and all the petty war of wit, when 
such would have been much better abstained from, 
he would have been found, had a collision taken 
place between the different parties in the state, 
exerting all iiis energies in defence of that to whicli 
he naturally belonged. 

" We are not Byron's apologists, for now, alas! 
he needs none. His excellencies will now be uni- 
versally acknowledged, and his faults (let us hope 
and believe) not remembered in his epitaph. It 
will be recollected m hat a part lie has sustained 
in Britisli literature since the first appearance of 
Childe Harold, a space of nearly sixteen years. 
There has been no reposing under tiie shade of 
his laurels, no living upon the resource of past re- 
putation; none of those petty precautions which 
little authors call taking care of their fame. Byron 
let his fame take care of itself. His foot was always 
in the arena, his sliield liung always in the lists; 
and although his own gigantic renown increased 
the difficulty of tlie struggle, since he could pro- 
duce nothing, liovvever great, wliich exceeded the 
public estimate of liis genius, yet he advanced to 
the lionourable contest again and again, and came 
always offwilh distinction, almost always with com- 
plete triumph. As various in composition as Shak- 
speare himself (this will be admitted by all who 
are acquainted with his Don Juan,) he has era- 
braced every topic in human life, and sounded every 
string on the divine harp, from its slightest to its 
most powerful and heart-astounding tones. There 
is scarce a passion or a situation which has escajied 
his pen; and he might be drawn, like Garrick, be- 
tween the weeping and tlie laughiug muse, although 
his most powerful efforts have ceitainly been dedi- 



cated to Melpomene. His genius seemed as proli- 
fic as various. The most prodigal use did not ex- 
haust his powers, but seemed rather to increase 
their vigour. NeitJier Childe Harold, nor any of 
tlie most beautiful of his earlier tales, contain more 
exquisite morsels of poetry than are to be found 
scattered thi-otigh the cantos of Don Juan, amidst 
verses which he appears to have throw n off with 
an effort as spontaneous as that of a tree resigning 
its leaves to the wind. But that noble tree will 
never more bear fruit or blossom ! It has been cut 
down in its strength, and the past is all that re- 
mains to us of Byron. We can scarce reconcile 
ourselves to the idea — scarce think that the voice 
is silent forevei', which, bursting so often on our 
ear, was often heard with rapturous admiration, 
sometimes with regret, but always with the deep- 
est interest: 

All tliat's bright iTiu?t fade, 
Tlie Iniglitost still the fleetest. 
" With a strong feeling of awful sorrow, we take 
leave of the subject. Death creeps uiion our most 
serious as well as upon our most idle employments; 
and it is a reflection solemn and gratifying, that he 
found our Byron in no moment of le\ity, but con- 
tributing h.is fortune, and hazarding his life, in be- 
half of a people only endeared to him by their past 
glories, and as fellow-creatures suffering under the 
yoke of a heathen oppressor. To have fallen in a 
crusade for freedom and humanity, as in olden 
times, it would have been an atonement for the 
blackest crimes, and may in the present be allow- 
ed to expiate greater follies than even exaggerated 
calumny has propagated against Byron." 

The first person on whom his majesty George 
IV conferred a baronetage, was sir Walter Scott; 
and in August, 182'i, wlien the king honoured 
Edinburgh with a visit, sir Walter acted as crou- 
pier, or vice-president, at a dinner given by the 
lord Provost and corporation, to the royal guest. 
In tlie summer of 1825, sir Walter paid a visit to 
Ireland, where he was most hospitably received by 
the sonsof the Shamrock. During liis stay in Dub- 
lin he frequently visited the library adjoining St. 
Patrick's cathedral; on one of these occasions the 
deputy librarian, who happened to be a collegian^ 
having got into conversation with the (^then) 
" Great unknown," wished to take him by sur- 
prise, and thereby prove his own dexterity. With 
this view he exclaimed, " Oh, sir Walter, tloyou 
know that it was only lately I have had time to get 
through j-our Redgauntlet. " " Sir," replied sir 
Walter, " I never met with such a book." The 
librarian stood rebuked, and said nothing. 

As sir Walter and a friend were one day slowly 
sauntering along the High-street, Edinburgh, their 
ears were saluted by the cries of an Italian vender 
of images, who, in broken English, was extolling 
his brittle ware to excite custom. The chief bur- 
then of the itinerant merchant's song, however, 
was the bust of (k Grate Unknoxun, wliich he de- 
clared to be a perfect likeness. He now offered 
his wares to the inspection of our two gentlemen, 
still dwelling upon " de Grate unknown," as de 
" most parfaite likeness of de wonderful original 
himself." The friend of sir Walter desired him 
to look at the features of the latter, when the poor 
fellow, in an ecstasy of joy, exclaimed, "'tis he, 
'tis de grand unknown ! I make my most profits 
by him, and I will beg him to take von, two, tree 
images, all vat he like, for not any ting." 
The following lively description of sir Walter's 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



personal appearance was written by a gentleman 
who visited Edinburgh about two years ago: — 

" My departure from ■ was so sudden, that 

I had no time to seek letters of introduction; and 
the Scotch ai-e not naturally fond of introductions 
which only give them trouble; but I had resolved 
upon seeing sir Walter Scott before I left Edin- 
burgh, and, had Constable been open, 1 could have 
been at no loss, but his door was unfortunately 
shut. I contrived, however, to get an introduction 

to Mr. , the historical painter, with whom I 

knew the poet was acquainted, and with whom it 
appears he spends many an hour, but I was just 
thirty minutes too late ! Sir Walter had been there, 
had told the painter some anecdotes which he as- 
sured me threw him into convulsions, and that he 
had been laughing ever since; and 1 believed him, 
for he was hardly out of a convidsion when I en- 
tered. Disappointed — I proceeded to the parlia- 
ment-house (where sir Walter sits as chief clerk 
to the lord commissioners,) and as soon as I found 
out my way into court, I had the good luck to find 
the object of my pursuit. 1 needed no monitor to 
point iiim out — I knew him instantly. I had never 
seen liim before in my life; but I had read some of 
his works, and, from the pictorial and ideal togeth- 
er, I had formed in my mind his face exactl)' — and 
had I seen him hobbling in his favourite « Prince's- 
street,' I sliould have known him to be sir Walter 
Scott. 1 pushed on to the advocates' bench (a place 
reserved exclusively for the advocates,) to be as 
near him as possible — there I had no right to be, 
certainly, but, much to the ci-edit of Scotch'man- 
ners, they saw 1 was a stranger — knew no better — 
and they suffered me to remain. On first behold- 
ing sir W. Scott, I felt all the veneration which is 
<lue to the good and the great. 1 confess I could 
have knelt down and worshipped him, though to 
man I never bent a knee. I shall endeavour to de- 
scribe his person — he is tall, five feet ten or eleven 
inches, rather stout than otherwise, but not corpu- 
lent — appears to be about sixty — is healthy, but 
lamed in one of his legs, and walks with difficulty. 
His hair is pure white, and, falling thinly over his 
ruddy forehead, gives him a venerable aspect. You 
might fancy him the ' Village Preacher' of Oliver 
Goldsmith, and his costume heightens the resem- 
blance. His complexion is ruddy. His head is 
singularly formed; uncommonly high from the eye- 
brows to the crown, and tapers upwards, some- 
what in tlie conical form, but tiiere is no projec- 
tion of forehead, the bump which philosophers lay 
so much stress upon as being a sign of great intel- 
lect. His eyes are small, and 1 tliink dark-blue — 
you can seldom catch their expression, on account 
of the great projection of the eye-brows; but when 
you do, the look is divine; tiiey express a mine of 
intellect, and a kind heart. 1 wonder many who 
have seen him sa)', his countenance is expressive 
of ' shrewd cunning' — there is no cunning in his 
looks — nothing but goodness and genius. His 
manners are prepossessing, and he is very acces- 
sible. I perceived, whenever an advocate or law- 
man came to speak with him, he took liim kind- 
ly by the hand — and then looked so kindly. The 
Scotch venerate him, as well they may: — ' suum 
magnum ingenium honorem illis facit.' I gazed 
on liiis extraordinary man until his image was 
indeliblj' engraven on my organs of vision; and, 
were I a portrait painter, I could now paint his 
likeness from recollection. Observing I was a 
stranger, placed in the advocates' seat, and no 



advocate, and appearing, I have no doubt, very 
curious, he gazed upon me — we looked at each 
other, like poor Sterne and the fair glover, for some 
time — it was curiosity ia me, but condescension in 
him." 

It is not generally known that there was a poet 
of the name of Walter Scott, before the present 
celebrated bard. He lived about the middle of the 
seventeenth century, and describes himself as 

An old souklier and no scholler; 
And one that can write none 
But just the letters of his name. 

On the death of his grandfather, sir Robert Scott, 
of Thirlstone, his father, having no means to bring 
up his children, put this Waller to attend cattle in 
tlie field; " but," says he, " I gave them the short 
cut at last, and left the kine in the corn; and ever 
since that time, I have continued a souklier abroad 
and at home." He left a poem written at the age 
of seventy-three, dedicated to two gentlemen of 
the name of Scott, which he thus concludes: 

Begone my book, stretch forth thy wings and fly, 

Amongst the nobles and gentility; 

Thou"rt not to sell to scavengers and clowns. 

But given to worthy persons of renown. 

The number's few I've printed, in regard 

My charges have been great, and I hope reward; 

I caused not to print many .above twelve score. 

And the printers are engaged that they shall print no more. 

Lately at a private dinner-party, sir Walter 
Scott, Mr. H. Mackenzie,* and Mr. Alisonf hap- 
pened to be present. In taking their seats, sans 
ceremome, the baronet found himself placed be- 
tween these two illustrious individuals. The re- 
lative position of these three celebrated characters 
soon attracted the attention of a gentleman present, 
who exclaimed — ' 

Our host hath his guests most happily placed; 
See Genius supported by Feeling and Taste, 

We know of no species of composition so de- 
lightful as that which presents us with personal 
anecdotes of eminent men; and if its greatest charm 
be in the gratification of our curiosity, it is a cu- 
riosity, at least, that has its origin in enthusiasm. 
We are anxious to know all that is i)ossible to be 
known of those who have an iionoured place in pub- 
lic opinion. It is not merely that every circumstance 
derives a value from the person to whom it relates; 
but an apparently insignificant anecdoteoften throws 
an entirely new light on the history of the most 
admired works: the most noble actions, intellectual 
discoveries, or brilliant deeds, though they shed 
a broad and lasting lustre round those who have 
achieved them, occupy but a small portion of the 
life of an individual; and we are not unwilling to 
penetrate the dazzling glory, and to see how the 
remaining intervals are filled up — to look into the 
minor details, to detect incidental foibles, and to 
be satisfied what qualities tliey have in common 
witli ourselves, as well as distinct from us, entitled 
to our pity, or raised above our imitation. The 
heads of great men, in sliort, are not all we want 
to get a sight of; we wish to add the limbs, the 
drapery, the back-ground. It is thus that, in the 
intimacy of retirement, we enjoy with them " calm 
contemplation and poetic ease." We see the care- 
less smile play upon their expressive features; we 
hear the dictates of unstudied wisdom, or the sal- 
lies of sportive wit fall without disguise from their 

* The celebrated author of the " Man of Feeling." 
t Author of "Essays on the Nature and Prmciples of 
1 Taste." 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



lips; we see, in fine, how poets, and philosophers, 
and scholars, live, converse, and btliave. With 
these sentiments, our readers will not be surprised 
at our introducing here the following literary and 
miscellaneous dialogue, translated from the tour 
of an eminent foreigner. 

" Sir W. Scott. — ' Well, doctor, how did yon 
like the banks of the Tweed and Melrose Abbey?' 

Dr. Picuot. — ' They are worthy of tlie bard 
who has sung them. I, besides, paid a visit to Ab- 
botsford, and surveyed with interest your Gothic 
sculptures, your armoury, and pictures, some of 
which are speaking representations. I shall now 
re-peruse, with double pleasure, the Lay of the 
Last Minstrel, and your other works.' 

Siu Walter Scott. — ' Are you ac(|uainted with 
tiie Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border'' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' A great part of it; but more es- 
pecially with your own imitations of the old border 
ballads. It was, 1 believe, your first publication?' 

Sir Walter Scott. — ' Not exactly. I made 
my debut in 1799, with an imitation of some bal- 
lads of Uiirger, and a translation of thechivalresque 
drama of Giethe, Goetz von Bcrlichingen. These 
essays procured me the ac(iuaintance of the famous 
Lewis, author of the Monk, and surnamed Monk 
Lewis, lie was a very agreeable man, whose ima- 
gination was particularly fond of the supernatural, 
and of popular suptrsiitions. I read to him my 
Eve of St. John and Glenfinlas; and he requested 
my permission to insert these two poems in his 
Tales of Wonder.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' I should apprehend that the 
Monk of Lewis is a little out oifasliion.' 

Sir Walter Scott. — •' It is a work written with 
power. It produced an effect, although it came 
after the romances of Mrs. RadclifFe. Like the 
latter, Lewis chose the south as tiie seat of his ac- 
tion: in a southern atmosphere, passions as well as 
vegetation have more energy; passion is wanted in 
works of this kind. The marvellous alone will 
not suffice fur so sceptical an age as this. I should 
have liked Mrs. Radcliffe more, if she had been 
less an.vious about the explanation of her mysteries. 
Lewis wrote as if he believed.' 

Dr. Picuot. — ' Miglit not Mrs. RadclifFe, as a 
woman, be in dread of passing for superstitious?' 

Sir Walter Scott. — ' It may be so. Her wofks, 
compared with the common novel, are what melo- 
(U-ames are, co\npared witii tragedies and come- 
dies. Terror is their chief spring of action. But 
there are some good melo-drames. Walpole cre- 
ated the melo-dramalic romance; but Mrs. Rad- 
cliffe surpassed Walpole. Lewis and Maturinhave 
alone come near Mrs. Radcliffe. The Montorio 
Family is a very astonishing work.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' Was your Goetz von Berlich- 
ingen published at Edinburgh?' 

Sir Walter Scott. — ' No, I publislied it at 
London, where I then was. It is from the same 
epoch that my acquaintance witii Messrs. Canning 
and Frere commenced.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' You have contributed to transfer 
a portion of the English bookselling business to 
Edinburgh.' 

Sir Walter Scott. — ' Authors doubtless make 
publislicrs; but Mr. Archibald Constable has done 
much for Scotch autliorship. ' 

Dr. Pichot.— ' Scotland has always supplied 
great men to the literary republic' 

Sir Walter .Scott. — ' The patriarch of our 
authors is iVIr. Henry Mackenzie, who knew Hume 



and Robertson intimately. In his life of John 
Home, he has charmingly described the literary 
society of Edinburgh during the second half of the 
last century. He is a poet and I'omance-writer; a 
poet in versification, and a poet also in his prose 
fictions; indeed, it is difticult for a good romance- 
writer not to be so in some degree. He is an inge- 
nious critic in his periodical essays (the Mirror and 
Lounger,) and a pathetic author in his novels. 
There is a little of Sterne's manner in his Man of 
Feeling; the pathos of Julia de Roubigne is more 
natural and pure.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' Scotland continues to enrich 
English literature with its best works. Thomas 
Campbell is a Scotchman.' 

Sir Walter Scott. — ' A Scotchman and a 
great poet. Lord Byron is also a little Scotch.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' May I ask you on what terras 
you are?' 

Sir Walter Scott. — '1 received a letter from 
him yesterday. We are in correspondence, and 
tliat of an amicable and intimate description.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' He has scoffed a little at Scot- 
land.' 

Sir W^alter Scott. — ' The Edinburgh Re- 
view went much too far. Lord Byron is verv irri- 
table.' 

Dr. PicnoT. — ' I saw the portrait of Mr. Jeffrey 
at Abbotsford. 1 presume you are friendl}'.' 

Sir Walter Scott. — 'Yes; he is one of our 
literary notables, and a distinguished barrister.' 

Dr. Pichot. — ' Have you also appeared at the 
bar?' • 

Sir W^^lter Scott. — ' Like all youna; barris- 
ters, I have pleaded on criminal trials.' 

" I shall here add, from the authority of Mr. 
Lockhart, that sir Walter, when called to the bar, 
at the age of twenty-one, gave but few testimonies 
of his talent. He once, however, had an opportu- 
nity of speaking before the General Assembly, and 
the (juestion having suddenly kindled his powers, 
he expressed himself with a flood of eloquence. 
The famous Dr. Blair was present, and said aloud, 
' This young barrister will be a great man.' 

" I resume our dialogue. Dr. Pichot. — ' You 
quitted pleading for a judicial situation.' 

Sir Walter Scott. — ' 1 was not appointed clerk 
of the Court of Session till after I had published 
Marmion. I was already sheriff of Selkirksiiire.' 

" Lady Scott entered the drawing-room, and laid 
a box on the table, which she opened, and sliowed 
to Mr. Crabbe, and then to me: tliis box contained 
a kind of cockade or St. Andrew's cross, composed 
of pearls and precious stones found on the coast of 
Scotland. 

LAnr Scott. — ' It is a St. Andrew's cross, which 
the ladies of Scotland have commissioned sir Wal- 
ter to present to his majesty before he alights. It 
is the work of a lady of high rank and great beau- 
ty.' 

" I naturally admired the cross, the pearls, and 
the delicacy of the workmanship. Two children 
now entered; one the youngest son of sir Walter, 
and the other, I believe, a brother of Mr. Lock- 
hart; 'those are his m.ajesty's two pages,' said 
lady Scott to me; and she explained to me that they 
would be pages only during the residence of the 
king at Edinburgh. I asked sir Walter if he had 
not another son; and he replied, that he had a son 
twenty years of age, a lieutenant in the army." 

The late dreadful crisis in tlie commercial world, 
which began with the bunkers and ended with the 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, 



booksellers, caused the failure of the house of 
Constable and Co. of Edinburgh, who were not 
only ilie publishers of our author's works, but 
with whom he was associated in business, as a 
sleeping partner. This disastrous event necessari- 
ly ren)0ve(l the thin veil which had hitherto con- 
cealed the " Great Unknown" from the full gaze 
of an admiring public. The avowal of sir Walter 
himself was made at the Edinburgh Theatrical 
Fund Dinner, the details of which, from their pe- 
culiar interest in i-elation to the subject of this 
sketch, we are bound to lay fully before our rea- 
ders. 

"The first Annual Dinner of the Edinburgh 
Theatrical Fund was held yesterda}- (24th P'eb. 
182",) in the Assembly rooms, sir Walter Scott 
in the chair; and near wliom sat the eai-1 of Fife, 
lord Meadowbank, sir John Hope of Pinkie, bart., 
admiral Adam, baron Clerk Rattray, Gilbert Ju- 
nes, esq., James Walker, esq., Robert Dundas, 
esq., Alexander Smith, esq., 8ic. 

" After dinner tiie usual toasts were given, when 
the chairman, in an appro])riate speech, proposed 
the memory of his late royal highness the duke of 
York. — Drank in solemn silence. 

"The chairman (Sir Walter Scott) then re- 
quested that gentlemen would fill a bumper, as full 
as it would hold, while he would sa)- only a few 
words. He was in the habit of hearing speeches, 
and he knew the feeling w ith which long ones were 
regarded. He was sure tiiat it was perfectly unne- 
cessary for him to enter into anj' vindication of 
the dramatic art, which they had come here to 
support. This, h()we\er, he considered to be the 
proper time and proper occasion for him to say a 
few words on that love of representation which 
was an innate feeling in human nature. It was the 
first amusement that the child had — it grew great- 
er as he grew up; and, even in the decline of life, 
nothing amused so much as when a common tale 
is well told. The first thing a child does is to ape 
his schoolmaster, by flogging a chair. It was an 
enjoj'ment natural to liumanity. It was implanted 
in our verj' nature, to take pleasure from such re- 
presentations, at proper times, and on pi-oper occa- 
sions. In all ages the theatrical art had kept pace 
with the imi)rovement of mankind, and with the 
progress of letters and the line arts. As he has ad- 
vanced from the ruder stages of society, the love of 
dramatic representations has increased, and all 
works of this nature have been improved, in cha- 
racter and in structure. 'I'hey had only to turn 
their eyes to the historj' of ancient Greece, al- 
though he did not pretend to be very deeplj' 
versed in ancient history. Its first tragic poet 
commanded a body of troops at ■Marathon. The 
second and next were men who shook Athens 
with their discourses, as tlieir theatrical works 
shook the theatre itself. If they turned to France, 
in the time of Lewis the fourteenth, that era in the 
classical history of that country, they would find 
that it was referred to by all Frenchmen as the 
golden age of the drama there. And also iu En- 
gland, in the time of queen Elizabeth, the drama 
began to mingle lieeplj' and wisely in the general 
politics of Europe, not only not receiving laws 
from ollicrs, but giving laws to the world, and vin- 
dicating tlic rights of niankind. (Cheers.) There 
have been various liiin.s when the dramatic art 
subsequently fi-11 into disiepulc. Its professors have 
been stigmatised, and laws iiave been passed against 
tliem, less dishonourable to them than to the states- 



men by whom they were passed, and to the legis- 
lators by whom they were adopted. What w'ere 
the times in wbicli these laws were passed? Was 
it not when virtue was seldom inculcated as a mo- 
ral duty, that we were recjuired to relinquish the 
most rational of all our amusements, wiien the 
clergy were enjoined celibacv, and when the laitv 
were denied the right to read their bibles. He 
thought that it must have been from a notion of 
penance that they erected the drama into an ideal 
place of profaneness, and the tent of sin. He did not 
mean to dispute that there were many excciknt 
persons who thought difterently from' him, and 
they were entitled'to assume that tliey were not 
guilty of any hypocrisy in doing so. He gave them 
fidl credit for their tender consciences, in making 
these objections, which did not appear to him re- 
levant to those persons, if they \vere wiiat they 
usurp themselves to be; and if ihej were persons 
of wortii and piety, he sliould crave the liberty to 
tell them, that the first )iart of their duly was cha- 
rity, and tliat if they did not choose to go to the 
theatre, they at least coidd not deny "that they 
might give away, from their superfluity, what was 
required for the relief of tlie sick, the' supi)0]t of 
the aged, and the comfort of the afflicted. These 
were duties enjoined by our religion itself. (Loud 
cheers.) The performers are in a particular man- 
ner entitled to the support or regard, when in old 
age or distress, of those who had partaken of the 
amusements of those i)laces which they render an 
ornament to society. Their art was of a peculiar- 
1)' delicate and precarious nature. They had to 
serve a long apprenticeship. It was ver\' long be- 
fore even the first-rate geniuses could acquire the 
mechanical knowledge of the stage business. They 
must languish long in obscurity before they can 
avail themselves of their natural talents; and'after 
that, they have but a short space of time, during 
which they are fortunate if they can provide the 
means of comfort in the decline of life. That comes 
late, and lasts but a short time, after which they 
are left dependent. Their limbs fail, their teeth 
are loosened, their voice is lost, and they are left, 
after giving happiness to others, in a most discon- 
solate state. I'iie public w ere liberal and generous 
to tliose deserving ti)cir protection. It was a sad 
thing to be dependent on the favour, or, he might 
say, in plain terms, oti tlie caprice of llie public; 
and this more particularly for a class of per.sons 
of w horn extreme pruilence is not the character. 
There might be instances of opportunities being 
neglected; but let them tax themselves, and con- 
sider tlie opportunities they had neglected, and 
the sums of money they had wasted ; let eveiy gen- 
tleman look into his own bosom, aiul say whether 
these were circumstances wliicii would soften his 
own feelings, where he to be plunged into distress. 
He put it to every generous bosom — to every better 
feeling — to say what consolation was it to old age 
to be told that you might have niaile provision at 
a time wbicli had been neglected — (loud cheers) 
— and to find it objected, that if you had pleased 
you might have been wealthy. He had hitherto 
been Speaking of what, in theatrical language, 
were called stars, but the)' wore somelimes fallen 
ones. There was another class of suiVerers natu- 
I'ally and necessarily connected with the theatre, 
without w-hom it was ini|)ossible to go on. The 
sailors have a saying, every man cannot be a boat- 
swain. If there must be persons to act Hamlet, 
thei-e must also be jieople to ."^ct Laertes the King, 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern, otherwise a drama 
cannot go on. If even Garrick himself were to rise 
from the dead, he couhl not act Hamlet alone. 
There must be g;enerals, colonels, commanding-of- 
ficers, and subalterns; but what are the private sol- 
diers to doi" Many have mistaken their own talents, 
and have been driven in early youth to try the stage, 
to which they are not comY)etent. He would know 
■what to say to the poet and the artist. He would 
say that it was foolish, and he would recommend 
to the poet to become a scribe, and the artist to 
paint signrposts — (lond langhter.) — But he could 
not send the player adrift, for if he cannot play 
Hamlet, he must play Guildenstern. Where there 
are many labourers wages must be low, and no 
man in such a situation can decently support a wife 
and family, and save something off his income for 
old age. VVhat is this man to do in latter life? 
Are you to cast him off like an old hinge, or a 
pieceofuselessraachinery, which hasdone its work? 
To a person who has contributed to our amuse- 
ment, this would be unkind, ungrateful, and un- 
christian. His wants are not of liis own making, 
but arise from the natural sources of sickness and 
old age. It cannot be denied that there is one class 
of sufferers to whom no imprudence can be ascrib- 
ed, except on first entering on the profession. Af- 
ter putting his hand to the dramatic plough, he 
cannot draw back, but must continue at it, and 
toil till death release him, or charity, by its milder 
assistance, steps in to render tliat want more tolera- 
ble. He had little more to say, except that lie sin- 
cerely hoped that the collection to-day, from the 
number of respectable gentlemen present, would 
meet the views entertained by the patrons. He 
hoped it would do so. They should not be dis- 
heartenefl. Though they could not do a great deal, 
they might do something. They had this consola- 
tion, that every thing they parted with from their 
superfluity would do some good. They would sleep 
the better themselves when they have been the 
means of giving sleep to others. It was ungrateful 
and unkind, that those who had sacrificed their 
youth to our amusement should not recive the re- 
ward due to them, but should be reduced to hard 
fare in their old age. We cannot think of poor 
Falstaff going to bed without his cup of sack, or 
Macbeth fed on bones as marrowless as those of 
Banquo — (loud cheers and langhter.) As he be- 
lieved that they were all as fond of the dramatic 
art as he was in his younger days, he would pro- 
pose that they should drink' The Theatrical Fund,' 
with thee times three. 

" Mr. Macicay rose on behalf of his brethren, 
to return their thanks for the toast just drunk. 
After ably advocating the cause of the Fund, he 
concluded by tendering to the meeting, in the name 
of his brethren and sisters, their unfeigned thanks 
for their liberal support, and begged to propose 
the healtli of the Patrons of the Edinburgh Theat- 
rical Fund. (Cheers.) 

" Lord Mkadowbaivk begged to propose a 
health, which, in an assembly of Scotsmen, would 
be received, not with an ordinary feeling of delight, 
but with rapture and entliusiasra. — He knew that 
it would be painful to liis feelings if he were to 
speak to him in the terms which his heart prompt- 
ed; and that he liad siieltered himself under his 
native modesty from ttie applause which he de- 
served. Hut it was gratifying at last to know that 
these clouds were now dispelled, and that the 
Great Unknown — the mighty magician — (here the 



room literally rung with applauses, which were 
continued for some minutes) — the minstrel of our 
country, who had conjured up, not the phantoms 
of departed ages, but realities, now stands revealed 
before the eyes and affections of his country. In 
his presence it would ill become iiim, as it would 
be displeasing to that distinguished person, to say, 
if he were able, what ever}' man must feel, who 
recollects the enjoyment he has had from the great 
efforts of his mind and genius. It lias been left for 
him, by his writings, to give his country an imper- 
ishable name. He had done more for his country, 
by illuminating its annals, by illustrating the deeds 
of its warriors and statesmen, than any man that 
ever existed, or was produced, within its territory. 
He has opened up the peculiar beauties of this 
country to the eyes of foreigners. He has exhibited 
the deeds of those patriots and statesmen to whom 
we owe the freedom we now enjoy. He would give 
the health of sir Walter Scott, which was drunk 
with enthusiastic cheering. 

" Sir Walter Scott certainly did not think 
that, in coming here to-day, he would have the 
task of acknowledging, before three inmdred gen- 
tlemen, a secret which, considering that it was 
communicated to more than twenty people, was 
remarkably well kept. He was now before the bar 
of his country, and might be understood to be on 
trial before lord Meadow bank as an offender; yet 
he was sure that every impartial jury would bring 
in a verdict of Not Proven. He did not now think 
it necessary to enter into the reasons of his long 
silence. Perhaps lie might have acted from ca- 
price. He had now to saj", howevei", that the me- 
rits of these works, if they had any, I'.iid their faults, 
were entirely imputable to himself (Long and 
loud cheering. ) He was afraid to think on what he 
had done. ' Look on't again 1 dare not.' He had 
thus far unbosomed himself, and he knew that it 
would be reported to the public. He meant, when 
he said that he was the author, that he was the to- 
tal and undivided author. With the exception of 
quotations, there was not a single word that was 
not derived from himself, or suggested in the course 
of his reading. The wand was now broken, and 
the rod buried. You will allow me further to say, 
with Prospero, 'Tis your breath that has filled my 
sails; and to crave one single toast in the capacity 
of the author of these novels; and he would dedi- 
cate a bumper to the health of one who has repre- 
sented some of those characters, of which he had 
endeavoured to give the skeleton, with a degree of 
liveliness which rendered him grateful. He would 
propose the health of his fi-iend Baillie Nicol Jar- 
vie — (loud applause,) — and he was sure, tliat when 
the author of VVaverley and Rob Roy drinks to 
Nicol Jarvie, it would be received with that de- 
gree of applause to wliich that gentleman has al- 
ways been accustomed, and that they would take 
care that, on the present occasion, it should be 
PRoniaious! (Long and vehement apjilause.) 

" Mr. Mackat, who spoke with great humour 
in the character of Bailiie Jarvie. — iMy conscience ! 
My worthy father the deacon could not have be- 
lieved that his son could hae had sic a compliment 
paid to him by the Great Unknown. 

" Sir Walter Scott. — Not unknown now, Mr. 
Baillie. 

" Mr. Mackay. — He had been long indentified 
with the Baillie, and he was now vain of the cog- 
nomen which he had worn for eight years, and he 
questioned if any of his brethren in the council 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, 



had given such universal satisfaction. (Loud laugh- 
ter and applause.) Before he sat down lie begged 
to propose, ' the lord Provost and the city of Edin- 
burgh.' 

"Mr. Pat. Robeutson gave * Mrs. Henry Sid- 
dons, and success to the Theatre- Royal of Edin- 
burgh.' 

" Mr. Muuhat returned thanks for Mrs. Sid- 
dons. 

" Sir Walter Scott here stated, that Mrs. 
Siddons wanted the means, but not the will, of be- 
ginning the Theatrical Fund. He here alluded to 
the great ability of Mr. Murray's management, 
and of liis merits, which were of the first order, 
and of which every person who attends the thea- 
tre must be sensible; and, after alluding to the em- 
barrassments with which the Theatre was threat- 
ened, he concluded by giving the health of Mr. 
Murray, which was drank with three times three. 

" Mr. MuuiiAT — Gentlemen, I wish I could be- 
lieve that, in any degree, 1 merited the compli- 
ments with which it has pleased sir Walter Scott 
to preface the proposal of my health, or the very 
flattering manner in which you have done me the 
honour to receive it. When, upon the death of 
my dear brother, the late Mr. Siddons, it was pro- 
posed that I should undertake the management of 
the Edinburgh theatre, 1 confess I drew back, 
doubting my capability to free it from the load of 
debt and difficulty with which it was surrounded. 
In this state of anxiety 1 solicited the advice of one 
who had ever honoured me with his kindest re- 
gard, and whose name no member of ray profes- 
sion can pronounce without feelings of the deepest 
respect and gratitude — I allude to the late Mr. 
John Kemble. (Great applause. ) To him 1 ap- 
plied; and with the repetition of his advice 1 shall 
cease to transgress upon your time. (Hear, hear.) 
* My dear William, fear not; integrity and assi- 
duity must prove an overmatch for all difficulty, 
and thougli I approve your not indulging a vain 
confidence in your own ability, and viewing with 
respectful apprehension the judgment of the au- 
dience you have to act before, yet be assured that 
judgment will ever be tempered by feeling that 
you are acting for the widow and fatherless.' (Loud 
applause. ) 

" Mr. J. Maconochie gave « the health of Mrs. 
Siddons.' 

" Sir W. Scott said, that if any thing could re- 
concile him to old age, it was the reflection that 
he had seen the rising as well as the setting sun 
of Mrs. Siddons. He remembered well their break- 
fasting near to the theatre — waiting the whole day 
— tlie crushing at the doors at six o'clock — and 
their going in and counting their fingers till seven 
o'clock. But the very first step, the very first word 
which she uttered, was sufficient to overpay him 
for all his labours. The house was literally elec- 
trified; and it was only from witnessing the effects 
of her genius, that he could guess to what a pitch 
theatrical excellence could be carried. Those 
young fellows who have only seen the setting sun 
of this distinguished performer, beautiful and se- 
rene as that was, must give us old fellows, who 
have seen its rise, leave to hold our heads a little 
higher. 

" Mr. Mackat announced that the subscription 
for the night amounted to 280/. ; and he expressed 
gratitude for this substantial proof of their kind- 
ness. 



" Mr. Mackat here entertained the company 
with a pathetic song. 

" Sir W. Scott apologized for having so long 
forgotten their native land. He would now give 
Scotland, the hind of cakes. He would give every 
river, every loch, every hill, from Tweed to John- 
nie Groat's house — every lass in her cottage and 
countess in her castle; and may her sons stand by 
her, as their fathers did before them, and he who 
would not drink a bumper to his toast, may he 
never drink whiskey more. 

" Sir W. Scott — Gentlemen, I crave a bumper 
all over. The last toast reminds me of a neglect 
of duty. Unaccustomed to a public duty of this 
kind, errors in conducting the ceremonial of it 
may be excused, and omissions pardoned. Per- 
haps I have made one or two omissions in the 
course of the evening, for which I trust you will 
grant me your pardon and indulgence. One thing 
in particular I have omitted, and 1 would now wish 
to make amends for it by a libation of reverence 
and respect to the memory of Shakspeare. He was 
a man of universal genius, and from a period soon 
after his own era to the present da)' he has been 
universally idolized. When I come to his honoured 
name, I am like tlie sick man who hung up his 
crutches at the shrine, and was obliged to confess 
that he did not walk better than before. It is in- 
deed difficult, gentlemen, to compare him to any 
other individual. The only one to whom I can at 
all compare him is the wonderful Arabian dervise, 
who dived into the body of each, and in that way 
became familiar with the thoughts and secrets of 
their hearts. He was a man of obscure origin, and 
as a player, limited in his acquirements. But he 
was born evidently with a universal genius. His 
eyes glanced at all the varied aspects of life, and 
his fancy portrayed with equal talents the king on 
the throne, and the clown who cracks his chest- 
nuts at a Christmas fire. Whatever note he lakes, 
he strikes it just and true, and awakens a corre- 
sponding chord in our ow n bosoms. Gentlemen, I 
propose ' the memory of William Shakspeare.' 

" Glee, ' Lightly tread, 'tis hallow'd ground.' 

" After the glee, sir Walter rose, and begged to 
propose as a toast the health of a lady, whose living 
merits are not a little honourable to Scoiland. The 
toast (said he) is also flattering to the national 
vanity of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I intend 
to propose is a native of this country. From the 
public her works have met with the most favour- 
able reception. One piece of hers, in particular, 
was often acted here of late years, and gave plea- 
sure of no mean kind to many brilliant and fasliion- 
able audiences. In her private character, she (he 
begged leave to say) is as remarkable as in a public 
sense she is for her genius. In short, he would in 
one word name — 'Joanna Baillie.' 

" W. Menzies, esq., advocate, was sure that all 
present would cordially join him in drinking ' the 
health of Mr. Terry.'' 

"Sir W. Scott — ' Mr. Baron Clerk — the court 
of exchequer.' 

" Mr. Baron Clerk regretted the absence of his 
learned brother. None, he was sure, could be 
more generous in his nature, or ready to help a 
Scottish purpose. 

" Sir W. Scott — There is one who ought to be 
remembered on this occasion. He is indeed well 
entitled to our great recollection — one, in short, 
to whom the drama in this city owes much. He 
succeeded, not without trouble, und perhaps at 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



some considei'able sacrifice, in establishing a the- 
atre. The younger part of the company may not 
recollect the theatre to which I allude; but there 
are some who with me may remember by name 
the theatre in Carrubber's Close, There Allan 
Ramsay establisiied his little theatre. His own 
pastoral was not fit for the stage, but it has its own 
admirers in those who love the Doric language in 
which it is written; and it is not without merits of 
a very y)eculiar kind. 15ut, laying aside all con- 
siderations of his literary merit, Allan was a good 
jovial honest fellow, who could crack a bottle with 
the best. 'The memory of Allan Ramsaj'.' 

" Mr. P. lloiiERTsoN — I feel tliat I am about to 
tread on ticklish ground. The talk is of a new 
theatre, but wherever the new iheati'e may be 
erected, I trust we shall meet tiie old company. 

" Sir Walter Scott — Wherever the new thea- 
tre is built, I hope it will not be large. There are 
two errors vvhicli we commonly commit — the one 
arising from our pride, the other from our poverty. 
If there are twelve pl-ans, it is odds but the largest, 
without an)' regard to comfort, or an eye to the 
probable expense, is adopted. There was the col- 
lege projected on this scale, and undertaken in 
the same manner, and who shall see the end of it' 
It has been building all my life, and may probably 
last during the lives of my chihh'cn, and my chil- 
dren's children. Let it not be said, when we com- 
mence a new theatre, as was said on the occasion 
of laying the foundation stone of a certain building, 
' beliold the endless work begun. ' Play-going folks 
should attend somewliat to convenience. The new 
theatre should, in the first place, be such as may 
he finished in eighteen montiis or two years; and, 
in the second place, it should be one in which we 
can hear our old friends witli comfort. It is better 
tliat a theatre should be crowded now and then, 
than to have a large theatre, with benches con- 
tinually empty, to the discouragement of the actors, 
and the discomfort of the spectators. (Applause.) 
"Immediately afterwards he said, Gentlemen, 
it is now wearing late, and I shall request permis- 
sion to retire. Like Partridge, I may say, ' non 
mint qnaU.i eram.' At my time of day, [ can agree 
with lord Oglebj' as to the rheumatism, and s.ay, 
'There's a twinge.' I hope, therefore, you will 
excuse me for leaving the chair. (The worth)' 
baronet then retired, amid long, loud, and raptu- 
rous cheering.") 

" When sir VV alter had thus declared, Ji propos 
to notiiing, tliat he was tlie man who had so long 
concealed his features under the mask of tlie au- 
thor of Waverley, all the world stared, not so 
much at the luiexjiectechiess of the disclosure, for 
it was virtually well-known before, but that the 
declaration sliould be made at that particular mo- 
ment, wlien there appeared no reason for revealing 
the quasi secret. A document wliich we have l.itely 
seen, however, explains liie circumstance, and puts 
to fliglit many sage conjectures. The unfortunate 
position of tlie atfairs of Constable and Co., and 
of Ballantyne and Co., with the latter of which 
firms sir Walter Scott was connected, has rendered 
it nccessarv that their accounts should not only be 
looked into, hut exposed to the cniditors. The 
transactions recorded there show explicitly enough 
who was the author of Waverley; — W(; not only 
find sir Walter Scott receives payment for these 
works, but we lint I liim slipulalingtorllie purchase- 
money of woiks th( n >mcoiKii\ed, ai\d of yielding 
up every stiver, or its worth, which he could com- 



mand, but actually pledging future labours akin to 
former ones, for the liquidation of his debts. These, 
and a variety of other particulars are to be found 
in the excerpts of the sederunt book of the meet- 
ings of Messrs. Ballantyne's ci-editors, a copy of 
which has lately been in ])rivate circulation. Hence 
the sudden, and, it must be added, rather awkward 
avowal of the authorship on the part of sir Walter. 
As he was well aware that the circumstances would 
soon make their way through the press, he deter- 
mined to catch at some little eclat, while yet there 
was time — some little credit for disclosing that 
himself, which all the world were soon to leara 
from others. 

" These are items from the accounts. 

' Value of sir Walter Scott's literary property. 

' 1. Copyright of published works, estimated at 
the rate obtained from Constable and Co. for simi- 
lar works.* 

St. Ronan's Well .... 1,300?. 

Redgauntlet 1,300 

Crusaders 2,000 



i,600/. 



* 2. Eventual rights to works sold to Constable 
and ('o. for which bonds to the extent of 7,800/. 
are granted, but for reasons above stated, no value 
can be rated in this state. t 

' 3. Works in progress. |: As none of these are 
completed, no value put on them at present beyond 
what is before stated as due to Ballantyne and Co. 
for printing works in progress, and on the value 
of Messrs. Constable and Co. 's paper on hand; but 
ultimately will be very valuable. See Appendix 
as to these works. 

" In the debtor and creditor account of Consta- 
ble and Co. with Ballantyne and Co., the following 
item occurs on tlie credit side: — Sums advanced 
by Constable and Co. to sir Walter Scott, being 
their two-third shares of sums stipulated to be 
paid in advance for two works of fiction not named, 
and not yet written, as per missives, dated 7th and 
20th March, 1 S23. 

"These works being undelivei'ed, it is consi- 
dered the author has an undoubted right to retain 
them,§ and impute the sums paid to account in 
the general balance owing to Constable and Co. 

" In Appendix, No. II, being estimates of funds 
that may accrue to Ballantyne and Co. within a 
year, occur several curious particulars relative (o 
Woodstock and the Life of Napoleon Bonaparte. 
Produce of Meiv Jl'orks by sir JFallev IScoit at 

present in the course of publication. 
1. Woodstock, 3 volumes, 9,500; L. s. d. 
shop-price 31,9. dd. boards. . . ]4,'J62 10 
Deduct one-third, to reduce to 
trade-price, and cover expenses 

of sale 4,y87 10 

Cost of paper and print- 
ing (same as Red- 
gauntlet )__^^ 

* " 'I'liis price is tliat givi;n for the subsequent editions, 
after the first of 10,000." 

t " It is a coiulilioii of (Iiese honds, that if tliey arc not 
paid, the eopyrijjius nvei-t to the author; so that, in spite 
of the failure of tlie {planters, it is supposed ihey will be 
p:ii<l." 

\ " This alludes to the Life of Napoleon." 

!j " Were the right the oilier way, it ^oiild be a veiy 
diMiiijlt matter to enforce it. An author of works of fie- 
(ioii is not to be delivered afjainst his will; a legal process 
til Ibree sir Walti'r Scott to produce a couple of novels, 
would be the Ciesareaii operation in literature." 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



Sum to cover contingen- 
cies 1,000 

8,212 10 

Remains 6,750 

Add value of copy-right, after first 
impression 1,300 

Produce of Woodstock . . . . 8,050 

2; Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 5 

vols. 8,000 copies, shop-price 

52s. 6d. boards 21,000 

Deduct one-third, as 

above 7,000 

Ditto for paper, he. . 3,706 
Ditto contingencies . 1,200 



11,906 



9,094 
Add value of copy-right after first 

edition 2,166 13 



Produce of Bonapai-te's Life . 



11,260 13 4 



3. Liter.'iry productions by sir Wal- 
ter Scott ah-eady finisbed, but 
not yet published, though in the 
course of publication, whicii may 

be safely stated at 1,000 

" At the second meeting of creditors, held 3d 
February, 1S2G, a resolution is entered, that tbe 
printing establishment should be continued, botl 
as a source of profit, and as necessary for the pub- 
lication of sir W. Scott's works; who had requested 
of .Mr. (libson to communicate, that he was to use 
every exertion in his power on behalf of the cre- 
ditors; and by the diligent employment of his ta- 
lents), and adoption of a strictly economical mode 
of life, to secure, as speedily as possible, full pay- 
ment to all concerned. 

"The cause of the delay in the publication of 
the Life of Napoleon will be found in the following 
minute: 

" 'The circumstances connected with the two 
literary works, entitled Woodstock, and the Life 
of Napoleon lionaparte, having been considered; 
the trustees expressed their opinion, that so far as 
they understood the nature of the bargain between 
sir Walter Scott and Constable and Co., the latter 
had no claim in law for the proceeds of either of 
these books; but think it desirable for all parties 
that they should be finished, which should be com- 
miuiicaled to sir Walter; and also, that he sliould 
he re([uested to give his aid to the sale of them to 
the best advantage. — Mr. Gibson was instructed 
to endeavour to concert some arrangement with 
Constable and Co. for consigning in some bank 
the price of the works, until all questions concern- 
ing them were d<.'ci(led.' 

"On the 2Gth iMay, 1826, a meeting was held, 
when 'vir. Gibson reported pai'ticulars of sale of 
Woodstock, r,'JOO coi)ies of which had been sold 
to llurst and Robinson, at 6,500/.; but they being 
unable to complete the bargain, they had been 
transf("rred to Longman and Co. on same terms. 

"The money had been paid, and was deposited 
with sir W. Forbes and Co. to wait the issue of 
the decision as to the respective claims of Consta- 
ble and Co. and sir W. Scott's trustees, regarding 



this work. The remainder of the impression had 
been sold to Constable and Co. 's trustee at 18*. 
Gd. each copy, 'at a credit of ten months from de- 
liveiy, with five per cent, discount for any earlier 
payment,' of which the trustees approved. In 
consequence of advice from sir Walter Scott and 
Longman and Co., it had been thought advisable 
to restrict the first edition of the Life of Napoleon 
to 6,000, instead of 8,000 copies, as originally in- 
tended. 

" The excerpts contain a great number of items, 
which lay open the precise state of sir Walter's 
private affairs: a hundred years hence they may be 
a great curiosity, and their publication may then 
be correct; at present it would certainly be inde- 
licate and unhandsome, not only to the admirable 
writer himself, but also to several other private 
individuals. Every thing belonging to a great na- 
tional genius is public property^ and in the course 
of a short time these excerpts will be sought for 
with avidity, and published with as little hesitation 
as Mr. Todd lately printed Milton's pecuniary 
squabbles with his mother-in-law." 

The last, hut not the " last best work" of sir 
Walter Scott, is his Life op Napoleon Boxa- 
PARTE, a production of which neither our limits, 
nor our inclinations, will allow us to say much. 
In an historical point of view it possesses few me- 
rits, and, we are constrained to admit, is equally 
unworthy of the extraordinary character it treats 
of, as of its author's splendid literarv reputation. 
The extent and importance of the subject were 
calculated to afford an ample scope for the display 
of the very highest ability. A more exciting theme 
of narration — a fairer field of philosophical con- 
templation, was never before given to kindle the 
eloquence, to exercise the wisdom and skill, or to 
stimulate the intellectual ambition of the histo- 
rian. Yet, notwithstanding the unquestionable 
powers of the celebrated author — notwithstanding 
the fame which he had " set upon the cast"— tiie 
magnitude of the occasion, and all the inspiring 
circumstances of the undertaking, it would be vain 
to deny that the work, upon the whole, is a failure. 
The book has, evidently, been written in haste 
and with negligence; the author has given himself 
no time either for the well-digested arrangement 
of facts, or profound reflection on the great "combi- 
nations of political action. He has not, in simple 
language, studied his subject; but has put to- 
gether an immense mass of materials, as rapidly 
as they accumulated under his hands, with little 
care in the selection, and no thought for their re- 
lative importance and measurement. It is, in short, 
a voluminous compilation, executed indeed with 
wonderful celerity, and adorned with brilliant pas- 
sages, but nothing worthy either of the genius of 
Walter Scott or the true dignity of history. But 
the real cause of his failure in writing the history 
of our eventful times must not be traced either to 
ignorance or incapacity. It is too visible that lower 
considerations than the generous love of fame in- 
spired the author. Hence, only, the haste, the 
negligence, the prolixity of the composition, the 
want of compression, of reviewing, of deliberate 
arrangemetit. — At the same time, we should be 
guilty of great injustice if we failed to remark the 
extraordinary skill displayed by sir Walter Scott 
in the relation of military events. Not only are 
the shifting alarums of the battle-field exhibited 
with all the eager animation, all the picturesque 



and dramatic energy of description, which were to 



MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



be looked for from the " author of Waverley, 
but the plans of campaign, and the movements o 
armies, are explained in a dear and methodical 
style, whicix evinces a perfect acquaintance wiUi 
the principles of strategy.-Finally, of the third 
volume we are bound to speak m terms of unqua- 
lified commendation. It forms the most exciling 
and delightful fragment of heroic biography with 

•which we are ac quainted.* 

* It is with much regret that we feel ourselves obliged 



to notice an unpleasant epistolary discussion, which has 
aiisen between g-eneral Gourgaud and sir Walter Scott, 
in consequence of some pass.'iges in the latter's " Life of 
Napoleon," in which the general's fidelity to his late ex- 
iled master is more than called in question. To this charge 
the general, in a long letter inserted in the Paris journals, 
has given the "lie direct." and termed the whole work a 
romance. Sir Walter has since published a spirited reply 
in the English newspapers, and product d copies of the 
official documents, &.c. on wliieh the passages in discus- 
sion were fotuided. 



THE POETICAL UTORKS 



OF 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 



Ef)t Hag Of tf)t 3Lmt 3!Binmth 



Dum relego, scripsisse, pudet, quia plurima cemo, 
Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna lini. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, 

THIS POEM IS INSCHIBED, BT THE AUTHOB. 



The Poem, now offered to the public, is intend- 
ed to illusti'ate the customs and manners, which 
anciently prevailed on the Borders of England and 
Scotland. The inhabitants, living in a state part- 
ly pastoral and partly warliiie, and combining ha- 
bits of constant depredation with the influence of 
a rude spirit of cliivalry, were often engaged in 
scenes, highly susceptible of poetical ornament. 
As the description of sceneiy and manners was 
more the object of the author, than a combined 
and regular narrative, the plan of the ancient Met- 
rical Romance was adopted, which allows greater 
lati tude in thisrespect, than v/ould be consistent with 
the dignity of a regular Poem. The same model 
offered other facilities, as it permits an occasional 
alteration of measure, which, in some degree, au- 
thorizes the change of rhythm in the text. Th 
machinery also, adopted from popular belief, would 
have seemed puerile in a poem, which did 
partake of the rudeness of the old Ballad, or Met- 
rical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the 
mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the last of the race, 
who, as he is supposed to have survived the Revo- 
lution, might have caught somewhat of the refine- 
ment of modern poetry, without losing the sim- 
plicity of his original model. The date of tlie Tale 
itself is about the middle of the sixteenth century, 
•when most of the parsonages actually flourished.' 
The time occupied by the action is three nights 
and tliree days. 



'■/ 



INTRODUCTION. 

The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The minstrel was infirm and old; 
His withered cheek, and tresses gray, 
Seemed to have known a better day; 
The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 
The last of all the bards was he, 
Who sung of Border chivaliy; 
For, welUa-day! their date was fled. 
His tuneful brethren all were dead; 
And he, neglected and oppressed. 
Wished to be with them, and at rest. 
No more, on prancing palfrey borne, 
He carolled, light as lark at morn; 
No longer courted and caressed, 
High placed in hall, a welcome guest. 
He poured, to lord and lady gay. 
The unpremeditated lay: 
Old times were changed, old manners gone; 
f A stranger filled the Stuait's throne; 
The bigots of the iron time 
Had called his harmless art a crime. 
A wandering Harper, scorned and poor. 
He begged his bread from door to door; 
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 
The harp a king had loved to hear. 

He passed where Newark's stately tower 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower- 
The minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting-place was nigli. 
With hesitating step, at last, 
The embattled portal-arch he passed. 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bai' 
Had oft rolled back the tide of war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The ducViess* marked his weaiy pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face. 
And bade her page the menials tell, 
That they should' tend tin- old man well: 
For she had known adversity, 
Though born in such a high degree; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom. 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb. 
When kindness had his wants supplied, 
And tiie old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride: 
^ And he began to talk anon, 
y Of good earl Francis,! dead and gone, 
'' And of earl Walter,:j: rest him God! 
A braver ne'er to battle rode: 
And how full many a tale he knew 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch; 
And, wovdd the no1)le duchess deign 
To listen to an old man's strain. 
Though stiff' his hand, his voice though weak. 
He thought, even yet, the sooth to speak, 
That if she loved tlie harp to hear. 
He could make music to her ear. 



; 



<3 The humble boon was soon obtained; 
The Aged Minstrel audience gained. 
But, when he reached the room of state. 
Where she, with all her ladies, sate, 
Pei'chance he wished his boon denied: 
For, when to tune his harp he tried. 
His trembling hand had lost the ease. 
Which marks security to please; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain. 
Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 
He tried to tune his harp in vain. 
The pitying duchess praised its chime, 
And gave him heart, and gave him time. 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 
And then, he said, lie would full fain 
He could recall an ancient strain, 
He never thought to sing again. 
It was not framed for village churls, 
But for high dames and mighty earls; 

^ He had plaved it to king Charles the Good, 

y When he kept court in llolyrood; 

• And much he wished, yet feared, to tiy 
The long forgotten melody. 
Amid the strings his fingers strayed. 
And an uncertain warbling made, 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild. 
The old man raised his face and smiled; 
And lightened up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong. 
He swept the sounding chords along: 
The present scene, the futvn-e lot, 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot; 
Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song were lost; 
Each blank, in iaithlcss memory void, 
The poet's glowing thought supplied; 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 

/» 'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung. 

/ * Amie, duchess of BiR'clcucli and Monmouth, repie- 
sentative of the aiicitnt lords of llgcckuch, and widow of 
the unfortunate James, duke of Moiniiouth, who was be- 
headed in 1685. 

t Francis Scott, earl of lUiccleucli. father to the ducliess. 

jwalter, earl of Bueeleuch,griuidfather to the duchess, 
and a celebrated v arrior. 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



I. 

The feast was over in Branksome tower,' 

And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower; 

Her bow 'r that was guarded by word and by spell, 

Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell^ 

Jesu Maria, shield us well ! 

No living wight, save the Ladye alone. 

Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 

II. 

The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; 

Knight, and page, and household squire, 
Loitered through the lofty hall, 
" Or crowded round the ample fire: 
The stag hounds, weary with the chase. 

Lay stretched, upon the rushy floor. 
And urged, in dreams, the forest-race, 

From Teviotstone to Eskdale-moor. 

HI. 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome hall;2 
Nine-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall j 
/% 1 Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
y^ Waited, duteous, on them all: 

They were all knights of metal true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV. 

Ten of them were sheallied in steel, 
With belted sword, and spur on heel: 
Tiiey quitted not tlieir harness brigiit. 
Neither by day, nor yet by night: 

They lay down to rest, 

With corselet laced. 
Pillowed on buckler cold and hard; 
' Tliey carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel. 
And they drank the red wine through the helmet 

barred. 

V. 
Ten squires, ten yeomen, mailclad men, 
Wailed the beck of tlie warders ten; 
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight. 
Stood saddled in stable day and nigiit, 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, 1 trow. 
And with Jedwood axe at saddle bow.* 
A hundred more fed free in stall: 
y ^ Such was the custom of Branksome hall. 

YI. 

• Why do these steeds stand ready dight? 
V Why watch tliese warriors, armed, by night' 
They watch to bear the bloodhound baying; 
They watch, to hear the w ariiorn braying; 
To see Saint George's red cross streaming; 
To see the midnight beacon gleaming; 
They watch, against Soutiiern force and guile, 
l/est Scroope, or Howard, or Percy's powers, 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 
From Wark\vortli, or Nawortli, or merry Carlisle.* 

^11. 

Such is the custom of Branksome h:dl. — 

Many a valiant kniglit is here; 
But he, the chieftain of them all, 
His sword iiangs rusting on the wall 

Beside his broken spear. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MESTSTREL. 



>> 



Bards lona; shall tell. 
How loiii'Waltev fell ! 5 
When startled burghers fled, afar, 
The furies of the border war; 
y "When the streets of high Dutiedin 

Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, 
And heard the slogan's* deadly yell — 
Theu the chief of Branksome fell. 

ATII. 

Can piety the discord heal. 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity? 
Can christian lore, can patriot zeal, 

Can love of blessed charity? 
No! vainly to each holy shrine, 
~\ In mutual pilgrimage tliey drew,6 
Implored, in vain, the grace divine 

For chiefs their own red falchions slew.; 
While Cessford owns the rule of Car," 

Wiiile Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
The slaughtered cliiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of tiie feudal war, 

Shall never, never be forgot ! 

IX. 

In sori'ow o'er lord Walter's bier 

The warlike foresters had bent; 
And manv a flower, and many a tear, 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent; 
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear! 
Vengeance, deep brooding o'er the slain, 

Had locked the source of softer wo; 
And burning pride, and high disdain. 

Forbade the vising tear to flow; 
I util, amid his sorrowing clan. 

Her son lisped from the nurse's knee— 
And if 1 live to be a man, 
' My father's death revenged shall be!" 
"hen fast the mother's tears did seek 
I'o dew the infant's kindling cheek. 

X. 

All loose her negligent attire. 

All loose her golden hair. 
Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire. 

And wept in wild despaii*. 
But not alone the bitter tear 

Had filial grief supplied; 
For hopeless lo\e, and anxious fear, 
I lad lent tiieir mingled tide: 
JSor in her mother's altered eye 
IJared she to look for sympathy, 
iler lover, 'gainst her fatlier's clan, 

M ith (Jar in arms had stood. 
When Mathouse-buru to Melrose ran 

All purple witli their blood; 

And well she knew, her mother dread, 

Before lord Cranstoun slie should wed,** 

AVoidd see her on her dying bed. 

XI. 

Of noble race the Ladye came; 
Her father was a clerk of fame. 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie;^ 
He learned tlie art that none may name, 

In Padua, far beyond the sea."' 
IMen said he changed his mortal ^-ame 

By feat of magic mystery; 

or when, in studious mood, he paced 

Saint Andrew's cloistered hall, 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon tlie sunny walUH 



;i 






f. 



f 



\ 



• The war cry, or gatiiciius; word, of a BoiJcr clan. 



XII. 

And of liis skill, as bards avow, 
He taught that Ladye fair. 

Till to her bidding she could bow 
Tlie viewless forms of air. '2 

And now slie sits in secret bower. 

In .old lord David's western tower, 
,»And listens to a heavy sound, 
VThat moans the mossy turrets round, 
/is it the roar of Teviot's tide. 

That chafes against the scaur's* red side? 

Is it the wind that swings the oaks? 

Is it tlie echo from the rocks? 
JB^Vhal may it be, the heavy sound, 
ylhm moans old Brauksonie's tun els roui.uf 

r XIII. 

At the sullen, moaning sound, 

The bandogs bay and howl; 
And, from the turrets round. 

Loud whoops the startled owl. 
n tlie hall, botii squire and knight 

Swore tliat a storm was near, 
And looked forth to view the nighty 

But the night was still and clear! 

XIV. 

From the sound of Teviot's tide, 
Chafing with the mountain's side, 
From the groan of the windswung oak, 
From the sullen echo of the rock. 
Prom the voice of the coming storm, 

Tlie Ladye knew it well I 
t was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke. 
And he called on the Spirit of tlie Fell. 

XV. 

RIVER SPIRIT. 

" Sleep'st thou, brother?" 

NOUSTAIN SJIRIT. 

" Brother, nay— • 

On my hills the moon-beams play. 
From Craig-cross to Skelfhillpen, 
By every rill, in every glen. 
Merry elves their morrice pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy. 
Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, 
i Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet! 
Up, and list their music sweet!" 

XVI. 

RniR SPIRIT. 

"Tears of an imprisoned maiden 
Mix with my polluted stream; 
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow laden. 

Mourns beneath the moon's pale bwtm. 
Tell me, thou. Mho view'st the st;u-s, 
When shall cease these feudal jars ' 
What shall be the maiden's fate? 
|Vho shidl be the maiden's mate?" 
XVlI. 

MOUSTAIX SPIRIT. 

' Arthur's slow wain his course doth I'oll 
In utter darkness round the pole; 
The Northern Bear lowers black and grim; 
Orion's studded belt is dim: 
Twinkling faint, and distant far. 
Shimmers through mist each planet star; 

111 may I i-cad tlieir high decree! 
But no Kind influence deign tiiey shower 
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower. 

Till pride be quelled, and love be free." 



9 



* Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^' 



XVIII. 

The unearthly voices ceased, 

And the heavy sound was still; 
It died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of the hill. 
But round lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower. 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. • 

She raised her stately head. 

And her heart throbbed high with pi'ide: — 
hYont mountains shall bend, 
/And your streams ascend, 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride !" ^. 

XIX. 

The Ladye sought the lofty hall, 
Wiiere many a bold retainer lay, 
^^\nd, with jocund din, among them all, 
•J' Her son pursued his infant play. 
y^ A fancied mosstrooper, '^ the boy 
" The truncheon of a spear bestrode, • 

And round tlie hall, I'iglit merrily, i 

In mimic foray* rode. 
iCTEven bearded knights, in arms grown old, 
Y Share in his frolic gambols bore, 
/ Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, 
/ Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 

For the gray warriors prophesied. 

How the brave boy, in future war, 
Should tame the unicorn's pride. 
Exalt the crescent, and the star.'* 

XX. tf 

The ladye forgot her purpose high, ^ 

One moment, and no more; 
One moment gazed with a mother's eye, 

As she paused at the arched door; 
Tlicn, from amid the armed train. 
She called to her A^Uiam of Deloraine. '^ 

XXI. 

A stark mosstrooping Scott was he. 
As e'er couched border lance by knee; 
Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss. 
Blindfold he knew the paths to cross; 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds;'^ 
In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, 
ut he would ride them, one by one; 
Alike to liim was time, or tide, 
December's snow, or July's pride; 
Alike to him was tide, or time, 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime: 
Steady of heai-t, and stout of hand, 
As ever drove prey from Cumberland; 
Five times outlawed had he been. 
By England's king and Scotland's queen. 

XXII. 

',' Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, A 

Mount thee on the wightest steed; if' 

Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, ^ 

Until you come to fair Tweed side; 

And in Melrose's holy pile 

Seek thou the monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

Greet the father well from me; 
Say, that the fated hour is come, 

An-d to-night he shall watch with thee, 
To win ttie treasure of the tomb: 
For this will be Saint Mich.".ers niglit, 
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; 



?; 



; 



* Foray, a predatory inroad. 



And the cross, of bloody red, 

Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

xxin. 

" Wliat he gives thee, see thou keep; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep: 
Be it scroll or be it book; 
Into- it, knight, thou must not look; 
If thoureadest, tliou art lorn! 
Better thou hadst ne'er been born." 

XXIV. 

"Cf swiftly can speed my dapplegray steed,. 

'Which drinks of the Teviot clear; 
Ere*break of day," the warrior 'gan say, 

" Again will 1 be here: 
And^afer by none may thy errand be done, 

Tban, noble dame, by me; 
Letter nor line know I never a one, 
W'ef 't my neck- verse at Haribee. "* 

XXV. 

Soon in his saddle sate he fast. 

And soon the deep descent he passed. 

Soon crossed the sounding barbican, f 

'And soon the Teviot's side he won. 

Eastward the wooded path he rode. 

Green hazels o'er his basnet nod: 

He passed the Peel:j; of Goldiland, 

And crossed old Borthwick's roaring strand: 

Dimly he viewed the moalhill's mound, '^ 

Where Druid shades still flitted round: 

In Hawick twinkled many a light; 

Behind him soon they set in night; 

And soon he spurred his courser keen 

Beneath the tower of Hazeldean."* 

XXVI. 

The clattering hoofs" tiie watchmen mark;— 
" Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark." 
" For Branksome, ho!" the knight rejoined, r 
And left tiie friendly tower behind. 

He turned him now from Teviot side, 
And, guided by the tinkling rill, 

Northward the dark ascent did ride, 
And gained the moor at Horslie hill; 
Broad on tlie left before him lay, 
For many a mile the Roman Avay.§ 

S^ XXVII. 

A moment now he slacked his speed, ' 

A moment breathed his panting steed; « 

Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band, ' 

And loosened in the sheath his brand. 

On Mintocrags the moonbeams glint,'9 

Where Barnhill hewed his bed of flint; 

Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest, 

Where falcons hang their giddy nest. 

Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye. 

For many a league, his prey could spj'; 

Clifis doubling, on their eclioes borne. 

The terrors of the robber's horn; 

Cliff's, which, for many a later year. 

The warbling Doric reed shall hear, -^ 

When some sad swain shall teach the grove. 

Ambition is no cure for love. 



;f 



* Haribee, the place of executing the Border marauders 
at Carlisle. The 7icck-x'erse is the beginning of the fifty- 
first psaliiij Miserere mei, &c. anciently read by crinii-, 
uals, clainung the benefit of clergy. / 

■f Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 

X Feel, a Boi-der tower. 

\ Au ancient Roman road, crossing through part of 
Roxburghshire. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTUEL. 



V 



XXVIII. 

U;icliallengecl, thence past Deloraine 
To ancient Riclilell's fair domain, 20 
^ Wliere Aill, from mountains freed, 
y])own from tiie lakes did raving; come, 
y Cresting each wave with tawny foam, 
Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vuin ! no torrent, deep or hroad, 
MlgVit bar the bold mosstrooper's road. 

XXIX. 

At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 
And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow: 
Above the foaming tide, I ween, 
Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; 
r\ For he was barded* from counter to tail, 
y And the rider was armed complete in mail; 
/ Never heavier man and horse 

Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. 

The warrior's very plume, I say, 

AVas daggled by tlie dashing spray; 

Yet, through good heart, and our Ladye's grace, 

At length he gained the landing place. 

XXX. 

Now Bowden moor the marchman won. 

And sternly shook his jjlumed head. 
As glanced his eye o'er Halidon,2i 
For- on his soul the slaughter red 
Ot that unhallowed morn arose. 
When first the Scott and Car were foes; ', 

When royal James beheld the fray, * 

Prize to the victor of the day; 
When Home and Douglas, in the van, 
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan. 
Till gallant Cessford's heartblood dear 
Reeked on dark Elliot's border spear. 

XXXI. 

^jln bitter mood he spurred fast, 
• y And soon the hated heath was past; 
And far beneath, in lustre wan. 
Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran;22 i 

Like some tall rock, with lichens gray, 
Rose, dimly huge, the dark abbaye. 
When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung. 
Now midnight laudsf were in Melrose sung. 
The sound, upon the fitful gale, 
In solemn wise did rise and fail, 

y\Like that wild harp, M'hose magic tone 

\fls wakened by the winds alone. 

/ But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all 
^ He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 
And sought the convent's lonely wall. 

Here paused the harp^ and with its swell 
The master's fire, and courage fell: 
Dejectedly, and low, he bowed, 
And,' gazing timid on the crowd, 
, He seemed to seek, in every eye. 
If they approved his minstrelsy: 
And*, diffident of present praise. 
Somewhat he spoke of former days. 
And how old age, and wandering long, 
Had dvrie his hand and harp some wrong. 

The duchess and her daughters fair, 
And every gentle ladye there, 
Eaclr after each, in due degree, 
Gav& praises to his melody; 
His hand was true, his voice was clear. 
And piuch they longed the rest to hear. 



Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 
After meet rest, again began. 



%■ 



t 



* Barded, or bai-bed, applied to a horse accoutred with 
defensive armour. 
f Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church. 



If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, 
y^ Go visit it by the pale moonlight; 
• For the ga)' beams of lightsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches are black in niglit, 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white; 

When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruined central tower: 

AVhen buttress and buttress, alternately. 

Seemed framed of ebon and ivory: 

When silver edges the ima,^ry. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die'; 

When distant Tweed is heard Jo rave, 
Y And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Then go — but go alone the while — 

Then view Saint David's ruined pile; 

And, home returning, soothly swear, 
.^Was never scene so sad and fair ! 

/'r n. 

Short halt did Deloraine make there; 
Little I'ecked he of the scene so fair: 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong. 
He 'struck full loud, and struck full long. 
Th^'porter hurried to the gate — 
" Who knocks so' loud, and knocks so late?" 
"From Branksome 1," the warrior cried; 
And "straight the wicket opened wide: 
For iJranksome's chiefs had in battle stood, 
>» To fence the rights of fair Melrose; 
yAAd lands and livings, many a rood, 
/ Had gifted the shrine f(^ their soul's repose. 

III. 

Bold Deloraine his errand said; 

The porter bent his humble head; 

With torch in hand, and feet unshod. 

And noiseless step, the path he trod; 

The arched cloisters, far and wide, 

Rahg to the warrior's clanking stride; 

TjU, stooping low his lofty crest, 

He entered the cell of the ancient priest. 

And lifted his barred aventayle,* 

To hail the monk of Saint Mary's aisle. 

IV. 

"The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; 

Says, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee, 

To- win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 

With toil his stiffened limbs he reared; 
A handred years had flung their snows 

On his thin locks and floating beard. 

P> 

^ And strangely on the knight looked he, 

And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide; 
"And, darest thou, warrior! seek to see 

What heaven and hell alike would hide? 
My breast, in belt of iron pent. 

With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn: 
For three-score years, in penance spent. 

My knees those flinty stones have worn; 
Yet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should n'er be known. 



;^ 



* Aventayle, visor of tlie helmet. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



„ ■ 1, 1 I I was no 

arrior bold, -r- n 

. ] ' yv"*' 1 «vnim 

• ■ 1 -1 A^ixl fou-ht 1 

were Ions; since by, \«tr . 

„ , 1 P -" \^ ow, strantri 

, ana his courasre /. .', • ■" 

' o / And their in 



Would 'st lliOH thy every future year 
In ceaseless prayer and penance drie. 
Yet wait thy latter end witli t'eai'^ 
Then, daring warrior, follow me!" 

^ VI. 

*' Penanoe, father, will 1 none; 
Prayer know I hardly one; 
for mass or pra} er can I rarely tan-y. 
Save to patter an Ave Mary, 
When I ride on a Border foray:* 
.Other prayer can 1 none; 
So speed me my^Fund, and let me be gon-?. 

VII. 

Again on the knight looked the chm-chraan old 

And again he sighed heavily; 
For he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fought in Spain and Ital 
And he tho't on the days that wer 
When his limbs were sti-on 

was high: — 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way 
Where, cloistered round, the garden lay: 
yyThe pillard arches were over their head, 
VAnd beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.5 

VIII. 

Spreading herbs, and flow'rets bright, 
Glistened with the dew of night; 
Nor herb, nor flow 'ret, glistened there. 
But was carved in the cloister'd arches as fair. 
The monk gazed long on the lovely moon. 

Then into the night he looked foith; 
And red and bright the streamers light * 

Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 
^ Vl'he youth in glittering squadrons start; 
y Sudden the flying gennet wheel. 

And iiurl the uaexpected darl.o 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, 
That spirits were riding the northern light. 

IX. 

By a steel-clenched postern door. 

They e»itered now the chancel tall: 
The darkened i-oof rose high aloof 

On pillars, lofty, and light, and small; 
The keystone, that locked each ribbed aisle. 
Was a fieur-de-lys, or a ((uatre-feuille: 
/ The corbells* were carved grotesque and grim; 
And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim, 
With base and with capital flourished around. 
Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had 
bound. 



Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, 
Shook to the cold nightwind of heaven, 

Around the screened altar's pale; 
And there thi^ tlylng lamps did burn, 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant chief of Olterburne!' 

And tliine, dark kniglit of Liddesdalel^ 
O fading honours of the dead! 
O high ambition,' lowly laid! 

XI. 

The moon on the east oriel shone^ 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 

By foliaged tracery combined: 
Tiiou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand. 



^ Jn many a freakish knot, had twined; 
^Then framed a spell, when the work was done. 
And changed the willow wreaths to stone. 



f 



riie silver liglit, so pale and faint, 
Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, 

Whose image on the glass was died; 
Full in the midst, his cross of red 
Triumphant Michael brandished, 

And trampled the uYtostate's pride. 
The moonbeam kissed the holy pane, 
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 



XII. 



^ 



; 



* Corbells, the projc ctions from which the arches spiiiig, 
usually cut ill a liuitastic fate or mask. 



C' 



A 



• w 



; 



They sate them down on a marble stone; 

(A Scottish monarch slept bclow;)"> 
Thus spoke the monk, in solemn tone; 
" I was not always a man of wo; 
countries I have trod, 
; beneatii the cross of God: 
•ange to my eyes tiiine arms appeal", 
' ron clang sounds strange to my ear. 

XIII. 

"In these far climes, it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott;" 

A w izard of such dreaded fame. 
That when, in Salamanca's cave,'^ 
Ilim listed his magic wand to wave, \ 

'J'jic bells would ring in Notre Dameji^ 
Some of his skill he taught to me; 
lAnd, warrior, I could say to thee 
^rhe words tiiat cleft Eildoii liills in three. 

And bridled the Tweed with a cui-h of stone;'* 
But to speak them were a deadly sin; 
And for liaving but thought them my heartwithin, 

A treble penance must be done. 

XIV. 

" When Michael lay on his dying bed. 

His consieuce was awakened; 

He bethought him of his sinful deed, 

And he gave nie a sign to come witli speed; 

was in Spain when the morning rose, 
But I stood by his bed ere evening close. 
The words may not again be said, 
Tiiat he spoke to me, on deatli-bed laid: 
They would rend this abhaye's massy nave, 
And pile it in heaps above his grave. 

XV. 
" I sw"ore to bury his miglily book, 
Tliat never mortal might ilierein look ; 
And never to tell where it was hid, ^ 

Save at llie ehief of Braiiksome's need ; 

nd when that need was jiast and o'er, 

jain the volume to restore. 

luried him on Saint Micliael's night, 
When .the bell tolled one, and the moon rose 

bright ; 
And I'liug his chamber among the dead, 
Wh'en the floor of the chancel was stained red, 
That> his patron's cross might o'er him wave, 
And' scare the fiends from the wizard's grave. 

xvr. 

"It, was a niulit of wo and dread, 

WJidn Michael in the tomb I laid ! 

(Strange sounds along the chancel past ; 

Tlie banners waved without a blast:" — 

' — Slill spoke tlie monk, when the bell tolled one. 

I telllyon, Ihat a braver man 

Than William of Deloraine, good at need, 

Against a Ibe ne'er spurred a steed ; ^ . 

Yel soinewhal was he ehilleil willi dread, • 

And his hair did bristle UiWii his head. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



xvn. 

"Lo, warrior! now, the cross of red 
Points to the gi-ave of the mighty dead; 
/VWithin it burns a wondrous light, 
'I^To chase the spirits that love the night; 
/ That lamp shall burn unqiienchably,'5 
f Until the eternal doom sliall be." 

Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone, 

Which the bloody cross was traced upon; 

He pointed to a secret nook; 

An iron bar the warrior took; 

And the monk made a sign with his withered 

hand, 
The grave's huge portal to expand. 

XVIII. 

iVith beating heart, to tlie task he went; 

is sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; 
With bar of iron heaved amain, 
Till the toil drops fell from his brows, like ram. 
It was by dint of passing strength. 
That he moved tlie massy stone at length. 
I would you had been there, to see 
How the light broke forth so gloriously, 
Streamed upward to the chancel roof, 

;And through the galleries far aloof! 
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright; 
It shone like heaven's own blessed light; 
And, issuing from the tomb, 
Showed the monk's cowl and visage pale, 
Danced on the dark-browed warrior's mail, 
And kissed his waving plume. 
XIX. 
Before their eyes the -wizard lay. 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled. 
He seemed some sevent}' winters old; 
/ftA palmer's amice wrapped him round, 
y With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, 
f Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea; 
His left hand held his book of might; 
A silver cross was in his right; 

The lamp was placed beside his knee: 
High and majestic was his look; 
At which the fellest fiends had shook, 
And all unruffled was his face — 
They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 

XX. 

; Often had William of Deloraine 
Rode through the battle's bloody jilain. 
And trampled down the warriors slain, 
And neither known remorse nor awe; 
Yet now remorse and awe he owned: 
His breath came thick, his head swam round, 

When this strange scene of death he saw. 
Bewildered and unnerved he stood, 
And the priest prayed fervently, and loud: 
With eyes averted, prayed he; 
He might not endure the sight to see. 
Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 

XXI. 
And when the priest his death-prayer had pray 'd. 
Thus unto Deloraine he said; — 
" Now, speed thee what thou hast to do. 
Or, warrior, we may dearlj' rue; 
For those, thou may'st not look upon, 
Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!"— 
Then Deloraine, in terror, took 
From the cold hand the mighty book, 
With iron clasped, and with iron bound; 
He tho't, as he t09k it, the dead man frown'd:i6 

3 



But the glare of the sepulchral light. 
Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 

XXII. 

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 

The night returned in double gloom; 

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were 

few: 
And, as the knight and priest withdrew, 
With wavering steps and dizzy brain. 
They hardly might the postern gain. 
'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, 
They heard strange noises on the blast; 
And through the cloister-galleries small. 
Which at midbeight thread the chancel wail. 
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, 
And voices unlike the voice of man; 
As if the fiends kept holiday, 
Because these spells were brought to day. 
I cannot tell how the truth may be; 
1 say the tale as 'twas said lo me. 

XXUI. 

" Now, hie thee hence," the father said; 
"And, when we are on death-bed laid, 
O may our dear Ladye, and sweet Saint John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!" 
The monk returned him to his cell, 

And many a prayer and penance sped ; 
When the convent met at the noontide bell. 

The monk of Saint Mary's aisle was dead! 
Before the cross was the body laid, 
With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. 

XXIV. 

The knight breathed free in the morning wind. 
And strove his hardihood to find; 
He was glad when he passed the tombstones gray, 
Whicli girdle round the fair Abbaye; 
For tiie mystic book, to his bosom prest, 
Felt like a load upon his breast; 
And his joints, with nerves of iron twined. 
Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 
Full fain was he when the dawn of day 
Began to brighten Cheviot gray; 
, He joyed to see the cheerful light. 
And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. 

XXV. 

The sun had brightened Cheviot gray. 

The sun had brightened the Carter's* side; 
And soon beneath the rising day 

Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling tale; 

And awakened every flower that blows; 
And peeped forth the violet pale. 

And spread her breast the mountain rose: 
And lovelier than the rose so red. 

Yet paler than the violet pale. 
She early left her sleepless bed. 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 

Why does fair Margaret so early awake. 

And don her kirtle so hastilie: 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she would 
make. 

Why tremble her slender fingers to tie? 
Why does she stop, and look often around, 

As she glides down the secret stair; 
And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound, 

As he rouses him up from his lair: 



' A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgh. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And, though she passes the postern alone, 
\Vhy is not the watchman's bugle blown ? 

XXVII. 

The L,adye steps in doubt and dread, 

Lest her 'watchful mother hear her tread; 

The Ladye caresses the rough blood-hound. 

Lest his voice shoiild waken the castle round; 

The watchman's bugle is not blown, 

For he was her foster-father's son; 

And slie glides through the greenwood at dawn 

of light, 
To meet baron Henry, her own true knight. 

XXVIII. 

The knight and ladye fair are met. 

And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. 

A fairer pair were never seen 

To meet beneath the hawthorn green. 

He was stately, and young, and tall, 

Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall: 

And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid. 

Lent to her clieek a livelier red; 

When the half sigli her swelling breast 

Against the silken riband prest; 

AVhen her blue eyes their secret told, 

Though shaded by her locks of gold, — 

Where would you find tlie peerless fair 

With Margaret of Branksorae might compare! 

XXIX. 

And now, fair dames, methinks I see 

You listen to my minstrelsy: 

Your waving locks ye backward throw, 

And sidelong bend your necks of snow: 

Ye ween to hear a melting tale 

Of two true lovers in a dale; 

And how the knight, with tender fire. 
To paint his faithful passion strove; 

Swore, he might at her feet expire. 
But never, never cease to love; 
And how she blushed, and how she sighed, 
And, half consenting, half denied, 
And said that she would die a maid; 
Y^et, might the bloody feud be stayed, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. 

XXX. 

Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain; 

Its lightness would my age reprove: 
My hairs are graj', my limbs are old. 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold; — 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 

XXXI. 

Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld. 
The baron's dwarf his courser held,''' 

And held his crested helm and speai': 
That dwarf was scarce an earthly man. 
If the tales were true, that of him ran 

Through all the Border, far and near. 
'Twas said, when the baron a hunting rode. 
Through Redesdale's glens, but rarely trod. 
He heard a voice cry, " Lost! lost! lost!" 
And, like tennisball by racquet tost, 

A leap, of thirty feet and three. 
Made from the gorsc this elfin shape. 
Distorted like some dwarfish ape. 

And lighted at lord Cranstoun's knee. 
Lord Cranstoun was somewhit dismayed; 
'Tis said that five good miles he rade, 

To lid him of his company; 



But where he rode one mile, the d-vi'arf ran four. 

And the dwarf was first at the castle door. 
XXXII. 

Use lessens marvel, it is said: 

This elfish dwarf with the baron staid; 

Little he ate, and less he spoke. 

Nor mingled with the menial flock: 

And oft apart his arms he tossed, ; 

And often muttered, "Lost! lost! lost!" 
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie, 
But well lord Cranstoun served he; 

And he of his service was full fain; 

For once he had been ta'en or slain, 
An' had it not been his ministry. 

All, between Home and Hermitage, 

Talked of lord Cranstoun's goblin page. 

XXXIII. 

For the baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with him this elfish page. 

To Mary's chapel of tlie Lowes; 
P'or there, beside our Lady's lake. 
An offering he had sworn to make. 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band 
Of the best that would ride at her command;i3 

The trysting place was Newark Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain, 
And thither came John of Thirlestane, 
And thither came William of Deloraine; 

They were three hundred spears and three. 
Through Douglas-burn, uj) Yarrow stream, 
Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
They came to saint Mary's lake ere day; 
But the chapel was void, and tlie baron away. 
They burned the chapel for very rage. 
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's goblin page. 

XXXIV. 

And now, in Branksome's good green wood, 

As under the aged oak he stood. 

The baron's courser pricks his ears, 

As if a distant noise he hears; 

The dwarf waves his long lean arm on high. 

And signs to the lovers to part and fly; 

No time was then to vow or sigh. 

Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove, 

Flew like the startled cushat dove:* 

The dwarf the stirrup held and rein; 

Vaulted the knight on his steed amain. 

And, pondering deep that morning's scene. 

Rode eastward tlu'ough the hawthorns green. 

Whilf. thus he poured the lengthened tale, 
The Minstrel's voice began to fail; 
Full sljlv smiled the observant page, 
And gave the withered hand of age 
A goblet, crowned with mighty wine, 
The blood of Y'elez' scorched vine. 
He raised the silver cup on high. 
And, while the big drop filled his eye. 
Prayed God to bless the duchess long. 
And all who cheered a son of song. 
The attending maidens smiled to see. 
How long, how deep, how zealously. 
The precious juice the Minstrel quafl'ed; 
And he, emboldened by the draught, 
Looked gayly back to them, and laugiied. 
'1 he cordial nectar of the bowl 
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul; 
A lighter, livelier prelude ran, 
Ere thus his tale again began. 



' Wood-pigeon. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



And said I that my limbs were old; 
And said 1 that my blood was cold, 
And that my kindly fire was fled. 
And my poor withered heart was dead. 

And that I mis;ht not sing of love? 
How could I to the dearest theme. 
That ever warmed a Minstrel's dream, 

So foul, so false a recreant prove! 
How could I name love's very name. 
Nor wake ray harp to notes of flame ! 

n. 

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed. 

In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen; 

In hamlets, dances on the green. 

Love rules the court, tlie camp, the gi'ove, 

And men below and saints above; 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 

III. 
So thought lord Cranstoun, as I ween. 
While, pondering deep the tender scene. 
He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green. 

But the page shouted wild and shrill, — 

And scarce his helmet could he don, 
When doAvnw^rd from the shady hill 

A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray. 
Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay: 

His armour red with many a stain: 
He seemed in such a Meaiy plight. 
As if he had ridden the livelong night; 

For it was William of Deloraine. 

But no whit weary did he seem, 

When, dancing in the sunny beam, 

He marked the crane on the baron's crest;' 

For his ready spear was in his rest. 

Few were the words, and stern, and high, 
That marked the foemen's feudal hate; 

For question fierce, and proud reply, 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 

Their very coursers seemed to know, 

That each was other's mortal foe; 

And snorted fire, when wheeled around. 

To give each knight his vantage ground. 

V. 

In rapid round the baron bent; 

He sighed a sigh, and prayed a prayer: 
The prayer was to his patron saint, 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sighed, nor prayed, 
Nor saint nor ladye called to aid; 
But he stooped his head, and couched his spear, 
And spurred his steed to full career. 
The meeting of these champions proud 
Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud. 

VI. 
Stern was the dint the borderer lent; 
The stately baron backwards bent; 
Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 
And his plumes went scattering on the gale; 
The tough ash spear, so stout and true 
Into a thousand flinders flew. 
But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail 
Pierced through, like silk, the borderer's mail: 
Through shield, and jack, and acton past 
Deep in his bosom, broke at last. ' 



Still sate the warrior saddle fast. 
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, 
Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 
Hurled on a heap lay man and horse. 
The baron onward passed his course; 
Nor knew, so giddy rolled his brain. 
His foe lay stretched upon tlie plain. 

VII. 

But when he reined his courser round. 
And saw his foeman on the ground 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay. 
He bade his page to stanch the wound. 

And there beside the warrior stay. 
And tend him in his doubtful state. 
And lead him to Branksome castle-gate. 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
" This shalt thou do without delay; 
No longer here mj-self may staj'; 
Unless the swifter I speed away. 
Short shrift will be at my dying day." 

VIII. 

Away in speed lord Cranstoun rode; 

The goblin-page behind abode: 

His lord's command he ne'er withstood, 

Though small his pleasure to do good. 

As the corslet off" he took. 

The dwarf espied the mighty book! 

Much he marvelled, a knight of pride. 

Like a book-bosomed priest should ride:2 

He thought not to search or stanch the wound, 

Until the secret he had found. 

IX. 

The iron band, the iron clasp. 

Resisted long the elfin grasp; 

For when the first he had undone, 

It closed as he the next begun. 

Those iron clasps, that iron band. 

Would not yield to unchristened hand. 

Till he smeared the cover o'er 

With the borderer's curdled gore; 

A moment then the volume spread. 

And one short spell therein he read. 

It had much of glamour might,3 

Could make a ladye seem a knight; 

The cobwebs on a dungeon wall. 

Seem tapestry in lordly hall; 

A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 

A sheeling* seem a palace large, 

And youth seem age, and age seem youth;— 

All was delusion, nought was truth. 

X. 

He had not read another spell. 

When on his cheek a buffet fell, 

So fierce, it stretched him on the plain, 

Beside the wounded Deloraine. 

From the ground he rose dismayed. 

And shook his huge and matted' head; 

One word he muttered, and no more— 

" Man of age, thou smitest sore!" — 

No more the elfin page durst try 

Into the wonderous book to pry; 

Tiie clasps, though smeared with Christian gore. 

Shut faster than they were before. 

He hid it underneath his cloak. — 

Now, if you ask who ga> e the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive; 

It was not given by man alive. ^ 



* A shepherd's hut. 



10 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XL 

Unwillingly himself he addressed. 

To do his master's high behest: 

He lifted up the living corse. 

And laid it oti the weary horse; 

He led him into Branksome hall, 

Before the beards of the warders all; 

And each did after swear and say, 

There only passed a wain of hay. 

He tools, him to lord David's tower, 

Even to the Ladye's secret bower; 

And, but that stronger spells were spread. 

And the door might not be opened. 

He had laid him on her very bed. 

Whate'er he did of gramarye,* 

Was always done maliciously; 

He flung the warrior on the ground. 

And the blood welled freshly from the wound. 

XIT. 

As he repassed the outer court. 

He spied the fair young child at sport; 

He thought to train him to the wood; 

For, at a word, be it understood, 

He was always for ill, and never for good. 

Seemed to the boy some comrade gay 

Led him forth to the woods to play; 

On the drawbridge the warders stout 

Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 

XIII. 

He led (he boy o'er bank and fell, 

Until they came to a woodland brook; 
The running stream dissolved the spell,5 

And his own elvish shape he took. 
Could he have had his pleasure vilde. 
He had crippled the joints of the noble child; 
Or, with his fingers long and lean. 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen: 
But his awful motlier he had in dread, 
And also his power was limited: 
So he but scowled on the startled child. 
And darted through the forest wild; 
The woodland brook he bounding crossed, 
And lauglied, and shouted "Lost! lost! lost!" 

XIV. 
Full sore amazed at the wonderous change. 

And frightened, as a cliild might be. 
At the wild yell, and visage strange, 

And the dark words of gramarye. 
The child, amidst the forest bower, 
Stood rooted like a lily flower; 

And when at length, with trembling pace. 
He sought to find where Branksome lay, 

He feared to see that grisly face 

Glare from some tliicket on his way. 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on. 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
For aye the more he sought his way, 
The farther still he went astr.tj', 
Until he heard the mountains round 
Ring to the baying of a hound. 

XV. 

And hark! and hark! the deep-moutiied bark 

Comes nigher still, and nigher: 
Bursts on the patli a dark bkiod-liound. 
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground, 

And his red eye shot fire. 
Soon as the wildered child saw he. 
He flew at him right furiouslie. 



' Magic. 



I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy, 
When, worthy of his noble sire. 
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire! 
He faced the blood-hound manfully, 
And held his little bat on high; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed. 

But still in act to spring; 
When dashed an archer through the glade. 
And when he saw the hound was stayed. 

He drew his tough bowstring: 
But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, hoy! 
Ho! shoot not, Edward — 'tis a boy!" 

XVI. 

The speaker issued from the wood, 
And checked his fellow's surly mood. 

And quelled the ban-dog's ire: 
He was an English yeoman good, 

And born in Lancashire. 
Well could he hit a fallow deer, 

Five hundred feet him fro; 
With hand more true, and eye more clear. 

No archer bended bow. 
His coal-black hair, shorn round and close. 

Set off his sun-burned face; 
Old England's sign, Saint George's cross. 

His barret-cap did grace; 
His bugle-horn hung by his side, 
All in a wolf-skin baldric tied: 
And his short falchion, sharp and clear. 
Had piei'ced the throat of many a deer. 

XVII. 

His kirtle, made of forest green. 

Reached scantly to his knee; 
And, at his belt, of arrows keen 
A furbished sheaf bore he: 

His buckler scarce in breadth a span, 

No larger fence had he: 
He never counted him a man 

Would strike below the knee;^ 
His slackened bow was in his hand. 
And the leash, tliat was his blood-hound's band. 

XVIII. 

He would not do the fair child harm. 
But held him with his powerful arm. 
That he might neither fight nor flee; 
For when the red cross spied he. 
The boy strove long and violently. 
" Now, by Saint George," the archer cries, 
"Edward, methinks we have a prize! 
This boy's fair face, and courage free, 
Show he is come of high degree." 

XIX. 

" Yes! I am come of high degree. 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch; 
And, if thou dost not set me free, 

False southron, thou shall dearly rue! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed. 
And William of Deloraine, good at need. 
And every Scott from Esk to Tweed; 
And, if thou dost not let me go. 
Despite thy arrows, and tliy bow, 
I'll have thee hanged to feed tlie crow!" 

XX. 

" Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy! 
My mind was never set so high; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
And art the son of such a man. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST mNSTREL 



11 



And ever comest to thy command. 

Our wardens had need to keep good order: 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou'lt make them work upon the border. 
Meantime be pleased to come with me, 
For ^ood lord Dacre shalt thou see. 
1 think our work is well begun, 
When we have taken thy father's son." 

XXI. 

Although the child was led away, 
In Branksome still he seemed to stay. 
For so the dwarf his part did play; 
And, in the shape of that young boy. 
He wrought the castle much annoy. 
The comrades of the young Buccleuch 
He pinched, and beat, and overthrew; 
Nay, some of them he well nigh slew. 
He tore dame Maudlin's silken tire, 
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire. 
He lighted the match of his bandelier,* 
And wofully scorched the hackbutteer.t 
It may be hardly tliought or said. 
The mischief that the urchin made. 
Till many of the castle guessed. 
That the young baron was possessed! 

XXII. 
Well I ween the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispelled; 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 
Much she wondered to find him lie. 

On the stone threshold stretched along; 
She thought some spirit of the sky 

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong; 
Because, despite her precept dread. 
Perchance he in the book had read; 
But the broken lance in his bosom stood, 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 

XXIII. 

She drew the splinter from the wound. 

And with a charm she stanched the blood:'' 

She bade the gash be cleansed and bound; 
No longer by his couch she stood; 

But she has ta'en the broken lance, 
And washed it from the clotted gore. 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.^ 

William of Deloraine, in trance, 

Whene'er she turned it round and round, 
Twisted, as if she galled his wound. 
Then to her maidens she did say. 
That he should be ^^■hole man and sound. 
Within the course of a night and day. 

Full long she toiled; for she did rue 

Mishap to friend so stout and true. 

XXIV. 

So passed the day — the evening fell, 
'Twas near the time of curfew bell; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm. 
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm; 
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower. 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour; 
Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone. 
She waked at times the lute's soft tone; 
Touched a wild note, and, all between. 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns ereen. 



• Bandelier, belt for earrjinj ammunition, 
t Hackbutteer, inusketei-r. 



Her golden hair streamed free from band, 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar. 
For lovers love the western star. 

XXV. 

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 

That rises slowly to her ken. 

And, spreading broad its wavering light, 

Shakes its loose tresses on the night.' 

Is yon red glare the western star? — 

O, 'tis the beacon blaze of war! 

Scarce could she draw her tightened breath, 

For well she new the fire of death ! 

XXVI. 

The warder viewed it blazing strong, 
And blew his warnote loud and long. 
Till, at the high and haughty sound. 
Rock, wood, and river, rung around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall. 
And startled forth the warriors all; 
Far downward, in the castle-j'ard. 
Full many a torch and cresset glared; 
And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed. 
Were in the blaze half seen, half lost; 
And spears in wild disorder shook. 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 

XXVII. 

The seneschal, whose silver hair 

Was reddened by the torches' glare, 

Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 

And issued forth his mandates loud. 

" On Penchryst glows a bale of fire, 

And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire;' 

Ride out, ride out, 

The foe to scout ! 
INlount, mount, for Branksome,* every man! 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan. 

That ever are true and stout. 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale; 
For, when they see the blazing bale, 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail.— 
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life! 
And warn the warden of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise."'" 

xxvni. 

Fair Margaret, from the turret head, 
Heai'd, far below, the coursers' tread. 

While loud the harness rang. 
As to their seats, with clamor dread, 

The ready horsmen sprang; 
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats. 
And leaders' voices, mingled notes. 
And out! and out! 
In hasty route, 

The horsemen galloped forth; 
Dispersing to the south to scout, 

And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies. 
And warn their vassals and allies. 

XXIX. 

The ready page, with hurried hand 
Awaked the need-fire'sf slumbering brand, 

And ruddy blushed the heaven: 
For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, 
Waved like a bloodflag on the sky, 

All flaring and uneven. 



• Mount for Branksome was tlie gatlieiinsr woi-d ur the 
Scotts. t l^ecU-Jire^JKaKou. 



12 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And soon a score of fires, I ween, 

From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen; 

Each with warlike tidings fraught; 

Each from each the signal caught; 

Each after each the)' glanced to sight, 

As stars arise upon the night. 

They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,* 

Haunted by the lonely earn;t 

On many a cairn's gray pyramid, 

Where urns of miglity chiefs lie hid;'! 

Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, 

From Soltra and Dumpender Law; 

And Lothian heard the regent's order. 

That all should bowneif them for the Border. 

XXX. 

The livelong night in Branksome rang 

The ceaseless sound of steel; 
The castle-bell, with backward clang. 

Sent forth the larum peal; 
Was frequent heard the heavy jar, 
Where massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower; 
Was frequent heard the changing guard. 
And watchword from the sleepless ward; 
While, wearied by the endless din. 
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within. 

XXXI. 

The noble dame, amid the broil. 
Shared the gi-ay seneschal's high toll, 
And spoke of danger with a smile; 
Cheered the young knights, and council sage 
Held with the chiefs of riper age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought. 
Nor of his numbers knew they aught, 
Nor in what time the truce he sought. 

Some said, that tiiere were thousands ten. 
And others weened that it was nought 

But Leven clans, or Tynedale men, 
Who came to gather in black mail,|| 
And Liddesdale, with small avail, 

Might drive them lightly back agen. 
So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 

Ceased the high sound — the listening throng 

Applaud the Master of tlie song; 

And marvel much, in helpless age, 

So hard should be his pilgrimage. 

Had he no friend, no daughter dear. 

His wandering toil to share and cheer; 

No son, to be liis father's stay, 

And guide him on the rugged way? 

•' Ay, once he had — but he was dead !" — 

Upon the harp he stooped his head, 

And busied himself tlie strings withal. 

To hide the tear, tliat fain would fall. 

In solemn measure, soft and slow, 

Arose a father's notes of wo. 

CAISTTO IT. 
I. 

Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide 
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; 

No longer steel-clad warriors ride 
Along thy wild and willowed shore: 

Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, 

All, all is peaceful, all is still. 



* Tarn, a mountain lake. 

t Earn, the Scottish eagle, t Bowne, make re 

y ProtEcrion money exacted by free-booters. 



As if thy waves, since time was born. 
Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed, 

Nor started at the bugle-horn. 

II. 

Unlike the tide of human time, 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 
Retains each grief, retains each crime. 

Its earliest course was doomed to know 
And, darker as it downward bears. 
Is stained with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebbed with me. 
It still reflects to memory's eye 
The hour, my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of great Dundee.' 
Why, wlien the volleying musket played 
Against the bloody Highland blade, 
Why was 1 not beside him laid ! — 
Enough — he died the death of fame; 
Enough — he died witli conquering Grseme! 

HI. 

Now over border, dale and fell, 

Full wide and far was terror spread; 

For pathless march, and mountain cell. 
The peasant left his lowly shed.2 

The frightened flocks and herds were pent 

Beneath the peel's rude battlement; 

And maids and matrons dropt the tear. 

While ready warriors seized the spear. 

From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye 

Dim wreaths of distant smoke can spy. 

Which, curling in the rising sun. 

Showed southern ravage* was begun. .-. 

IV. 

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried — 

" Prepare ye all for blows and blood! 
Wat Tinlinn,'' from the Liddel-side, 

Comes wading through the flood. 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock; 
It was but last Saint Barnabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night, 
But fled at morning; well they knew, 
In vain he never twanged the j'ew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower. 
That drove him from his Liddel tower; 
And, by my faith," the gate-wai-d said, 
"I think 'twill prove a Warden-raid."* 

V. 
While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman 
Entered the echoing barbican. 
He led a small and shaggy nag. 
That through a bog, from hag to hagt 
Could bound like any Bilhope stag,^ 
It bore his wife and children twain. 
A half-clothed serf^: was all their train: 
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed. 
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,6 
Laughed to her friends among the crowd. 
He was of stature passing tail. 
But sparely formed, and lean withal: 
A battered morion on his brow; 
A leathern jack, as fence enow. 
On liis broad shoulders loosely hung; 
A border axe behind was slung; 

His spear, six Scottish ells in length, 
Seemed newly died with gore; 

His shafts and bow, of wonderous strength, 
His hardy partner bore. 



* An inroad commanded by the warden in person, 
t The broken ground in a bog. _ \ Buudsman. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



13 



VI. 

Thus to the ladve did Tinlinn show 

The tidings of the English foe. — 

" Belted Will Howard' is marching here, 

And hot lord Dacre,* with many a spear, 

And all the German h.ap;but-men,9 

Who long have lain at Askerten: 

They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour. 

And burned my little lonely tower; 

The fiend receive their souls therefor! 

It had not been burned this year and more. 

Barn-yard, and dwelling, blazing bright, 

Served to guide me on my flight: 

But I was cliased the livelong night. 

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Graeme, 

Full fast upon my traces came. 

Until I turned at Priesthaughscrogg, 

And shot their horses in the bog, 

Slew Fergus with my lance outright — 

1 had him long at high despite: 

He drove my cows last Fastern's night." 

VII. 

Now, weaiy scouts from Liddesdale, 
Fast hurrying in, confirmed tlie tale; 
As far as they could judge by ken, 

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen. 

Meanwhile, full many a warlike baud. 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, 
Came in, their chief's defence to aid. 
There was saddling and mounting in haste, 

There was pricking o'er moor and lee; 
He that was last at the try sting place 

Was but lightly held of his gay ladye. 

VIII. 

From fair Saint Mary's silver wave. 

From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height, 
His ready lances Thirlestane'o brave 

Arrayed beneath a banner bright. 
The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims 
To wreath his shield, since i-oyal James, 
Encamped by Fala's mossy wave. 
The proud distinction grateful gave, 

For faith mid feudal jars; 
What time, save Thirlestanc alone. 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars; 
And hence, in fair remembrance worn. 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne; 
Hence his high motto shines revealed— 
" Ready, aye i-eady," for the field. 

IX. 

An aged knight, to danger steeled. 

With many a moss-trooper, came on: 
And azure in a golden field. 
The stars and crescent graced his shield. 

Without the bend of Murdieston.n 
Wide lay his lands I'ound Oakwood tower. 
And wide round haunted Castle Ower; 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood. 
His wood-embosomed mansion stood; 
In the dark glen, so deep below. 
The herds of plundered England low. 
His bold retainers' daily food. 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Marauding chief! his sole delight 
The moonlight raid, the morning fight; 
Not even the flower of Yarrow's charms. 
In youth, might tame his rage for arms; 
And still, in age, he spurned at rest. 
And still his brows the helmet pressed. 



' Albeit the blanched locks below 
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow: 
Five stately warriors drew the sword 

Before their father's band; 
A braver knight than Harden's lord 

Ne'er belted on a brand. 

X. 

Scotts of Eskdale,'2 a stalwart band. 

Came trooping down the Todshawhill; 
By the sword they won their land. 

And by the sword they hold it still. 
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale. 
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. — 
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair, 
The Beattisons were his vassals there. 
The earl was gentle, and mild of mood. 
The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude; 
High of heart, and haughty of word. 
Little they recked of a tame liege lord. 
The earl to fair Eskdale came. 
Homage and seignory to claim: 
Of Ciiibert the Galliard, a heriot* he sought. 
Saying, " Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought." 
— "Dear to me is'my bonny while steed. 
Oft bus he helped me at pinch of need; 
Lord and earl tliough thou be, I trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." 
Word on word gave fuel to fire. 
Till so highly blazed the Beattisons' ire, 
But that tiie earl to flight had ta'en. 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur. 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir; 
And it fell down a weary weight. 
Just on the threshold of Branksorae gate. 

XI. 

The earl was a wrathful man to see. 

Full fain avenged would he be. 

In haste to Branksome's lord he spoke. 

Saying — " Take these traitors to thy yoke: 

For a cast of hawks, and a pii^te.of gold, 

All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to flPI and hold: 

Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 

If thou Icavest on Esk a landed man: 

But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone. 

For he lent me his horse to escape upon." — 

A glad man then was Branksonie bold, 

Down he flung him the purse of gold; 

To Eskdale soon he spurred amain, 

And with him five hundred riders lias ta'en. 

He left his merrymen in the midst of the hill, 

And bade them hold them close and still; 

And alone he wended to the plain. 

To meet w ith the Galliard and all his train. 

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said: — 

" Know thou me for thy liege lord and head: 

Deal not with me as with Morton tame. 

For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 

Give me in peace my heriot due. 

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shall rue. 

If my horn 1 three times wind, 

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind. " 

XII. 

Loudly the Beatlison laughed in scorn: — 
" Little care we for thy winded horn. 
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot. 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 



* The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to 
the best horse of the vassal, in iiarae of Henot, or Here* 
zeld. 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Wend thou to Branksome back on foot, 

With rusty spur and miry boot." — 

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, 

That the dun deer started at far Craikcross; 

He blew again so loud and clear, 

Through the gi'ay mountain mist there did lances 

appear; 
And the third blast rang with such a din. 
That the echoes answered from Pentoun-linn, 
And all his riders came lightly in. 
Then had you seen a gallant shock, 
When saddles were emptied, and lances broke! 
For each scornful word the Galliard had said, 
A Beallison on the field was laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain drew. 
And he Ixire the Galliard through and through; 
Where the Beattisons' blood mixed with the rill. 
The Galliai-d's Haugh, men call it still. 
The Scotts have scattered the Beattison clan. 
In Eskdale thev left but one landed man. 
The valley of Esk, from the mouth to the som-ce. 
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse. 

XIII. 

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, 
And warriors more than I may name; 
From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaug-swair, 

From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen, 
Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear; 

Their gathering word was Bellenden.'^ 
And better hearts o'er Border sod 
To siege or rescue never rode. 

The Ladye marked the aids come in. 
And high lier heart of pride arose: 
She bade her youthful son attend. 
That he might know his father's friend, 

And learn to face his foes. 
"The boy is ripe to look on war; 
I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff. 
And his true arrow struck afar 
The raven's nest upon the sliff; 
The red cross, on a southern breast, 
Is broader than the raven's nest: 
Thou, Whitslade, shall teach him his weapon to 

wield. 
And over him hold his father's shield." 

XIV. 

Well may you think, the wily page 
Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 
He counterfeited childisli fear. 
And shrieked, and shed full many a tear. 
And moaned and plained in manner wild. 

The attendants to the Ladye told, 
Some fairy, sure, had changed the child, 

That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wi-athful was the noble dame; 
She blushed blood-red for very shame: — 
" Hence! ere the clan his faintness view; 
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch!— 
Wat Tinlinn, thou shall be his guide 
To Rangleburn's lonely side — 
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line. 
That coward should e'er be son of mine!" 

XV. 

A lieavj' task Wat Tinlinn had. 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 
Soon as the palfrey felt tbe weight 
Of that ill-omen'd elfislj freight, 
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain, 
Nor heeded liit, nor curb, nor rein. 
It cost Wat Tinlinn mickle toil 
To drive liim but a Scottish mile; 



But, as a shallow brook they crossed. 
The elf, amid the running stream, 
His figure changed, like form, in dream, 

And fled, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!" 
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed, 
But faster still a cloth yard shaft 
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew. 
And pierced his shoulder through and through. 
Although the imp might not be slain. 
And though the wound soon healed again, 
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain; 
And Wat of Tinlinn, much aghast. 
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 

XVI. 

Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, 
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood; 
And martial murmurs, from below. 
Proclaimed the approaching southern foe. 
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, 
Were border-pipes and bugles blown: 
The coursers' neighing he could ken. 
And measured tread of mai-ching men; 
While broke at times the solemn hum. 
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum; 
And banners tall, of criiuson sheen, 

Above the copse appear; 
And, glistening through the hawthorns green. 

Shine helm, and shield, and spear. 

XVII. 

Light forayers first, to view the ground. 
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely I'ound; 

Behind, in close array and fast. 
The Kendal archers, all in green. 

Obedient to the bugle blast, 

Advancing from the wood were seen. 
To back and guard the archer band. 
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand: 
A hardy race, on Irthing bred. 
With kirtles white, and crosses red, 
Arrayed beneath the banner tall, 
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered Avall: 
And minstrels, as they marched in order. 
Played, "Noble lord Dacre, he dwells on the 
Border. " 

X\1II. 

Behind the English bill and bow. 
The mercenaries, firm and slow. 

Moved on to fight in dark array. 
By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 
Who brought the band from distant Rhine, 

And sold their blood for foreign pay; 
The camp their home, their law the sword. 
They knew no country owned no lord.'* 
They M'ere not armed like England's sons. 
But bore the levin-darting guns; 
Buff coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'er. 
And morsing-horns* and scarfs they wore; 
Each better knee was bared, to aid 
The warriors in the escalade; 
And, as they marched, in rugged tongue, 
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 

XIX. 

But louder still the clamour grew. 
And louder still the minstrels blew. 
When, from beneath tlie greenwood tree. 
Rode forth lord Howard's chivalry; 
His men at arms, with glaive and spear. 
Brought up the battle's glittering rear. 

• Powder flasks. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



15 



There man)' a youtliful knight, full keen 

To gain his spurs, in arms was seen; 

Willi favour in his crest, or glove, 

Memorial of his ladye-love. 

So rode they forth in fair array. 

Till full their lengthened lines display; 

Then called a halt, and made a stand, 

And cried, " Saint George for merry England!" 

XX. 

Now eivery English eye, intent, 
On Branksome's armed towers was hent: 
So near they were, that they might know 
The straining harsii of each cross bow: 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizan; 
Falcon and culver,* on each tower. 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower; 
And flashing armour frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke, 
Where, upon tower and turret head, 
The scathing pitch and molten lead 
Reeked, like a witch's cauldron red. 
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall, , 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoary seneschal. 

XXI. 

Armed he rode, all save tiie head. 

His white beard o'er liis breast-plate spread; 

Unbroke by age, erect his seat. 

He ruled his eager courser's gait; 

Forced him, with chastened fire, to prance, 

And, high curvetting, slow advance: 

In sign of truce, his better hand 

Displayed a peeled willow wand; 

His squire, attending in the rear, 

Rore high a gauntlet on a spear. '^ 

When they espied him riding out. 

Lord Howard and lord Dacre stout 

Sped to the front of their array, 

To hear what this old knight should say. 

XXII. 

" Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the ladye of Bucileuch, 
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border-tide, 
In hostile guise ye dare to ride, 
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand, 
And all yon mercenary band. 
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland? 
My ladye redes you swith return; 
And, if but one poor straw you bum, 
Or do our towers so mucii molest, 
As scare one swallow from her nest, 
Saint Maty! but we'll light a brand. 
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland." 

xxm. 

A wratliful man was Dacre's lord, 
But calmer Howard took the word : 
" May't please thy dame, sir seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall. 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show. 
Both why we came, and when we go." 
The message sped, the nohle dame 
To the wall's outward circle came; 
Each chief around leaned on his spear. 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
All in lord Howard's livery dressed. 
The lion argent decked his breast; 

* Ancient pieces of artillery. 



He led a boy of blooming Ime — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made. 
And thus his master's will he said: 

XXIV. 

" It irks, high dame, my noble lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords; 
But yet they may not tamely see. 
All through the western wardeniy. 
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride. 
And burn and spoil the Border-side; 
And ill beseems your rank and birth 
To make your towers a flemen's-firth.* 
We claim from thee William of Ueloraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason pain;'^ 
It was but last Saint Cuthbert's even 
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harriedt the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widowed dame 
These restless riders may not tame. 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's powers, 
Or straight they sound their warrison,^: 
And storm and spoil thy garrison; 
And this fair boy, to London led. 
Shall good king Edward's page be bred." 

XXV. 

He ceased; — and loud the boy did cry, — 
And stretch'd liis little arms on high; 
Implor'd for aid each well-known face, 
And strove to seek the dame's embrace. 
A moment changed that ladye's cheer; 
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear; 
She gazed upon the leaders round, 
And dark and sad each warrior frowned; 
Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
She locked the struggling sigh to rest; 
Unaltered and collected stood, 
And thus replied in dauntless mood: — 

XXVI. 

" Say to your lords of high emprise. 

Who war on women and on boys 

That either William of Deloraine 

AVill cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,iT 

Or else he will the combat take 

'Gainst Musgrave, for his honour's sake. 

No knight in Cumberland so good. 

But William may count with him kin and blood. 

Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,'** 

When English blood swelled Ancram ford;" 

And but tliat lord Dacre's steed was wight, 

And bore him ably in the flight, 

Himself had seen him dubbed a knight. 

For the young heir of Branksome's line, 

God be his aid, and God be mine; 

Through me no friend shall meet his doom; 

Here, while I live, no foe finds room. 

Then, if thy lords their purpose urge. 
Take our defiance loud and high; 

Our slogan is their lyke-wake|l dirge, 
Our moat, the grave where they shall lie." 

XXVIL 

Proud she looked round, applause to claim- 
Then lightened Thirlestane's eye of flame; 



* An asylum for outlaws, t Plundered. X Note of assault. 
II Ly ke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to interment. 



16 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



His bugle Wat of Harden blew: 
Pensils and pennons wide were flung, 
To Heaven the Border slogan rung, 

" Saint Mary for the young Buccleuch!" 
The English war-cry answered wide, 

And forward bent each southern spear; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride, 

And drew the bow-string to his ear; 
Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown: — 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, 

A horseman galloped from the rear. 

xxvni. 

" Ah! noble lords!" he, breathless, said, 
" What treason has your march betrayed? 
What make you here, from aid so far, 
Before you walls, around you war? 
Your foemen triumph in the thought, 
That in the toils the lion's caught. 
Already on dark Ruberslaw 
The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw,* 
The lances, waving in his train, 
Clothe the dun heap like autumn grain; 
And on the Liddel's northern strand, 
To bar retreat to Cumberland, 
Lord Maxwell ranks his merry men good, 
Beneatli the eagle and the rood; 

And Jed wood, Esk, and Teviot dale, 
Have to proud Angus come; 

And all the Merse and Lauderdale 
Have risen with haughty Home. 

An exile from Northumberland, 
In Liddesdale I've wandered long; 

But still my heart was with merry England, 
And cannot brook my country's wrong; 
And hard I've spurred all night to show 
The mustering of the coming foe." 

XXIX. 

" And let tliem come!" fierce Dacre cried; 
♦' For soon yon crest, my father's pride, 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea, 
And waved in gales of Galilee, 
From Branksome's highest towers displayed, 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid! — 
Level each hai-quebuss on row; 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow; 
Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die!" 

XXX. 

" Yet hear," quoth Howard, " calmly hear, 

^or deem my words the words of fear: 

For who, in field or foray slack, 

Saw the blanche lion-" e'er fall back? 

But thus to risk our Border flower 

In strife against a kingdom's jjower. 

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three, 

Certes, were desperate policy. 

Nay, take the terms the Ladye made. 

Ere conscious of the advancing aid: 

Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine 

In single fight,^' and if he gain. 

He gains for us; but if he's crossed, 

'TIS but a single warrior lost: 

The rest, retreating as they came. 

Avoid defeat, and death, and shame." 

XXXI. 

Ill could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother-warden's sage rebuke: 
And yet his forward step he stayed. 
And slow and sullenly obeyed. 



' Weapon-schav), the miiitaiT- array of a country. 



But ne'er again the Border-side 
Did these two lords in friendship ride; 
And this slight discontent, men say, 
Cost blood upon another day. 

XXXII. 

The pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand; 
His trumpet called, witli parleying strain, 

The leaders of the Scottish band; 
And he defied, in Musgrave's right. 
Stout Deloraine to single fight; 
A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
And thus the terms of fight he said: — 
" If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

Vanquish the knight of Deloraiue, 
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord. 

Shall hostage for his clan remain: 
If Deloraine toil good Musgrave, 
The boy his liberty shall have. 

Howe'er it falls, tlie English band, 
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed. 
In peacefid march, like men unarmed. 

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland. " 

XXXIII. 

Unconscious of the near relief. 

The profi'er pleased each Scottish chief. 

Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed, 
For though their hearts were brave and true, 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew. 

How tardy was the regent's aid: 
And you may guess the noble dame 

Durst not the secret prescience own. 
Sprung from the art she might not name. 

By which the coming help was known. 
Closed was the compact, and agreed. 
That lists should be enclosed with speed, 

Beneath the castle, on a lawn: 
They fixed the morrow for the strife. 
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife. 

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn; 
Wlien Deloraine, from sickness freed. 
Or else a champion in his stead. 
Should for himself and chieftain stand. 
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 

XXXIV. 

I know right well, that, in their lay, 
Full many minstrels sing and say. 

Such combat should be made on horse, 
On foaming steed, in full career. 
With brand to aid, when as the spear 

Should shiver in the course: 
But he, the jovial harper, 2^ taught 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought. 

In guise which now I say; 
He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of black lord Archibald's battle laws,23 

In the old Douglas' day. 
He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue 
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong. 

Or call his song untrue; 
For this, when they the goblet plied. 
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride. 

The bard of ReuU he slew. 
On Teviot's side, in fight they stood, 
And tuneful hands were stained with blood; 
Where still the thorn's white branches wave, 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 

XXXV. 

Why shoidd I tell the rigid doom, 
That dragged my master to his tomb; 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MNSTREL 



17 



How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair. 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, 
And wrung their hands for love of him. 

Who died at Jedwood Air? 
He died! — His scholars, one by one. 
To the cold silent grave are gone; 
And 1, alas! survive alone, 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore, 
j\nd grieve that 1 shall hear no more 
The strains, with envy heard before; 
For, with my minstrel brethren fled. 
My jealousy of song is dead. 

He paused: the listening dames again 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain; 
With many a word of kindly cheer, — 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvelled the duchess how so well 
His legendary song could tell, — • * 
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot; 
Of feuds, whose memory was not; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare; ~" 
Of towers, whicii harbour now the hare; 
Of manners, long since changed apd gone; 
Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 
So long had slept, that lickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their name. 
And twined round some new minion's head 
The fading wreath for which tbey bled; 
In sooth, 'twas strange, tiiis old man's verse 
Could call them from their marble hearse. 

The Harper smiled, well pleased; for ne'er 
Was flattery lost on poet's ear. 
A simple race! they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile; 
E'en when in age their flame expires, 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires: 
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, 
And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. 

Smiled then, well pleased, the Aged Man, 
Aud thus his tale continued ran. 



Cii-t it not vain: — they do not err. 
Who say, that, when the Poet dies, 

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper. 
And celebrates his obsequies; 
Who say, tall clifl^, and cavern lone, 
For the departed bard make moan; 
That mountains weep in crystal I'ill; 
That flowers in tears of balm distil; 
Through his loved groves that breezes sigh. 
And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave. 

II. 

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
Those things inanimate can mourn; 
But tliat the stream, the wood, the gale, 
Is vocal with the plaintive wail 
Of those, -who, else forgotten long, 
Lived in the poet's faithful song. 
And, with the poet's pai-ting breath. 
Whose memory feels a second death. 
The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 
That love, true love, should be forgot. 
From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 
Upon the gentle minstrel's bier: 
The phantom knight, his gloiy fled, 
Moui-ns o'er the field he heaped with dead; 



Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain, 

And shrieks along the battle-plain: 

The chief, whose antique crownlet long 

Still sparkled in the feudal song, 

Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 

Sees, in the thanedom once his own, 

His ashes undistinguished lie. 

His place, his power, his memory die: 

His groans the lonely caverns fill. 

His tears of rage impel the rill; 

All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung, 

Their name unknown, their praise unsung. 

111. 

Scarcely the hot assault was staid. 

The terms of truce were scarcely made. 

When they could spy, from Branksome's towers. 

The advancing march of martial powers; 

Thick clouds of dust afar appeared, 

And trampling steeds were faintly heard; / 

Bright spears, above the columns dun. 

Glanced momentary to the sun; 

And feudal banners fair displayed 

The bands that moved to Branksome's aid. 

IV. 

Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 

From the fair Middle Marches came; 
The Bloody Heart' blazed in the van. 

Announcing Douglas' dreaded name ! 
Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn. 
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderbume^ 

Their men in battle-order set; 
And SwintonS laid the lance in rest. 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantagenet. 
Nor lists I say what hundreds more. 
From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders, to the war. 
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar, 

And Hepburn's mingled banners come, 
Down the steep mountain glittering far, 

And shouting still, " a Home! a Home!"* 

V. 

Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent. 

On many a courteous message went; 

To every chief and lord they paid 

Meet thanks for prompt and powei-ful aid; 

And told them, — how a truce was made. 

And how a day of fight was ta'en 

'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine; 
And how the Ladye prayed them dear, 

That all would stay the fight to see, 

And deign, in love and courtesy. 
To taste of Branksome cheer. 
Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, 
Were England's noble lords forgot; 
Himself, the hoary seneschal. 
Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 
Those gallant foes to Branksome hall. 
Accepted Howard, than whom knight 
Was never dubbed more bold in fight; 
Nor, when from war and armour free. 
More famed for stately courtesy. 
But ang^y Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 

VI. 

Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask. 

How these two hostile armies met? 
Deeming it were no easy task 

To keep the truce which here was set; 
Where martial spirits, all on fire. 
Breathed only blood and mortal ire. 



18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



By mutual inroads, mutual blows. 
By habit, and by nation, foes, 

The)' met on Teviot's strand: 
They met, and sate them mingled down, 
Without a tlireat, without a frown, 

As brothers meet in foreign land: 
The hands, the spear that lately grasped, 
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped, 

Were interchanged in greeting dear; 
Visors Mere raised, and faces shown. 
And many a friend, to friend made known, 

Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about; 

With dice and draughts some chased the day; 
And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, revelry, and rout. 

Pursued the ibot-ball play.5 ^ 

VII. 

Yet, be it known, had bugles blown, 

Or sign of war been seen. 
Those bands, so fair together ranged, 
Those hands, so frankly interchanged. 

Had died with gore tlie green. 
The merry shout by Teviot side 
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide. 

And in the groan of death; 
And whingers,* now in friendship bare, 
The social meal to part and share, 

Had found a bloody siieath. 
'Twixt truce and war, sucli sudden change 
Was not infrequent, nor held strange. 

In the old Border-day;6 
But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 
In peaceful men-iment, sunk down 

'i'he sun's declining ray. 

vm. 

The blithsome signs of wassel gay 
Decayed not with the dying day; 
Soon through the latticed windows tall 
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall. 
Divided square by shafts of stone, 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone; 
Nor less the gilded rafters rang 
With men-y harp and beakers' clang: 
And frequent, on the darkening plain. 

Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran. 
As bands, their stragglers to regain. 

Give the siirill watchword of their clan;'' 
And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 
Douglas or Daci-e's conquering name. 

IX. 

Less frequent heard, and fainter still. 

At length, the various clamours died; 
And you might hear, from Branksonie hill, 

No sound but Teviot's rushing tide; 
Save, when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his watch could tell; 
And save, where, through the dark profound, 
The clanging axe and hammer's sound 

Rung from the nether lawn; 
For many a busy hand toiled there, 
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square. 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare 

Against the morrow's dawn. 
X. 
Margaret from hall did soon retreat. 

Despite the Dame's reproving eye; 
Nor marked she, as she left her seat. 

Full many a stifled sigh: 



• A sort of knife, or poniard. 



For many a noble warrior strove 
To win the flower of Teviot's love. 

And many a bold ally. — 
With throbbing head and anxious heart. 
All in her lonely bower apart, 

In broken sleep she lay; 
By times, from silken couch she rose; 
While yet the bannered hosts repose, 

She viewed the dawning day: 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest. 
First woke the loveliest and the best. 

XI. 

She gazed upon the inner court, 

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; 
Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort. 

Had rung the live-long yesterday; 
Now still as death; till, stalking slow, — 

The jinglingL^jjjjrs announced his tread, — 
A stately -warrior passed below ; 

But when he raised his plumed head 

Blessed Mary ! can it be i" — 
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, 
He walks through Branksome's hostile towers. 

With fearless step and free. 
She dared not sign, she dared not speak — • 
Oh! if one page's slumbers break, 

His blood the price must pay! 
Not all the pearls queen Mary wears. 
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears. 

Shall buy his life a day. 
XII. 
Yet was his hazard small; for well 
You may bethink you of the spell 

Of that sly urchin page; 
This to his lord he did impart. 
And made him seem, by glamour art, 

A knight from hermitage. 
Unchallenged, thus, the warder's post. 
The court, unchallenged, thus he crossed, 

For all the vassalage: 
But, O! what magic's quaint disguise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 

She started from her seat; 
While with surprise and fear she strove, 
And both could scarcely master love — ■ 

Lord Henry's at her feet. 

xni. 

Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 
That foul malicious urchin had 

To bring this meeting round; 
For happy love's a heavenly sight. 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is found; 
And oft I've deemed, perchance he thought 
Their erring passion might have wrought 

Sorrow, and sin, and siiame; 
And death to Cranstoun's gallant knight. 
And to the gentle ladye bright, 

Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heart of them that loved so well. 
I'rue love's the gift which God has given 
To man alone beneath the heaven. 

It is not fantasy's hot fire. 

Whose wishes, soon as granted fly; 

It livcth not in fierce desire. 

With dead desire it doth not die; 
It is the secret sympathy. 
The silver link, the silken tie, 
W^hich heart to heart, and mind to mind, 
In body and in soul can bind. — 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



19 



Nqw leave we Margaret and her knight, 
Trf tell you of the approaching fight. 

XIV. 

Their warning blast the bugles blew. 

The pipe's shrill port* aroused each clan: 
In haste, the deadly strife to view. 
The trooping warriors eager ran: 
Thick round the lists their lances stood, 
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood; 
To Branksome many a look they threw, 
The combatants' approach to view, 
And bandied mam' a word of boast. 
About the knight each favoured most. 

XV. 

Meantime full anxious was the dame; 
For now arose disputed claim, 
Of who should fight for Ueloraine, 
'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestane: 
'They gan to reckon kin and rent, 
And frowning brow on brow was bent; 
But j'et not long the strife — for, lo! 
Himself, the knight of Deloraine, 
Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain, 
In armour sheathed from top to toe. 
Appeared, and craved the combat due. 
The dame her charm successful knew,t 
And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew. 

XVI. 

When for the lists they sought the plain. 
The stately lady's silken rein 

Did noble Howard Ijold; 
Unarmed by her side he walked. 
And much, in courteous phrase, they talked 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff. 

With satin slashed, and lined; 
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur. 
His cloak was all of Poland fur, 

His hose with silver twined; 
His Bilboa blade, hy Marchmen felt. 
Hung in a broad and studded belt; 
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 
Call'd noble Howard, belted WiU. 

XVII. 

Behind lord Howard and the dame. 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came. 

Whose foot-cloth swept the ground; 
White was her wimple and her veil, 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound. 
The lordly Angus, by her side, 
In courtesy to cheer her tried; 
Without his aid, her liand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broidered rein. 
He deemed she suddered at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight; 
But cause of terror, all unguessed, 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their chairs of crimson placed. 
The dame and she the barriers graced. 

XVIII. 

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
An English kniglit led forth to view; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight. 
So much he longed to see the fight. 
Within the lists, in knightly pride. 



• A martial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes. 
t See p. 11. Stanza XXIII. 



Higli Home and haughty Dacre ride; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield, 
As marshals of the mortal field; 
While to each knight their care assigned 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, 
In king and queen, and warden's name. 

That none, while lasts the strife, 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, 
Aid to a champion to afford. 

On peril of his life; 
And not a breath the silence broke, 
Till thus the alternate heralds spoke:— 

XIX. 

EN^RIISH HERALD. 

Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 

Good knight and true, and freely born. 
Amends from Deloraine to crave, 

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn: 
He sayeth, that William of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws; 
This with his sword he will maintain, 

So help him God, and his good cause! 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

Here standeth William of Deloraine, 
Good knight and true, of noble strain. 
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain. 

Since he bore arras, ne'er soiled his coat; 
And that, so help him God above! 
He will on Musgrave's body prove. 
He lies most foully in his throat. 

LORD DACKE. 

Forward, brave champions, to the fight! 
Sound trumpets! 

LORD HOME. 

"God defend the right!' 

Then, Teviot! how tliine echoes rang. 
When bugle-sound and trumpet clang 

Let loose the martial foes. 
And in mid list, with sliield poised high. 
And measured step and war)' eye. 

The combatants did close. 

XXI. 

Ill would it suit your gentle ear. 

Ye lovely listeners, to hear 

How to the axe the helms did sound. 

And blood poured down from many a wound; 

For desperate was the strife and long, 

And either warrior fierce and strong. 

But, were each dame a listening knight, 

I well could tell how warriors fight; 

For I ha\e seen war's lightning flashing, 

Seen the claymore witli bayonet clashing, 

Seen througii red blood the war-horse dashing 

And scorned, amid the reeling strife. 

To yield a step for death or life. 

XXII. 

Tis done, 'lis done! that fatal blow 
Has stretched liim on the bloody plain; 

He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no! 
Thence never shalt thou rise again ! 

He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 

Undo the visor's barred band, 

Unfix the gorget's iron clasp. 

And give him room for life to gasp ! 

O, bootless aid! — Haste, holy friar, 

Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 

Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 
i And smooth his path from earth to heaver.! 



20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXIIl. 

In haste the holy friar sped; — 
His naked foot was died wiUi red. 

As through the lists he run: 
Unmindful of the siiouts on high, 
That hailed the conqueror's victor}', 

He raised the dying man; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair. 
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer; 
And still the crucifix on hi^h 
He holds before his darkening eye; 
And still he bends an anxious ear, 
His faltering penitence to hear; 

Still props him from the bloody sod; 
Still, even when soul and body part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, 

And bids liim trust in God ! 
Unheard he prays; — the death-pang's o'er! 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 

XXIV. 

As if exhausted in the fight, 

Or musing o'er the piteous sight. 

The silent victor stands: 
His beaver did he not unclasp, 
Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When, lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands; 
And all, amid the throng'd array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
Who downward trom the castle ran: 
He crossed the barriers at a bound, 

And wild and haggard looked around, 
As dizzy, and in pain; 

And all, n])on the armed ground. 
Knew William of Deloraine! 
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed; 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed; 

" And who art thou," they cried, 
" Who hast this battle fought and won?" 
His plumed helm was soon undone — 

" Cranstoun of Teviot-side! 
For this fair prize I've fought and won:" — 
And to the Ladye led her son. 

XXV. 

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed. 
And often pressed him to her breast; 
For, under all her dauntless show, 
Her heart had throbbed at ever}' blow; 
Yet not lord Cranstoun deigned she greet. 
Though low he kneeled at her/eet. 
Me list not tell what words were made, 
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said— 

— iFor Howard was a generous foe— 
And how the clan imited prayed. 

The Ladye would the feud forego, 
And deign "to bless the nuptial hour 
Ot Cranstoun's loi'd and Teviot's Flower. 

XXVI. 

She looked to river, looked to hill. 

Thought on the spirit's prophesy. 
Then broke her silence stern and still,— 

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me; 
Their influence kindly stars may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower. 

For pride is quelled, and love is free." 
She took fair Margaret by the hand, 
Who, breathless, "trembling, scarce might stand; 

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she:— 



" As I am true to thee and thine, 
Do thou be true to me and mine! 

This clasp of love our bond shall be. 
For this is your betrothing day, 
And all these noble lords shall stay. 

To grace it with their company." 

XXVII. 

All as they left the listed- plain. 

Much of the story she did-'gain; 

How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, 

And of his page, and of the book 

Which from the wounded knight he took; 

And how he sought her castle high. 

That morn, by help of gramarye; 

How, in Sir William's armour dight. 

Stolen by his page, while slept the knight. 

He took on him the single fight. 

But h.ilf his tale he left unsaid, 

And lingered till lie joined the maid.— 

Cared not the Ladye to betray 

Her mystic arts in view of day; 

But well she thought, ere midnight came. 

Of that strange page the pride to tame. 

From his foul hands the book to save,- 

And send it back to Michael's grave. — 

Needs not to tell eacli tender word 

'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord; 

Nor how she told of former woes, 

And how her bosom fell .and rose. 

While he and Musgrave bandied blows. — 

Needs not these lovers' joys to tell; 

One day, fair maids, you'll know them well. 

XXVIII. 

William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had wakened from his deathlike trance; 

And taught that, in the listed plain, 
Another, in his arms and shield. 
Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield. 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran, 
And hence his presence scared the clan, 
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,* 
And not a man of blood and breath. 

Not much this new ally he loved, 
Yet, when he saw what hap had proved. 
He greeted him right heartilie: 

He would not waken old debate. 

For he was void of rancorous hate, 
Though rude, and scant of courtesy. 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood. 
Unless when men at arms withstood, 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from g.illant foe: 

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now. 

When on dead Musgrave he looked down; 

Grief darkened on his rugged brow, 
Though half disguised with a frown; 
And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 
His foeman's epitaph he made. 

XXIX. 

*' Now, Richard Musgi-ave, liest thou here! 

1 ween, my deadly enemy; 
For, if I slew thy brother dear, 

Tiiou slewest a sister's son to me; 
And when I lay in dungeon dark. 

Of Naworth Castle, long months three. 
Till ransomed for a thousand mark, 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 



* The spectral apparition of a living pei-son. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



21 



And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, 

And thou wert now alive, as 1, 
No mortal man should us divide, 

Till one, or both of us, did die. 
Yet rest thee, God ! tor well 1 know 
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here, 
^^'hose word is snafle, spur, and spear,* 
Thou wert the best to follow gear. 
'Twas pleasure, as we looked behind. 
To see how thou the chase couldst wind, 
Cheer the dark blood-hound** on his way, 
And with the bugle rouse the fray ! 
I'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive again." — 

XXX. 

So mourned he, till lord Dacre's band 
Were bowning back to Cumberland. 
They raised brave Musgrave from the field, 
And laid him on his bloody shield; 
On levelled lances, four and four, 
By turns, the noble burden bore. 
Before, at times, upon the gale. 
Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail; 
Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul: 
Around, the horsemen slowly rode; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode; 
And thus the gallant knight they bore. 
Through Liddesdale, to Leven's shore; 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, 
And laid him in his father's grave. 

The harp's wild notes, though hushed the song, 

The mimic march of death prolong; 

Now seems it far, and now a-ncar. 

Now meets, and now eludes the ear; 

Now seems some mountain side to sweep, 

Now faintly dies in valley deep; 

Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, 

Now the sad requiem loads the gale: 

Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave. 

Rung the full choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell, 

"Why he, who touched the harp so well. 

Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, 

"Wander a poor and thankless soil. 

When the more generous southern land 

Would well requite his skilful hand. 

The aged harper, howsoe'er 
His only friend, his harp, was dear. 
Liked not to hear it ranked so high 
Above his flowing poesy; 
Less liked he still, that scornful jeer 
Misprized the land he loved so dear; 
High was the sound, as thus again 
The bard resumed his Minstrel strain. 



I. 

Beathes there the man, with soul so dead,! 
Who never to himself hath said. 

This is my own, my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wanderins: on a foreign strand? 



* The lands that over Ouse to Bei-w'ick foith do bear, 
Have for tlieir blazon had, the snafle, spnr, and spear. 
Poly-Albion, Song xiii. 



If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 
For him no Minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Bnundlesshis wealth as wish can claim; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self. 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung. 
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. 

II. 

O Caledonia! stern and wild. 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood. 

Land of the mountain and the flood. 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band. 

That knits me to thy rugged strand! 

Still, as I view each well-known scene, 

Think what is now, and what hath been, 

Seems as, to me, of all bereft. 

Sole friends thy woods and streams arc left: 

And thus I love them better still. 

Even in extremity of ill. 

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, 

Though none should guide my feeble way; 

Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, 

Although it chill my withered cheek; 

Still lay my head by Teviot's stone, 

Thougli there, forgotten and alone. 

The bard may draw his parting groan. 

m. 

Not scorned like me! to Branksome Hall 
The minstrels came, at festive call: 
Trooping they came, from near and fai-, 
The jovial priests of mirth and war; 
Alike for feast and fight prepared, 
Battle and banquet both they shared. 
Of late, before each martial clan. 
They blew their death-note in the van, 
But now, for everj' merry mate. 
Rose the portcullis' iron grate; 
They sound the pipe, they strike the string, 
They dance, they revel, and they sing. 
Till the rude turrets shake and ring. 

IV. 

Me lists not at this tide declare 

The splendour of the spousal rite. 
How mustered in the chapel fair 

Both maid and matron, squire and knight; 
Me lists not tell of owches rare, 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And kirtles furred with miniver; 
W hat plumage waved the altar round. 
How spurs, and ringing chainlets, sound: 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek; 
That lovely hue which conies and flies. 
As awe and shame alternate rise. * 

V. 

Some bards have sung, the ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh; 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace. 
So much she feared each holy place. 
False slanders these;^ — 1 trust right well. 
She wrought not by forbidden spell;' 
For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in planetary hour: 
Yet scarce 1 praise their veiiturous part. 
Who tamper with such dangerous art: 



22 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But this for faithful truth I say, 
The Ladye by the altar stood, 
Of sable velvet her array, 

And on her head a crimson hood. 
With pearls embroidered and entwined. 
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist,^ 
Held by a leash of silken twist. 

VI. 

The spousal rites were ended soon: 

'Twas now the men-y hour of noon. 

And in the lofty arched hall 

Was spread the gorgeous festival. 

Steward and squire, with heedful haste, 

Marshalled the rank of every guest; 

Pages, with ready blade, were there. 

The mighty meal to carve and share: 

O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. 

And princely peacock's gilded train,-* 

And o'er the boar-head, * garnished brave, 

And cygnet^ from St. Mary's wave;^ 

O'er ptarmigan and venison. 

The priest had spoke his benison; 

Then rose the riot and the din. 

Above, beneath, without, within! 

For, from the lofty balcony. 

Rung trumpet, shalm, and psalteiy; 

Their clanging bowls old warriors quaffed. 

Loudly they spoke, and loudly laughed; 

Whispered young knights, in tone more mild, 

To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 

The hooded hawks, high perched on beam. 

The clamour joined witii whistling scream. 

And flapped their wings, and shook their bells, 

In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 

Rountl go the flasks of ruddy wine. 

From Bordeaux, Orleajis, or the Rhine; 

Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 

And all is mirtli and revelry. 

VII. 

The goblin page, omitting still 

No opportunity of ill. 

Strove now, while blood ran hot and high. 

To rouse debate and jealousy; 

Till Conrad, lord of Wolfenstein, 

By nature fierce, and warm with wine. 

And now in humour higiily crossed. 

About some steeds liis band had lost. 

High words to words succeeding still. 

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthil;'' 

A hot and hardy Rutherford, 

Whom men call Dickon Draw-the-sword. 

He took it on the page's saye, 

Hunthil had driven these steeds away. 

Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, 

The kindling discord to compose: 

Stern Rutherford right little said. 

But bit his glove and shook his head. — 8 

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 

Stout Conrad, cold, and drenclied in blood, 

His bosom gored with many a wound. 

Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found; 

Unknown the manner of his death, 

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath; 

But ever from that time, 'twas said, 

Tiiat Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 

vni. 

The dwarf, who feared his master's eye 
Might his foul treachery, espie. 
Now sought the castle buttery. 
Where many a yoeman, bold and free. 



Revelled as merrily and well 

As those that sat in lordly selle. 

Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise 

The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-braes;9 

And he, as by his breeding bound. 

To Howard's merry men sent it round. 

To quit them, on the English side. 

Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 

"A deep carouse to yon fair bride!" 

At every pledge, from vat and pail, 

Foamed forth, in floods, the nut-brown ale; 

While shout the riders every one, 

Such day of mirth ne'er cheered their clan. 

Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 

When in the cleuch the buck Avas ta'en.io 

IX. 

The wily page, with vengeful thought. 
Remembered him of Tinlinn's yew. 

And swore, it should be dearly bought. 
That ever he the arrow drew. 

First, he the yeoman did molest. 

With bitter gibe, and taunting jest; 

Told, how he fled at Stdway strife, 

And how Hob Armstrong cheered his wife: 

Then, shunning still his powerful arm, 

At unawares he wrought him harm; 

From ti-encher stole his choicest dieer, 

Dashed from his lips his can of beer; 

Then, to his knee sly creeping on, 

With bodkin pierced him to the bone: 

The venonied wound, and festering joint. 

Long after rued that bodkin's point. 

The startled yeoman swore and spurned. 

And board and flaggons overturned. 

Riot and clamour wild began; 

Back to the hall the urchin ran; 

Took in a darkling nook his post. 

And grinned, and muttered, "Lost! lost! lost!" 
X. 

By this, the Dame, lest farther fray 

Should mar the concord of the day. 

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 

And first stept forth old Albert Grseme,'! 

The Minstrel of that ancient name: 

Was none who struck the harp so well. 

Within tlie Land Debateable; " 

Well friended too, his hardy kin. 

Whoever lost, were sure to win; 

They sought the beeves, that made their broth. 

In Scotland and in England both. 

In homely guise, as nature bade. 

His simple song the Borderer said. 

XI. 

AlBEKT GR:EME. 

It was an English ladye bright, 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)i2 

And she would marry a Scottish knight. 
For Love will still be lord of all. 

Blithly they saw the rising sun, 

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall. 

But they were sad ere day was done. 
Though Love was still the lord of all. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine. 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands, both meadow and lea, 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall. 

And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all ! 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



23 



xn. 

That wine she had not tasted well, 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 

Wnen dead, in her true love's arms, she fell. 
For Love was still the lord of all. 

He pierced her brother to the heart. 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; — 

So perish all, would true love pai-t, 
That Love may still be lord of all. 

And then he took the cross divine. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, 

And he died for her sake in Palestine, 
So Love was still the lord of all. 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 

Pray for their souls who died for love, 
For Love shall still be lord of all I 

xni. 

As ended Albert's simple lay. 

Arose a bard of loftier port; 
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay. 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court: 
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song! 
• The gentle Surrey loved his lyre— 

Who has not heard of Surrey's fame"3 

His was the hero's soul of fire. 

And his, the bard's immortal name. 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 

XIV. 

They sought, together, climes afar. 

And oft within some olive grove, 
When evening came, with twinkling star. 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the Italian peasant staid. 

And deemed, that spirits from on high. 
Round where some hermit saint was laid, 

Were breathing heavenly melodj'; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine. 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver! O what tongue may say 
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew. 

When Surrey, of the deathless laj', 
Ungi'ateful Tudor's sentence slew! 

Regardless of the tyrant's frown. 

His harp called wrath and vengeance down. 

He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 

Windsor's gi-een glades, and courtly bowers, 

And, faithful to his patron's name, 

Witli Howard still Fitztraver ciime; 

Lord William's foremost favourite he. 

And chief of all his mistrelsy. 

XVL 

FITZTRAVER. 

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heartbeat high: 

He heard the midnigiit bell with anxious start. 
Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh. 

When wise Cornelius promised, by his art. 
To show to him the ladye of his heart. 

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean gi-im; 
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part. 

That he should see her form in life and limb, 
A nd maik, if still she loved, and still she thought 
of him. 

XVI [. 
Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye. 

To which the wizard led the gallant knight, 



Save that before a mirror, huge and high, 
A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light 

On mystic implements of magic might; 
On cross, and character, and talisman. 

And almagest, and altar, — nothing bright; 
For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan. 

As watch-light by the bed of some departing man. 

XMII. 
But soon, within that mirror huge and high. 

Was seen a self-emitted liglit to gleam; 
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy. 

Cloudy and indistinct as feverish dream; 
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 

To form a lordly and a lofty room. 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in 
gloom. 

Fair all the pageant — hut how passing fair 

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair. 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; 
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine 
Some strain that seemed her inmost sou] to find: — 

That favour'd strain was Surrey's raptured line. 
That fair and lovely form, the Ladye Geraldine. 

XX. 

Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form. 

And swept the goodly vision all away — 
So royal envy rolled the murky storm 

O'er my beloved master's glorious day. 
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay 

On thee, and on thy children's latest line. 
The wild caprice of thy despotic swa}'. 

The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine, 
The murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of Geral- 
dine ! 

XXL 
Both Scots, and Southern chiefs prolong 
Applauses of Fitztraver's song: 
These hated Henry's name as death,' 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air. 
Rose Harold, bard of brave St Clair; 
St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home 
Had with that lord to battle come. 
Harold was born where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades; 
Where erst St. Clairs'-" held princely sway 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay;— 
Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall I's 
Thence oft lie marked fierce Pentland rave, 
As it grim Odin rode her wave; 
And watched, the whilst, with visage pale. 
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail; 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 

XXII. 

And much of wild and wonderful 
In these rude isles mighty Fancy cull; 
For thither came, in times afar. 
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, 
The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood. 
Skilled to prepare the raven's food; 
Kings of the main their leaders brave. 
Their barks the dragons of the wave. '6 
And there, in many a stormy vale, 
jThe scald had told his wonderous tale: 



24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And many a Runic column high 
Had witnessed gi'ini idolatiy. 
And thus had Harold, in his youth, 
Learned many a saga's rhyme uncouth, — 
Of that sea-snake, '■' tremendous curled, 
Whose monstrous circle girds the world; 
or those dread Maids, whose hideous yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell's 
Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 
By tlTC pale death-lights of the tomb. 
Ransacked the graves of warriors old. 
Their falchions'-^ wrenched from corpses' hold, 
Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms, 
And bade the dead arise to arms! 
With war and wonder all on flame. 
To Roslin's bowers young Harold came. 
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, 
He learned a milder minstrelsy; 
Yet something of the northern spell 
Mixed with the softer numbers well. 

XXIU. 



O listen, listen, ladies gay! 

No haughty feat of arms 1 tell; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 

That mourns the lovely Rosabellc.^o 

— " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! 
Rest thee in castle Ravensheuch,2i 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackning wave is edged with white; 

To inch* and rock the sea-mews fly; 
The fishers have heard the water sprite. 

Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh, 

•' Last night the gifted seer did view 
A wet shroud swathe a ladye gay; 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch: 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day'" 

♦' 'Tis not because lord Lindesay's heir 
To night at Rosliu leads the ball, 

But that my ladye-mother. there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide. 
It 'tis not filled by Rosabelle." 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night 

A wonderous blaze was seen to gleam: 

'Twas broader tiiaii the watch-fire light. 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
It ruddied all tlie copse-wood glen; 

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 
And seen from caverned Hawlhornden. 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud. 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncottined lie; 

Each baron, for a sable shroud. 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 2^ 

Seemed all on fire, within, around. 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale: 
Shone every pillar foliage bound. 

And glimmered all the dead-men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 



* Inch, Isle. 



So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high St. Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle: 

Each one the holy vault doth hold- 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle! 

And each St. Clair was buried there. 
With candle, with book, and with knell; 

But the sea caves rung, and the wild winds sung 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 

So sweet was Harold's piteous lay. 

Scarce marked the guests the darkened hall, 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wonderous shade involved them all; 
It was not eddying mist or fog. 
Drained by the sun fi'om fen or bog; 

Of no eclipse had sages told; 
And yet, as it came on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbour's face, . 

Could scarce his own stretched hand behold. 
A secret horror checked the feast. 
And chilled the soul of every guest; 
Even the high dame stood halt aghast. 
She knew some evil on the blast; 
The elvish page fell to the gi-ound. 
And, shuddering, muttered, " Found, fouad 
found ! " 

XXV. 

Then sudden, through the darkened air 

A flash of lightning came; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare, 

The castle seemed on flame; 
Glanced every rafter of the hall, 
Glanced every shield upon the wall; 
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone, 
Were instant seen, and instant gone; 
Full through the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flashed the levin-brand. 
And filled the hall with smouldering smoke, 
As on the elfish page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud. 

Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud, 
From sea to sea the larum rung; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withnl, 
To arms the startled warders sprung. 
When ended was the dreadful roar. 
The elfish dwarf was seen no morel 

XXVI. 

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 

Some saw a sight, not seen by all; 

That dreadful voice was heard by some. 

Cry, with loud summons, " Gvlbin, come!"23 
And on the spot where hurst the brand. 

Just where the page had flung him down, 
Some saw an arm, and some a hand, 
And some the waving of a gown. 

The guests in silence prayed and shook. 

And terror dimmed each lofty look. 

But none of all the astonished train 

Was so dismayed as Deloraine; 

His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 

'Twas feared his mind would ne'er return; 
For he was speechless, ghastl}', wan, 
Like him of whom the story ran, 
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. 24 
At length, by fits, ht darkly told, 
Witii broken hint, and shuddering cold- ■• 
That he had seen, righ^ certainly. 



I 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



35 



A shape -with artdce wrapped around, 
With a -wrought Sparush baldrick bound. 

Like pilgnm jrom beyond the sea; 
And knew — but how it mattered not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott! 

XXVIl. 

The anxious crowd, with horror pale. 
All trembling, heard the wonderous tale. 

No sound was made, no word was spoke, 

Till noble Angus silence broke: 
And he a solemn sacred plight 
. Did to St. Bride25 of Douglas make, 

That he a pilgrimage would take, 

To Melrose Abbej^ for the sake 
Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast, ' 
To some blessed saint his prayers addressed; 
Some to St. Modan made their vows. 
Some to St. Maiy of the Lowes, 
Some to the holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to our ladye of the Isle; 
Each did his patron witness make, 
That he such pilgrimage would take. 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were prayed, 
'Tis said the noble dame, dismayed, 
Renounced, for aye, dark migic's aid. 

XXVIII. 

Nought of the bridal will I tell. 

Which after in short space befell; 

Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 

Blessed Teviot's flower, and Cranstoun's heir: 

After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain. 

To wake the note of mirth again. 

More meet it were to mark the day 

Of penitence and prayer divine, 
When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad aiTay, 

Sought Melrose' holy shrine. 

XXIX 

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, 
And arms enfolded on his breast, 

Did every pilgrim go; 
The standers-by might hear uneath. 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath. 

Through all the lengthened row: 
No lordly look, nor martial stride. 
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, 

Forgotten their renown; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide 
To the high altar's hallowed side. 

And there they knelt them down; 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave; 
Beneath the lettered stones were laid 
The ashes of their fathers dead; 
From many a garnished niche around, 
Stern saints, and tortured martyrs frowned. 

XXX. 

And slow up the dim aisle afar, 

With sable cowl and scapular. 

And snow white-stoles, in order due, 

The holy fathers, two and two, 

In long procession came; 

Taper, and host, and book they bare, 

And holy banner, flourished fair 

With the Redeemer's name: 
Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
The mitred abbot stretched his hand, 



And blessed them as they kneeled; 
With holy cross he signed them all. 
And prayed they might be sage in hall, 

And fortunate in field. 
The mass was sung, and prayers were said. 
And solemn requiem for the dead; 
And bells tolled out their mighty peal 
For the departed spirit's weal; 
And ever in the office close 
The hymn of intercession rose; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burthen of the song, — 
Dies mas, dies illa, 

SOLVET S45CHJM: IJT FATILLA: 

While the pealing organ rung; 
Were it meet with sacred strain 
To close my lay, so light and vain, 

Thus the holy fathers sung. 

XXXI. 

HTMN ron THE DEAD. 

That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 
Wlien heaven and earth shall pass away. 
What power shall be the sinner's stay? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? . , 

When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, 
The flaming heavens together roll; 
When louder yet, and yet more dread, 
Svrclls the high trump that wakes the dead! 

Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day. 
When man to judgment wakes froiij clay, 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay. 
Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! 

Hushed is the harp — the minstrel gone. 

And did he wander forth alone? 

Alone, in indigence and age. 

To linger out his pilgrimage? 

No: — close beneath proud Newark's tower 

Arose the minstrel's lowly bower: 

A simple hut; but there was seen 

The little garden hedged with green. 

The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 

There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze, 

Oft heard the tale of other days; 

For much he loved to ope his door. 

And give the aid he begged before. 

So passed the winter's day; but still. 

When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, 

And July's eve, with balmy breath. 

Waved the blue bells on Newark heath; 

When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw. 

And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 

And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak. 

The aged harper's soul awoke ! 

Then would he sing achievements high. 

And circumstance of chivalry. 

Till the rapt traveller would stay. 

Forgetful of the closing day: 

And noble youths, the strain to hear, 

Forsook the hunting of the deer; 

And Yarrow, as he rolled along, 

Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. 



NOTES TO CANTO I. 
1. The feast was over in Branksome tower.— P. 2. 
In the reign of James I, sir William Scott oF 
Buccleuch, chief of the clan bearing that name, ex- 
changed, with sir Thomas Inglis of Manor, the es- 
tate of Murdiestone, in Lanarkshire, for one half 



26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



of the barony of Branksome, or Branxholm,* lyina; 
upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. 
He -was probably induced to this transaction from 
the vicinity of Branksome to the extensive domain 
■which he possessed in Ettrick Forest and in Te- 
viotdale. In the former district he held by occu- 
pancy the estate of Buccleuch,t and much of the 
forest land on the river Ettrick. In Teviotdale, he 
enjoyed the barony of Eokford, by a grant from 
Robert II, to his ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkurd, 
for tlie apprehending of Gilbert Ridderford, con- 
firmed by Robert III, 3d May, 1424. Tradition 
imputes the excliaiige betuixt Scott and Inglis to a 
conversation, in which the latter, a man, it would 
appear, of a mild and forbearing nature, complain- 
ed much of the injuries which he was exposed to 
from tlie English Borderers, who frequently plun- 
dered his lands of Branksome. Sir William Scott 
instantly offered him the estate of Murdiestone, 
in exchange for that which was subject to such 
egregious inconvenience. When tiie bargain was 
completed, he drily remarked, that the cattle in 
Cumberland were as good as those of Teviotdale; 
and proceeded to commence a system of reprisals 
i]pon'-\he English, wiiich was regularly pursued by 
his successors. In the next reign, James II grant- 
ed to sir Walter Scott of Branksome, and to sir 
David, his son, the remaining halfof the barony of 
Branksome, to be held in blanche for the paym&nt 
of a red rose. 7'he cause assigned for the grant is, 
their brave and faithful exertions in favour of the 
king against the house of Douglas, with whom 
James had been recently tugging for the throne of 
Scotland. This charter is dated the 2d February, 
1443; and, in the same month, part of the barony 
of Langholm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were 
conferred upon sir Walter and his son by the same 
monarch. 

After the period of the exchange with sir Tho- 
mas Inglis, Branksome became the principal seat 
of the Buccleuch family. The castle was enlarged 
and strengthened by sir David Scott, the grand- 
son of sir William, its first possessor. But in 
1570-1, the vengeance of Elizabeth, provoked by 
the inroads of Buccleuch, and his attachment to 
the cause of Queen Mary, destroyed the castle, 
and laid waste the lands of Branksome. In tlie 
same year the castle was repaired, and enlarged 
by sir Walter Scott, its brave possessor; but 
the work was not completed until after his deatii, 
in 1574, when the widow finished the building. 
Tins appears from the following inscriiilion. 
Around a stone, bearing the arms ot Scott of Buc- 
cleuch, appears the following legend: 

" Sir W. Scott, of Branxheim Ktiyt Too of Sir 
William Scott of Kirlcard Kiitft began ye ivorh 
upon ye 24 of JMarche 1571 zier quha depariit at 
God's pleiso'ur ye 17 Apnl 1574." 

On a similar compartment are sculptured the arms 
of Douglas, with this inscription, " Dame Marga- 
ret Douglas Ms spoils completit the forsaid work in 



* Branxholm is the proper name of tlie barony; but 
Branksome has betn adopted, as suitable to thepronuntia- 
tion, and more proper for poetry. 

t There are no vestiges of any building; at Buccleuch, 
except the site of a chapel, where, actordingto a tradition 
current in the time ofSeott of Salchells, many of the an- 
cient barons of Buccleuch lie buried, 'there is also said 
to have been a mill near this solitary spot; an extraordi- 
nary circumstance, as little or no corn grows within seve- 
ral jniles of Buccleuch. Satchells says it was used to grind 
com for the hounds of the clueftaiii. 



October, 1576." Over an arched door is inscribed 
the following moral verse: — 

III varld is nocht nature lies brought 
yat sal lest ay. 

tharfore set ve God keip t'eil ye rod thy 
fame sal 7iocbt dekay. 

Sir Waller Scott of Branxholm Knight. 
JMargaret Douglas, 1571. 
Branksome Castle continued to be the principal 
seat of the Buccleuch family, while security was 
any object in their choice of a mansion. It has 
since been the residence of the commissioners, or 
chamberlains, of the family. From the various al- 
terations which the building has undergone, it is 
not only greatly restricted in its dimensions but 
retains little of the castellated form, if we except 
one square tower of massy thickness, the only part 
of the original bviilding which now remains. The 
whole forms a handsome modern residence, lately 
inhabited by my deceased friend, Adam Oglivy,Esq, 
of Hartwoodmyres, commissioner of his grace the 
(kike of Buccleuch. 

The extent ofthe ancient edifice can still he traced 
by some vestiges of its foundation; and its strength 
is obvious from the situation on a steep bank sur- 
roimded by the Teviot, and flanked by a deep ra- 
vine, formed by a precipitous brook. It was an- 
ciently surrounded by wood, as appears from the 
survey of Roxburghshire, made for Font's Atlas, 
and preserved in the advocates' Library. This 
wood was cut about fifty years ago, but is now re- 
])laced by the tliriving plantations which have been 
formed by the late noble proprietor, for miles 
around the ancient mansion of his forefathers. 

2. Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall. — P. 2. 
The ancient barons of Buccleuch, both from feu- 
dal splendour, and from their frontier situation, 
retained in their household, at Branksome, a num- 
ber of gentlemen of their own name, who held 
lands from their chief, for the militarj- service of 
watcliing and warding his castle. Satchells tells 
us in his doggrel poetry, 

No baron was better served into Britain; 

The bai-ons of Buckleugh they kept their call, 

Four-and-twenty gentlemen in their hall, 

All being of his name and kin; 

Each two had a servant to wait upon him; 

Before supper and dinner, most renowned, 

The bells rung and the trumpets sowned, 

And more than that, I do confess. 

They kept four-and-twenty pensioners. 

Think not I lie, nor do me blame, 

For the pensioners I can all name: 

There's men alive, elder than I, 

They know if I speak truth, or lie; 

Every pensioner a room* did gain. 

For service done and to be done; 

This I'll let the reader understand, 

The name both of tlie men and land. 

Which they possessed, it is of truth, 

Both from the lairds and lords of Buckleugh. 

Accordingly, dismounting from his Pegasus, Sat- 
chells gives us in prose, the names of twenty-four 
gentlemen, younger brothers of ancient families, 
who were pensioners to the house of Buccleuch, 
and describes the lands which each possessed for 
his Border service. In time of war with England, 
the garrison was doubtless augmented. Satchells 
adds, " These twenty-three pensioners, all of his 
own name of Scott, and Walter Glatlstanes, of 
Whitelaw, anear cousin of niy lord's, as aforesaid, 



' Room, portiou of land. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



17 



were ready on all occasions, when his honour pleas- 
ed cause to advertise tiiem. It is known to man}- 
of the country better than it is to me, that the rent 
of these lands, which the lairds and lords of Buc- 
cleuch did freely bestow upon tlieir friends, will 
amount to above twelve or fourteen thousand raerks 
a year." — History of the JVame of Scott, p. 45. An 
immense sum in tliose times. 



3. And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-bow. — P. 2. 
" Of a truth," says Froissart, " the Scottish can- 
not boast great skill witli the bow, but rather bear 
axes, with which, in time of need, they give heavy 
strokes." The Jedwood axe was a sort of partizan, 
used by horsemen, as appears from the arms of 
Jedburgh, which bear a cavalier mounted, and arm- 
ed with tills weapon. It is also called a Jedwood 
or Jeddart staff. 



4. They watch agfainst Southern force and g^ile, 
Lest Scroope, or Howaixl, or Percy's powers, 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 
From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle — P. 4. 
Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the 
attacks of the English, both from its situation and 
the restless military disposition of its inhabitants, 
who were seldom on good terms with their neigh- 
bours. The following letter from the earl of North- 
umberland to Hetn-y Till, in 1533, gives an ac- 
count of a successful inroad of the English, in which 
the country was plundered up to the gates of the 
castle, although the invaders failed in their princi- 
pal object, wiiich was, to kill, or make prisoner, 
the laird of Buccleuch. It occurs in the Cotton 
MS. Calig. B. VIII, f. '222. 

" Pleaseth yt your most gracious highnes to be 
aduertised that my comptroller, with Raynald 
Curnaby, desyred licence of me to invade the 
realme of Scotland, for the annoysaunce of your 
highnes enemys, wliere they thought best exploit 
by theyme might be done, and to haue to concur 
withe theyme the inbatitants of Northumberland, 
suche as was toward me according to theyre as- 
sembly, and, as by theyi-e discrecions vpone the 
same they shulde thinke most convenient; and so 
they dyde mete vpon Monday, before nyght, being 
the iii day of this instant monethe, at Wawhope, 
upon nnrthe Tyne water, above Tyndaill, where 
they were to the number of xv c men, and soo in- 
vadet Scotland, at the hour of viii of the clock at 
nyght, at a ])lace called Whele Causay; and before 
xi of the clock dyd send forth a forrey of Tyndaill 
and Ryddisdaill and laide all the resydue in a bush- 
ment, and actyvely dyd set vpon a town called 
Branxholm, where the lord of Buciough dwellythe, 
and purposed themselves with a trayne for hym 
lyke to his accustomed manner, in r3'synge to all 
frayes; albeit, that knyght he was not at home, and 
soo tliey brynt the said Branxholm, and other 
townes, as to say Whichestre, Whichestrehelme, 
and Whellcy, and haid ordered theymeselfs soo 
that surdry of the said lord Buclough's servants, 
who dyd issue fourthe of his gates, was takyn pri- 
soners. They dyd not leve one house, one stak 
of corne, nor one shyef, without the gate of the 
said lord Buciough vnbrynt; and thus scrimaged 
and frayed, supposing th'e lord of Buciough to be 
witiiin iii or iiii niyles to have trayned him to the 
bushraent; and soo in the breyking of tl>e day dyd 
the forrey and the bushraent mete, and reculert 
homeward, making theyre way westward from 
theyre invasion to be over Lyddersdaill, as intend- 
ing yf the fray from theyre furst entry by the Scotts 
waiches, or olherwyse by warnyng, shulde haue 



bene g)-ven to Ged worth and the countrey of Scot- 
land theyreabout of theyre invasion; whiche Ged- 
worlh is from the Wheles Causay vi myles, tliat 
thereby the Scots shuld have cumen further vnto 
theyme, and more owte of ordre; and soo upon sini- 
dry good consideracions, before they entered Lyd- 
dersdaill, as well accompting the inhabitants" of 
the same to be towards your highness, and to en- 
force theyme the more thereby, as alsoo to put an 
occasion of suspect to the kinge of Scotts and Ids 
connsaill, to be taken anenst theyme, amonges 
theymselves, maid proclamations, comrnanding, 
vpon payne of dethe, assurance to be for the satd 
itdiabitants of Lyddersdaill, without any prejudice 
or hurt to be done by any Inglysman vnto theyme, 
and soo in good ordre abowte tiie howre of ten of 
the clok before none, vpone Tewisday, dyd, pas 
through the said Lyddersdaill, when dyd come di- 
verse of the said inhabitants there to my servauntes, 
under the said assurance, offering theymselfes with 
any service tiiey couthe make; and thus, thanks be 
to Godde, your highnes' subjects, abowte the howre 
of xii of tlie clok at none the same daye, came in- 
to this youre highnes' realme, bringing wt tlieyme 
above xl Scottsmen prisoners, one of theyme named 
Scot, of the surname and kyn of the said lord of 
Buciough, and of his howsehold; they brougiit ;d- 
soo ccc nowte, and above Ix horses and mares, keep- 
ing in savetie frome losse or hurte all your said 
highnes subjects. There was alsoo a towne called 
Newbiggins, by divers fotmen of Tyndaill and Ryd- 
desdaill, takyn vp of the nyght and spoyled, when 
was slayne ii Scottsmen of the said towne, and 
many Scotts there hurte; your highnes subjects was 
xiii myles within the ground of Scotlande, and is 
frome my house at Werk worth, above Ix miles of the 
most evil passage, where great snawes dothe lye; 
heretofore the same townes now brynt hath not at 
any time in the mynd of man in any warrs, been 
enterprised unto nowe; your subjects were therto 
rnore encouraged for the better advancement of your 
highnes service, the said lord of Buciough beyng 
always a mortall enemy to this your graces realme, 
and he dyd say, within ^\\\ days before, he woidd 
see who durst lye near hym; wt many other cruell 
words, the knowledge wherof was certainly haid 
to my said servaunts before theyre enterprice maid 
vppon him; most humbly beseeching your majestj-, 
that your highnes thankes n)ay concur vnto theyme, 
whose names be here enclosed, and to have in your 
most gracious memory, the paynfull and diligent 
service of my pore servaunt VVharton, and thus, 
as I am most bounden, shall dispose wt them that 
be under me f. .. .annoysaunce of j'our highnes 
eiiemys." In resentment of liiis foray, Buccleuch 
with other Border chiefs, assembled' an army of 
3000 riders, with which tliey penetrated into North- 
umberland, and laid waste the country as far as tlie 
banks of Bramish. They baffled, or defeated, tlie 
English forces opposed to them, and returned load- 
ed with prey. — FinkcrtoiVs History, Vol. II, p. 
318. 



5. i3ards long shall tell. 

How lord Walter fill.— St. VII. p. 3. 

Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his 
grandfather, sir David, in 1492. He was a brave 
and powerful baron, and warden of the west march- 
es of Scotland. His death was tlie consequence of 
a feud betwixt the Scotts and KeiTS, the history of 
which is necessary to explain repeated allusions 
in the romance. 

In the year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, 



V 



38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



" The earl of Angus and the rest of the Douglasses 
iniled all which they liked, and no man durst say 
the contrary; wherefore the king (James V, then 
a minor) was lieavily displeased, and would fain 
have been out of their hands, if he might by any 
way. And, to that effect, wrote a quiet and secret 
letter with his own hand, and sent it to the laird 
of Buccleuch, beseeching him that he would come 
Avith his kin and friends, and all the force tliat he 
might be, and meet him at Melross, at his home- 
passing, and there to take him out of the Douglass- 
es hands, and to put him at liberty, to use himself 
among the lave [rest) of his lords, as he thinks ex- 
pedient. 

" This letter was quietly directed and sent by 
one of the king's own secret servants, which was 
received very thankfully by the laird of Buccleuch, 
wlio was very glad thereof, to be put to such charges 
and familiarity Avith his prince, and did great di- 
ligence to perform the king's writing, and to bring 
the matter to pass as the king desired: And to 
that effect, convened all his kin and friends, and 
all that would do for him, to ride with him to Mel- 
ross, when he knew of the king's home-coming. 
And so he brought with him six hundred spears, 
of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and countrymen, 
and clans thereabout, and Iield themselves quiet 
while that the king returned out of Jedburg, and 
came to Melross, to remain there all that night. 

" But when the lord Hume, Cessford, and Fer- 
nyhirst, (the chiefs of the clan of Kerr,) took their 
leave of tlie king, and returned home, then appear- 
ed the lord of Buccleuch in sight, and his compa- 
ny with him, in an arrayed battle, intending to 
have fulfilled the king's petition, and therefore 
came stoutly forward on the back side of Haliden 
hill. By that the earl of Angus, with George Dou- 
glas his brother, and sundry other of his friends, 
seeing this army coming, they marvelled what the 
matter meant; while at the last they knew the laird 
of Buccleuch, with a certain company of the thieves 
of Annandale. With him they were less affeared, 
and made them manfully to the field contrary them, 
and said to the king in this manner, ' Sir, j'on is 
Buccleuch, and thieves of Annandale with him, to 
unbeset your grace from the gate (?'. e. interrupt 
your passage.) I vow to God they shall either fight 
or flee; and ye shall tarry here on tliis know, and 
my brother George with you, with any other com- 
pany you please; and I shall pass, and put yon 
thieves oft' the ground, and rid the gate unto your 
grace, or else die for it.' The king tarried still, 
as was devised, and George Douglas with him; and 
simdry other lords, such as the earl of Lennox 
and the lord Erskine, and some of the king's own 
servants; but all the lave [rest] passed wiljj the 
earl of Angus to the field against tlie laird of Buc- 
cleuch, who joyned and countered cruelly both the 
said parties in the field of Darnelinvcr,* either 
against other, with uncertain victory. But at the 
last, the lord Hume hearing word of that matter 
how it stood, returned again to the king in all pos- 
sible haste, with him the lairds of Cessford and 
Fairnyhirst, to the number of fourscore spears, 
and set freshly on the lap and wing of the laird of 
Bucclench's field, and siiortly bare them backward 
to the ground: which caused tlie laird of Buccleuch, 
and the rest of his friends, to go back and flee, 
whom they followed and chased: and especially 



* Damwiek, near Melrose. The ]))ace of conflict is still 
called Skinni'i-'s Field, from a corruption of Skirmis/i 
FieU. 



the lairds of Cessford and Fairnyhirst followed fu- 
riouslie, till at the foot of a path the laird of Cess- 
ford was slain by the stroke of a spear by an Elli- 
ot, who was then servant to the laird of Buccleuch. 
But when the laird of Cessford was slain, the chase 
ceased. The earl of Angus returned again with great 
merriness and victory, and thanked God that he 
saved him from that chance, and passed with the 
king to Melross, where they remained all that 
night. On the morn they passed to Edinburgh 
with the king, who was very sad and dolorous of 
the slaughter of the laird of Cessford, and many 
other gentlemen and yeomen slain by the laird of 
Buccleuch, containing the number of fourscore and 
fifteen, which died in the defence of the king, and 
at the command of his writing." 

I am not the first who has attempted to celebrate 
in verse the renown of this ancient baron, and his 
hazardous attempt to procure his sovereign's free- 
dom. In a Scottish Latin poet we find the following 
verses: — 

Valterius Scotus Bdlclucldus. 
Egregio suscepto facinore libertate Regis, ac aliis 
rebus gestis clarus, sub Jacobo V. A". Christi, 1526. 
Intentata aliis, nullique audita priorum 

Audet, nee pavidum morsve, metusve, quatit, 
Libertatem aliis soliti transcribere Regis: 
Subreptam banc Regi restituisse jiaras, 
Si vincis, quanta o succedunt prsemia dextrse, 

Sin vietus, falsas spes jace, pone animain. 
Hostica vis iioenit: slant alta; robora mentis 

■ Atque decus. Vineet, Kege probante^ fides. 
Insita quels aniinis virtus, quosque aenor ardor 
Obsidet, obscuris nox premat an teuebris? 

Heroes ex omni Historia Scotica lectissimi, Auc-- 
tore Johan. Jonstonio, Abredonense Scoto, 1603. 

In consequence of the battle of Melrose, there 
ensued a deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott 
and Kerr, which, in spite of all means used to 
bring about an agreement, raged for many years 
upon the Borders. Buccleuch was imprisoned, and 
his estates forfeited, in the year 1535, for levying 
war against the Kerrs, and restored by act of par- 
liament, dated 15th March, 1542, during the re- 
gency of Mary of Lorraine. But the most signal 
act of violence, to which this quarrel gave rise, 
was the murder of sir Walter himself, who was 
slain by the Kerrs in the streets of Edinburgh, in 
1552. This is the event alluded to in stanza VII; 
and the poem is supposed to open shortly after it 
had taken place. 

The feud between these two families was not 
reconciled in 1590, when both chieftains paraded 
the streets of Edinburgh with their followers, and 
it was expected their first ineeting would decide 
their quarrel. But on July I4th of the same year, 
Colvil, in a letter to Mr Bacon, informs him, 

that there was great trouble upon the Borders, 
which would continue till order should be taken 
by the queen of England and the king, by reason 
of the two young Scots chieftains, Cessford and 
Bacclugh, and of the present necessity and scarcity 
of corn amongst the Scots Borderers and riders. 
That there had been a private quarrel betwixt these 
two lairds, on tlic Borders, which was like to have 
turned to blood; but the fear of the general trouble 
had reconciled them, and the injuries which they 
thought to have committed against each otiier, were 
now transferred upon England: not unlike that 
emuLation in France between the baron de Biron 
and Mons. Jeverie, who, being both ambitious of 
honour, undertook more hazardous enterprises 
against the enemy, than they would have done if 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



29 



they had been at concord together."— iJ/rcA's Me- 
morials, vol. ii, p. S/. 

6. No! vainlj- to each holy shrine. 
In mutual pilgrimage they drew.— P. 3. 
Amons; other expedients resorted to for stanch- 
ing the fe'ud Aietwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there 
was a bond executed, in 1529, between the heads 
of each clan, binding themselves to perform re- 
ciprocally the four principal pilgrimages of Scot- 
land, for the benefit of the souls of those of the 
opposite name who had feUen in the quan-el. This 
indenture is printed in the Minstrels if of the Scot- 
tish Border, Vol. I. But either it never took eftect, 
or else the feud was renewed shortly afterwards. 

Such pactions were not uncommon in feudal 
times; and, as might be expected, they were often, 
as in the present case, void of the effect desired. 
When sir Walter Mauny, the renowned follower 
of Edward III, had taken the town of Ryoll, in 
Gascony, he remembered to have heard that his 
father lay there buried, and offered a himdred 
crowns to any one who could show him his grave. 
A very old man appeared before sir Walter and 
informed him of the manner of his father's deatli, 
and the place of his sepulture. It seems the lord 
of Mauny had, at a great tournament, imhorsed, 
and wounded to the death, a Gascon knight, of the 
house of Mirepoix, whose kinsman was bishop of 
Cambrav. For this deed he was held at feud by 
the relations of the knight, until he accreed to un- 
dertake a pilgrimage to tlie sl>.rine of St. James of 
Compostella, for the benefit of the soul of the de- 
ceased. But as he returned through the town of 
Ryoll, after the accomplishment of his vow, he 
was beset, and treacherously slain, by the kindred 
of the knight whom he had killed. Sir Walter, 
guided by the old man, visited the lowly tomb of 
his father; and, having read the inscription, which 
was in Latin, he caused the body to be raised, and 
transported to his native city of Valenciennes, 
where niasses were, in the days of Froissart, duly 
said for the soul of the unfortunate pilgrim.— Cro- 
Tiijcle of Froissart, Vol. I, p. 123. 

7. While Cessford ovm% the rule of Car.— P. 3. 
The family of Ker, Kerr, or Car,* was veiy 
powerful on the Border. Fynes Morrison remarks, 
in his Travels, that their influence extended from 
the village of Preston-Grange, in Lothian, to the 
limits of England. Cessford Castle, the ancient 
baronial residence of the family, is situated near 
the village of Morebattle, within two or three 
miles of the Cheviot hills.— It has been a place of 
great strength and consequence, but is now ruinous. 
Tradition affirms, that it was founded by Halbert, 
or Habby Kerr, a gigantic warrior, concerning 
whom, many stories are current in Roxburgshire 
The duke of Roxburghe represents Kerr of Cess. 
ford. A distinct and powerful branch of the same 
name own the marquis of Lothian as their chief 
Hence the distinction betwixt Kers of Cessford and 
Fairnihirst. 
8. Before lord Crastoun she should wed.— P. 3. 
The Cranstouns, lord Cranstoun, are an ancient 
Border family, Avhose chief seat was at Crailling, 
in Teviotdale. They were at this time at feud with 
the clan of Scott; for it appears that the lady of 
Buccleuch, in 1557, beset the laird of Cranstoun, 
seeking his life. ]Nevertheless,the same Cranstoun, 



* The name is spelt differently by the various families 
tt lio bear it. Car is selected, not as the most torrect, but 
as the most poetical reading. 



or perhajis, his son, was married to a daughter oi 
the same lady. 

9. Of Bethune's line of Picardie.— P. 3. 
The Bethunes were of French origin, and de- 
rived their name from a small town in Artois. 
There were several distinguished families of the 
Bethunes in the neighbouring province of Picardy; 
they numbered among their descendants the cele- 
brated Due de Sully; and the name was accounted 
among the most noble in France, while aught no- 
ble remained in that country. The family of Be- 
thune, or Beatoun, in Fife, produced three learned 
and dignified prelates; namely. Cardinal Beaton, 
and two successive archbishops of Glasgow, all of 
whom flourished about Ihe date of tire romance. 
Of this family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, 
lady Buccleuch, widow of sir Walter Scott of 
Branksome. She was a woman of masculine spirit, 
as appeared from her riding at the head of her son's 
clan, after her husband's murder. She also pos- 
sessed the hereditary abilities of her family in such 
a degree, that the superstition of the vulgar im- 
puted them to supernatural knowledge. With this 
was mingled, by faction, the foul accusation, of her 
having influenced queen IMary to the mm-der of 
her husband. One of the placards, preserved ia 
Buchanan's Detection, accuses of Darnley's mur- 
der "the earl Bothwell, Mr. James Balfour, the 
persoun of Fliske, Mr. David Chalmers, black Mr. 
John Spens, who was principal deviser of the mur- 
der; and the quene, assenting thairto, throw the 
persuasion of the erle Bothwell, and the ivitchcraft 
of lady Buckleuch." 

10. He Ieam"d the ait, that none may name. 
In Padua far beyond the sea.— P. 3. 
Padau was long supposed, by the Scottish pea- 
sants, to be the principal school of necromancy. 
Tlie earl of Gowrie, slain at Perth, in 1600, pre- 
tended, during his studies in Italy, to have acquir- 
ed some knowledge of the cabala: liy wliich, he 
said, he could charm snakes, and work other 
miracles; and, in particular, could produce chil- 
dren without the intercourse of the sexes. — See 
the examination of Wemyss of Bogie, before the 
Privy Council, concerning Cowrie's conspiracy. 

11. His form no darkening shadow traced 
Upon the simny wall.— P. 3. 
The shadow of a necromancer is independent of 
the sun. — Glycas informs us that Simon Magus 
caused his shadow to go before him, making peo- 
ple believe it was an attendant spirit. Heyxvood's 
Hierarclue, p. 475. The vulgar conceive, that 
wlien a class of students have made a certain pro- 
gress in their mystic studies, they are obliged to 
run through a subterraneous hall, where the devil 
literally catches the hindmost in the race, unless 
he cros'ses the hall so speedily, that the arch-ene- 
my, can only apprehend his shadow. In the latter 
case, the person of the sage never after throws any 
shade; and those who have thus lost their shadow, 
always prove the best magicians. 

12. The viewless forms of air.— P. 3. 
The Scottish vulgar, without having any very- 
defined notion of their attributes, believe in the 
existence of an intermediate class of spirits resid- 
ing in the air, or in the waters: to whose agency 
they ascribe floods, storms, and all such pheno- 
mena as their own philosophy cannot readily ex- 
plain. They are supposed to interfere in the affairs 
of mortals, "sometimes with a malevolent purpose, 
and sometimes with milder views. It is said, for 



30 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



example, that a gallant baron, having returned 
from the Holy Land to his castle of Drummelziar, 
found his fair lady nursing a healtliy child, whose 
birth did not by any means correspond to the date 
of his departure. Such an occurrence, to the cre- 
dit of the dames of the crusaders, be it spoken, 
■was so i-are, that it required a miraculous solution. 
The lad)% therefore, was believed, when she aver- 
red confidently, that the Spirit of the Tweed had 
issued from the river while she was walking upon 
its bank, and compelled her to submit to his em- 
braces; and the name of Tweedie was bestowed 
upon the child, wlio afterwards became baron of 
Drummelziar, and chief of a powerful clan. To 
those spirits were also ascribed, in Scotland, the 
— " Airy tongues, that syllable men's names. 
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses." 
When the workmen were engaged in erecting 
the ancient church of Old Deer, in Aberdeenshire, 
upon a small hill called Bissau, they were surpris- 
ed to find that the work was impeded by super- 
natural obstacles. At length the spirit of the River 
was heard to say, 

It is not here, it is not here. 

That ye shall build the church of Deer; 

But on Taptillery, 

Where many a corpse shall lie. 

The site of the edifice was accordingly transferred 
to Taptillery, an eminence at some distance from 
the place where the building had been com- 
menced. — Macfarlane^s MSS. 1 mention these 
popular fables, because the introduction of the Ri- 
ver and Mountain spirits may not, at first sight, 
seem to accord with the general tone of the ro- 
mance, and the superstitions of the country where 
the scene is laid. 

13. A fancied moss-tvooper, &c. P. 4. 
This was the usual appellation of the marauders 
upon the Borders; a profession diligently pursued 
by the inhabitants on both sides, and by none more 
actively and successfully than by Buccleuch's clan. 
Long after the union of the crowns, the moss- 
troopers, although sunk in reputation, and no long- 
er enjoying the pretext of national hostility, con- 
tinued to pursue their calling. 

Fuller includes among the wonders of Cumber- 
land, " The Moss-troopers; so strange in the con- 
dition of their living, if considered in their Origi- 
nal, Increase, Height, Decay, and Ruine. 

First. " Original, I conceive them the same 
called Borderers in Mr. Cambden; and character- 
ized by him to be a -wild andivarlike people. They 
are called Moss-troopers, because dwelling in the 
mosses, and riding in troops together. They dwell 
in the bounds, or meeting of the two kingdoms, 
but obey the laws of neither. They come to cliurch 
as seldom as the 29th of February comes into the 
kalendar. 

Second. " Increase. Wlien England and Scot- 
land were united in Great Britain, they that form- 
erly lived by hostile incursions, betook themselves 
to the robbing of their neighbours. Their sons are 
free of the trade by their father's copy. They are 
like to Job, not in piety and patience, but in sud- 
den plenty and poverty; sometimes having flocks 
and herds in the morning, none at night, and per- 
chance many again next day. They may give for 
their mottoe, vivitur ex rapto, stealing from their 
honest neighbours what they sometimes require. 
They are a nest of hornets; strike one, and stir all 
of them about your ears. Indeed, if they promise 
safely to conduct a traveller, they will perform it 



with the fidelity of a Turkish janizary; otherwise, 
wo be to him that falleth into their quarters! 

Third. ^^ Height. Amounting, forty years since, 
to some thousands. These compelled the vicinage 
to purciiase their security, by paying a constant 
rent to them. When in tlieir greatest height, tiiey 
had two great enemies — the laws of the Land, and 
tiie Ijord William Howard of JVaxvorth. He sent 
many of them to Carlisle, to that place where the 
officer doth always his work by daylight. Yet these 
moss-troopers, if possibly they could procure a 
pardon for a condemned person of their company, 
would advance great sums out of their common 
stock, who, in such a case. Cast in their lots among 
themselves, aiid all have one purse. 

Fourth. ^^ Decay. Caused by the wisdom, valour, 
and diligence, of the right honourable Charles 
lord Howard, earl of Carlisle who I'outed these 
English tories with his regiment. His severi- 
ty unto them will not only be excused, but com- 
mended, by the judicious, who consider how our 
great lawyer doth describe such persons Avho are sol- 
emnly outlawed. Bracton, lib. 8. trac. 2. cap. ii : Ex 
timcgenmt caput lupinum, ita quod sine judiciali in- 
quisitione rite pei'eant, et secum suum judicium por- 
tent, et merito sine lege pereunt, qid secundum le- 
em vivere reaisanmt. — ' Tlienceforward, (after 
that they are outlawed) they wear a wolf's head, 
so that they lawfully may be destroyed, without 
any judicial inquisition, as who carry their own 
condemnation about them, and deservedly die 
without law, because they refuse to live according 
to law.' 

Fifth. " Ruine. Such was the success of this 
worthy lord's severity, that he made a thorough 
reformation among them; and the ringleaders be- 
"ng destroyed, the rest are reduced to legal obedi- 
ence, and so, I trust, will continue." — Fidler's 
Worthies of England, p. 216. 

The last public mention of moss-troopers occurs 
during the civil wars of the seventeenth century, 
when many ordinances of parliament were direct- 
ed against them. 

14. How the brave boy, in future war. 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride. 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star.— P. 4. 

The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were. Vert 
on a cheveron, betwixt three unicorns' heads erased 
argent, three mullets sable; crest, a unicorn's head 
erased proper. The Scotts of Buccleuch bore. Or, 
on a bend azure; a star of six points betwixt two 
crescents of the first. 

15. WilliamofDeloraine.— P. 4. 

The lands of Deloraine are joined to those of 
Buccleuch in Ettrick Forest. They were imme- 
morially possessed by the Buccleuch family, under 
the strong title of occupancy, although no charter 
was obtained from the crown until 1.545. — Like 
other possessions, the lands of Deloraine were oc- 
casionally granted by them to vassals, or kinsmen, 
for Border-service. Satchells mentions, among the 
twenty-four gentlemen pensioners of the family, 
" William Scott, commonly called Cut-at-the- 
black, who had the lands of Nether Deloraine for 
his service." And again, " Tliis William of De- 
loraine, commonly calletl Cut-at-the- Black, was a 
brother of the ancient house of Haining, which 
house of Haining is descended from tlie ancient 
house of Hassendean." The lands of Deloraine 
now give an earl's title to the descendant of Henry, 
the second surviving son of the duchess of Buc- 
cleuch and Monmouth. I have endeavoured to 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



31 



give William of Deloraine the attributes which 
cnaracterized the Borderers of his day; for which I 
can only plead Froissart's apology, tliat " it he- 
hovetli, in a lynage, some to be folyshe and out- 
rao-eous, to niaynteue and sustayne tlio pcasable. " 
As a contrast to my Marchman, 1 beg leave to 
transcribe, from the same autlior, the speech of 
Amergot Marcell, a captain of the Adventurous 
Companions, a robber, and a pillager of the coun- 
try of Auvergne, who had been bribed to sell his 
strong holds, and to assume a more honorable mili- 
tary life under the banners of the earl of Armag- 
nac. But " when he remembered allethis, he was 
sorrowful; his tresour he thought lie wolde not 
mynysshe: he was wonte daylay to serche for new 
pyllages, wherebj^e encresed his profyte, and then 
he sawe that alle was closed fro' him. Then he 
sayde and immagined, that to pyll and to robbe 
(all thynge considered) was a good lyfe, and so re- 
pented hym of ills good doing. On a tyme,he said 
to his old companyons, ' Sirs, tliere is no sporte 
nor glory in tiiis worlde amonge men of warre, 
but to use such lyfe as we have done in time past. 
What a joy was it to us when we rode forth at ad- 
venture, and sometyme found by the way a riche 
priour or merchaunt, or a route of mulettes of 
Mountpellyer, of Narbonne, of Lymens, of Fon- 
gans, of Besyers, of Tholous, or of Carcassone, 
laden with cloth of Brussels, or peltre ware com- 
yngefro the fayres, or laden with spy eery, fro Bru- 
ges, fro Damas, or fro Alysaundre; whatsoever we 
met, all was ours, or els ransoumed at our pleasures; 
dayly we gate new money, and the vyila3nes of 
Auvergne and of Lymosyn dayly provyded and 
brought to our castell whete mele, good wynes, 
beftes, and fat motions, pullayne, and wylde foule. 
We were ever furnyshed as tho we had been kings. 
When we rode forthe, all the countrey trymbled 
for feare; all was ours goyng and comyng. Howe 
tok we Carlast, I and the Bourge of Compayne, and 
I and Perot of Bernoys took Caluset; how did we 
scale, with lytell aydethe strongcastellof Marquell, 
pertayning to the erl Dolphyn; I kept it not past 
five days, but I receyved for it, on a feyre table, 
fiye thousande frankes, and forgave one thousande 
for the love of the erl Dolphyn's children. By my 
fayth, this was a fayre and a good lyfe: wherefore 
I repute myself sore deceyved, in that I have ren- 
dered up the fortress of Aloys; for it wolde have 
kept fro alle the worlde, and the daye, that I gave 
it up it was fournyshed with vytaylles, to have been 
kept seven yere without any re-vylaylynge. This 
erl of Armynake hath deceyved me. Olyve Barbe, 
and Perot le Bernoys, showed to me how I shulde 
repente myselfe; certayne I sore repente myself of 
•what I have done." — Froissart, vol. ii, p. 195. 

16. By wily turns, by desperate bounds, 

Had baffled Percy's best blood-houuds.— P. 4. 

The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the 
Border-riders, were sometimes obliged to study 
how to evade the pursuit of blood-hounds. Bar- 
bour informs us, that Robert Bruce was repeated- 
ly tracked by sleuth-dogs. On one occasion, he 
escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and 
ascending into a tree by a branch which overhung 
the water: thus leaving no trace on land of his foot- 
steps, he baffled the scent. The pursuers came up: 

Rycht to the bum thai passjt ware. 
But the sleuth -bund made stinting thar, 
And wanei-yt lang tj-me ta and fra. 
That he na certain gate couth ga; 



Till at the last that John of Lorn, 
Persuvit the huud the sleuth had lome. 

T/te Bruce, Book vii. 
A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood 
upon the track, which destroyed the discriminat- 
ing fineness of his scent. A captive was sometimes 
sacrificed on such occasions. Henry the minstrel 
tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this 
circumstance: — The hero's little band had been 
joined by an Irishman, named Fawdon, or Fad- 
zean, adark, savage, and suspicious cliaracter. Af- 
ter a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne Side, Wallace 
was forced to retreat with only sixteen followers. 
The English pursued witli a border skuth-bratch, 
or blood-hound: 

In Gelderland there was that bratcUet bred, 
Siker of scent, to follow thera that tied; 
So was he used in Eske and Liddesdail, 
While (i. e. till) she gat blood no fleiing might avail. 
In the retreat, Fawdon, tired, or affecting to be 
so, would go no fartlier: Wallace, having in vain 
argued with him, in hasty anger, struck off his 
head, and continued the retreat. Wlien the En- 
glish came up, their hound stayed upon the dead 
body : — 

The sleuth stopped at Fawdon, still she stood, 
Nor father would frae time she fand the blood. 

The story concludes with a fine golhic scene of 
terror. Wallace took refuge in the solitary tower 
of Gask. Here he was disturbed at midnight by 
the blast of a horn; Jie sent out his attendants by 
two and two, but no one returned with tidings. At 
length, when he was left alone, the sound was 
heard still louder. The champion descended, 
sword in hand; and at the gate of the tower was 
encountered by the headless spectre of Fawdon, 
whom he had slain so rashlj-. Wallace, in great 
terror, fled up into the tower, tore open the boards 
of a window, leapt down fifteen feet in height, and 
continued his flight up the river. Looking back 
to Gask, he discovered the tower on fire, and the 
form of Fawdon upon the battlements, dilated to 
an immense size, and holding in his jiand a blaz- 
ing rafter. The minstrel concludes. 

Trust right wele, that all this be sooth, indeed. 
Supposing it be no point of the creed. 

The IVullacc, Book v. 

Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of 
Henry's poetry. — Specimens of JBn^Ush foetry, 
vol. i, p. 351. 

17. Dimly he view'd the Moat-hill's mound.— P. 4. 

This is a round artificial mound near Hawick 
which from its name, (Mot. Ang. Sax. Conciliuii,, 
Conventus,) was probably anciently used as a place 
for assembling a national council of the adjacent 
tribes. There are many such mounds in Scotland, 
and they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square 
form. 

18. Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.— P. 4. 

The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, 
belonged formerly to a family of Scotts, thus com- 
memorated by Satchells: — 

Hassendean came without a call. 
The ancientest house among them all. 

19. On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint.— P. 4. 

A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise sud- 
denly above the vale of Teviot, in the immediate 
vicinity of the family-seat from wiiich lord Minto 
takes his title. A small pLttform, on a projecting 
crag, commanding a most beautiful pros[)ect, is 
termed Bamhills'' Bed. This Barnhills is said to 
.have been a robber, or outlaw. There are remains 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■^ 



of a strong tower beneath the rocks, -where he is 
supposed "to have dwelt, and from which he deriv- 
ed his name. On the summit of the crags are tlie 
fragments of another ancient tower, in a pictur- 
esque situation. Among the liouses cast down by 
the earl of Hartford, in 1545, occur the towers of 
Easter Barnhills, and of Minto crag, with Minto 
town and place. Sir Gilbert Elliot, father to the 
present lord Minto, was the author of a beautiful 
pastoral song, of which the following is a more 
correct copy than is usually published. The poet- I 
ical mantle of sir Gilbert Elliot has descended to 
his family. 

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook. 
And all the gay hatuits of my youth I forsook: 
No moi-e for Amjnita fresh garlands I wove; 
Ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. 
But what had my youth with ambition to do? 
Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow? 
Through regions remote, in vain do I rove, 
And bid the wide world secure me from love. 
Ah, fool! to imagine, that aught could subdue 
A love so well founded, a passion so true! 
Ah, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, 
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more! 
Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine! 
Poor shepherd, Amjnita no more cart be thine! 
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, 
The moments neglected return not again. 
Ah! what had my youth with ambition to do? 
Why left I Amyiita? Why broke I my vow? 
20. Ancient Riddel "s feir domain. — P. 5. 
The family of Riddel have been very long in pos- 
session of tlie barony called Riddell, or Rydale,part 
of which still bears the latter name. Tradition car- 
ries their antiquity to a point extremely remote; 
and is, in some degree, sanctionedby the discovery 
of two stone coffins, one containing an earthen pot 
filled with ashes and arms, bearing a legible date, 
A. D. 727; the other dated 936, and filled with the 
bones of a man of gigantic size. These coflins 
were discovered in the foundations of what was, 
but has long ceased to be, the chapel of Riddel; 
and as it was argued with plausibility, that they 
contained the remains of some ancestors of tlie 
family, they were deposited in the modern place 
of sepulture, comparatively so termed, though 
built in 1110. But the following curious and au- 
thentic documents warrant more conclusively the 
epithet of " ancient Riddell:" 1st, A charter by 
David I, to Walter Rydale, sherift' of Roxburgh, 
confirming all the estates of Liliesclive, &c. of 
which his'father, Gervasius de Rydale, died pos- 
sessed — 2dly, A bull of pope Adrian IV, confirm- 
ing the will of Walter deRidale, knight, in favour 
ofjtis brother Anschittil deRidale, dated 8th April, 
1155. .3dlv, A bull of |)ope Alexander HI, confirm- 
ing the sai<l will of VValter de Ridale, bequeathing 
to his brother Anschittil the lands of Liliesclive, 
Whettunes, &c. and ratifying the bargain betwixt 
Anschittil and Huctredus, concerning the church of 
Liliesclive, in consequence of the mediation of 
Malcolm II, and confirmed by a charter from that 
monarch. Tliis bull is dated 17th .lune, 1160. 4thly, 
A bull of the same pope, confirming tlie will of sir 
Anschittil de Ridale, in favour of his son Walter, 
conveying the saiil lands of Liliesclive and others, 
dated'ioth March, 1120. It is remarkable, that 
Liliesclive, otherwise Rydale, or Riddel, and the 
Whittunes, have descimded, througli a long train 
of ancestors, without ever passing into a collateral 
line, to the person of sir John Ruchanan Riddell, 
Bart, of Riddell, the lineal descendant and repre- 
sentative of sir Anschittil.— These circumstances 
appeared worthy of notice in a Border work. 



21. As glanced his eye o'er Halidon. — P. S, 
Halidon was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cess- 
ford, now demolished. About a quarter of a mile 
to the northward lay the field of battle betwixt T?uo- 
cleuch and Angus, which is called to this day the 
Skirmish Field — See the fourth note on this Canto. 
22. Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran.— P. 5. 
The ancient and beautiful monastery of Melrose 
was founded by king David I. Its ruins afford the 
finest specimen of Gothic arcliitecture, and Gothic 
sculpture which Scotland can boast. The stone of 
which it is built, though it has resisted the weather 
for so many ages, retains perfect sharpness, so that 
even the most minute ornaments seem as entire as 
when newly wrought. In some of the cloisters, as , 
is hinted in the next Canto, there are representa- I 
tions of flowers, vegetables, &c. carved in stone, T 
with accuracy and precision so delicate that we al- 
most distrust our senses, when we consider the dif- 
ficulty of subjecting so hard a substance to such 
intricate and exquisite modulation. This superb 
convent was dedicated to St. Mary, and the monks 
were of the Cistertian order. At the time of the 
Reformation, they shared in the general reproach 1 1 
of sensuality and irregularity thrown iqion the Ro- 7 ! 
man churchmen. The old words of Galas/dels, a 
favourite Scottish air, ran thus; 

O the monks of Melrose made gude kale* 

On Fridays, when they fasted; 
They wanted neither beef not ale. 

As long as their neighbours' lasted. 

NOTES TO CAXTO II. 

1. When silver edges the imagery. 
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die.— P. 5. 

Tlie buttresses, ranged along the sides of the ru- 
ins of Melrose abbey, are, according to the Gothic 
stvle, richly carved and fretted, containing niches 
for statues of saints, and labelled witli scroll s, bear- 
ing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most of these 
statues have been demolished. 

2. St David's ruined pile.— P. 5. 

David I, of Scotland purchased the reputation 
of sanctity, by founding, and liberally endowing, 
not only the monastery of Melrose, but those of 
Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others, which led to 
the well known observation of his successor, that 
he was a sore saint for the crotvn. 

3. Lands and livings, many a rood, 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.— P. S. 

The Bucclench family were great benefactors to 
the abisey of Melrose. As early as the reign of 
Robert II, Robert Scott, baron of Murdieston and 
Rankelburn, (now Buccleuch,) gave to the monks 
the lands of Hinkery, in Ettrick Forest, pro salute 
animm sum. — Chartulary of Melrose, 2Sth May, 
1415. 

4. Prayer know I hardly one; 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When I I'ide on a Border Ibray. — P. 6. 
The Boi'derers were, as may be supposed, very 
ignorant about religious matters. Colville, in his 
Paranesis or admonition, states that the refm-med 
divines were so far from undertaking distant jour- 
nevs to convert tlie heathen, " as I wold wis at God 
that ye would only go hot to the Ililands and bor- 
ders of our own realme, to gain our aw in countrey- 
men, who, for lack of preching and ministration of 
the sacraments, must, with tyme, bccum either 

• Kale, Broth. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



infidells or atheists." But we learn, from Leslie, 
that however deficient in real religion, they regu- 
larly told their beads, and never with more zeal 
than when going on a plundering expedition. 
5. Beneath their feet were tlie bones of the dead.— P. 6. 

The cloisters were frequently used as places of 
sepulture. An instance occurs in Dryburgii abbey, 
where the cloister has an inscription, bearing. Hie 
jacetfrater Archibaldus. 

6. So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in e;littering squadrons start; 
Sudden the Hylnp Jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dart. — P. 6. 

♦'By my faith," said the duke of Lancaster, (to 
a Portuguese squire,) " of all the feates of armes 
that the Castellyans, and they of your countrey 
doth use, the castynge of their dartes best pleaseth 
me, and gladly I wolde see it; for, as I hear say, 
if they strike one aryghte, without he be well 
armed, the dart will pierce him thrughe. " — " By 
my faith sir," said the squyer, "ye say trouth ; for 
I have seen many a grete stroke given with them, 
which al one time cost us derely, and was to us 
great displeasure; for at the said skymirshe, sir 
John Laurence of Coygne was striken with a dart 
in such wise, that the head pierced all the plates 
of his cote of mayle, and a sacke stopped with 
sylke, and passed thrughe his bodj', so that he fell 
down dead." — Froissart, vol. ii, ch. 44. — This 
mode of Sghting with darts was imitated in the 
military game called Juego de les canas, which 
the Spaniards borrowed from their Moorish inva- 
ders. A Saracen champion is thus described by 
Froissart: "Among the Sarazyns, there was a 
yonge knight called Agadinger Dolyferne; he was 
always wel mounted on a redy and a lyght horse; 
it seemed, when the horse ranne, that he did fly 
in the ayre. The knighte seemed to be a good man 
of arms by his dedes; he bare always of usage three 
fethered darts, and ryehte well he could handle 
them; and according to their custome, he was clene 
armed, with a long white towell about his heed. 
His apparel! was blacke, and his own colour 
browne, and a good horseman. The crysten men 
say, they thoughte he dyd such deeds of armes for 
the love of some young lady of liis countrey. And 
true it was, that he loved entirely the king of 
Thune's daughter named the Lady Azala; she was 
inherytour to the realrae of Thune, after the de- 
cease of the kyng, her father. This Agadinger was 
sone to the duke of Olyferne. I cannat telle if they 
were married together after or nat; but it was 
showed me, that (his knyght, for love of the sayd 
ladye, during the siege, did many feats of armes. 
The knyghtes of Fraunce would fayne have taken 
hym; but they colde never attrape nor inclose 
him, his horse was so swyft, and so redy to his 
hand that always he escaped." — vol. ii, ch. 71. 

7. Thy low and lonely urn, 

O gallant chief of Otterbunie P. 6. 

The famous and desperate battle of Otterburne 
was fought 15th August, 1388, betwixt Henry Per- 
cy, called Hotspur, and James, earl of Douglas. 
Both these renowned champions were at the head 
of a chosen body of troops, and they were rivals 
in military fame; so that Froissart affirms, "Of 
all the battaylles and encounteryngs that I have 
made mencion of here before in all this hvstorj', 
great or smalle, this battayle that I treat of nowe 
was one of the sorest and best foughten, without 
eowardes or faynte hertes; for there was ueyther 



knyght nor squyer hut that dyde his devoyre, and 
fought hande to hande. This batayle was lyke the 
batayleof Becherell,the which was valiantly fought 
and endured." The issue of the conflict is well 
known: Percy was made prisoner, and the Scots 
won the^ day, dearly purchased by the death of 
their gallant general, the earl of Douglas, who was 
slain in the action. He was buried at Melrose, 
beneath the high altar. " His obsequye was done 
reverently, and on his bodye layde a tombe of 
stone, and his baner hangyng over him." — Frois- 
sart, vol. ii, p. 161. 

8. Dark knight of Liddesdale.— P. 6. 

"William Douglas, called the knight of Liddes- 
dale, flourished during the reign of David H; and 
was so distinguished by his valour, that he was 
called the flower of chivalry. Nevertheless, he 
tarnished his renown by the cruel murder of sir 
Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, originally his 
friend and brother in arms. The king had con- 
ferred upon Ramsay the sherift'dom of Teviotdale, 
to which Douglas pretended some claim. In re- 
venge of this preference, the knight of Liddesdale 
came down upon Ramsay, while he was adminis- 
tering justice i»t Hawick, seized and carried him 
ott'to his remote and inaccessible castle of Hermi- 
tage, where he threw his unfortunate prisoner, 
horse and man, into a dungeon, and left him to 
perish of hunger. It is said, the miserable captive 
prolonged his existence for several days by the 
corn which fell from a granary above the vault in 
which he was confined.* So weak was the royal 
authority, that David, although highly incensed at 
this atrocious murder, found himself obliged to 
appoint the knight of Liddesdale successor to his 
victim, as sheriff of Teviotdale. But he was soon 
after slain, while hunting in Ettrick forest, by his 
own godson and chieftain, William earl of Douglas, 
in revenge, according to some authors, of Ramsay's 
murder: although a popular tradition, preserved 
in a ballad quoted by Godscroft, and some parts of 
which are still preserved, ascribes the resentment 
of the earl to jealousy. The place where the knight 
of Liddesdale was killed is called, from his name, 
William-Cross, upon the ridge of a hill called 
Willara-Hope, betwixt Tweed and Yarrow. His 
body, according to Godscroft, was carried to Lin- 
dean church the first night after his death, and 
tlience to Melrose, where he was interred with 
great pomp, and where his tomb is still shown. 
9. The moon on the east oriel shone.— P. G. 

It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful 
specimen of the lightness an(J elegance of gothic 

* There is something affecting in the manner in which 
the old prior of Lochlevin tunis from descrbing the death 
of the gallant Ramsay, to the general sorrow which it ex- 
cited: J 

To tell you there of the manere. 

It is bot sorrow for til here; 

He wes the grettiist menyd maa 

That ony eowth have thowcht of than, 

Of his state, or of mare be fare; 

All menyt him, batli bettyr and war; 

The i-yche and pure him menyde bath, 

For of his dede was mekil skath. 
Some years'ago, a person digging for stones, about the 
old castle of Hermitage, broke into a vault, containing a 
quantity of chaff, some bones, and |)ieces of iron; amongst 
others, tlie curb of an ancient bridle, whicli the author 
has since given to the earl of Dalhousie, under the im- 
pression, that it possibly may be a relique of his brave 
ancestor. The worthy clergyman of the parish has men- 
tioned this discovery in his statistical account of Castle* 
town. 



34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



architecture, when in its purity, than the eastern 
■window of Melrose abbey. Sir James Hall of Dun- 
glass, hart, has with great ingenuity and plausibili- 
ty, traced the goth'ic order through its various 
forms, and seemingly eccentric ornaments, to an 
architectural imilalicn of wicker work; of which, 
as we learn from some of the legends, the earliest 
Christian churches were constructed. In such an 
edifice, the original of the clustered pillars is trac- 
ed to a set of round posts, begirt with slender rods 
of willow, whose loose summits were brought to 
meet from all quarters, and bound together arti- 
ficially, so as to produce the frame-work of the 
roof: and the tracery of our gothic windows is dis- 
played in the meeting and interlacing of rods and 
hoops, affording an inexhaustible variety of beau- 
tiful forms of open work. This ingenious system 
is alluded to in the romance. Sir James Hall's 
Essay on Gothic Architecture is published in The 
Edinburgh Philosophical Transactions, 

10. They sate tliem Aowu on a marble stone, 
A Scottish monarch slept below.— P. 6. • 
A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, 
is pointed out as the monument of Alexander 11, 
one of the greatest of our early kings; others say, 
it is the resting place of Waldeve, one of the early 
abbots, who died in the odour of sanctity. 

11. The wonderous ]Miehael Scott. — P. 6. 
Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished dur- 
ing the 13lh century, and was one of the embassa- 
dors sent to bring the maid of Norway to Scotland 
upon tlie death of Alexander III. By a poetical 
anachronism, he is here placed in a later tera. He 
was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in 
foreign countries. He wi-ote a commentary upon 
Aristotle, printed at Yenice in 1496; and several- 
treatises upon natural philosophy, from which he 
appears to have been addicted to the abstruse stu- 
dies of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, 
and chiromancy. Hence he passed among his co- 
temporaries for a skilful magician. Dempster in- 
forms us, that he remembers to have heard in his 
youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott were 
still in existence, but could not be opened without 
danger, on account of the milignant fiends who 
were thereby invoked. Dempsteri Histoiia Eccle- 
siastica, 1627, lib. xii,p. 495. Lesly characterizes 
Michael Scolt, as siiiffiilari philosophic, astrono- 
mix, ac medicinx laiidc prestans; dicebaiur peni- 
tissimos tnagix I'ecessus indagnsse." Dante also 
mentions him as a renowned wizard: 

Quell alti-o che no' fianchi e cosi poco 
Michele Scotto fu, che veramente 
Sella magiche frode seppe il g;iuoco. 

Divina Comedia Canto, xxmo. 
A personage, thus spoken of by biographers and 
historians, loses little of his mystical fame in vul- 
gar tradition. Accordingly the memory of sir Mi- 
chael Scott survives in many a legend; and in the 
south of Scotland, any work of great labour and 
antiquity, is ascribed, either to the agency oiAuld 
Michad, of sir William Wallace, or of the devil. 
Trachtion varies concerning the place of his buri- 
al: some contend for Holme Coltrame, in Cumber- 
land; others for Melrose abbey. But all agree, 
that his books of magic were interred in his grave, 
or preserved in the convent where he died. Satcii- 
ells, wishing to give some authority for his account 
of the origin of the name of Scott, pretends that 
in 1629, he chanced to be at Burgh under Bow- 
ness, in Cumberland, where a person named Lan- 



celot Scott, showed him an extract from Michael 
Scott's works, containing that story. 
" He said the book wliidi he g-ave me, 
Was of sir Michael Scott's historie; 
Which liistory was never yet read through, 
Nor never will, for no man dare it do. 
Young scholars have ])icked out somelhing 
From the contents, that dare not read within. 
He carried me along tlie castle then. 
And showed his written book hanging on a iron pin. 
His writing pen did seem to me to be 
Of hardened metal, like steel, or accumie; 
The volume of it did seem so large to me, 
As the book of Martyr's and Turk's liistorie, 
Then in the chin-ch he let me see 
A stone win ri- Mr. Michael Scott did lie; 
I asked at him liow that could appear, 
Mr. Michael had been dead above five hundred year? 
He show'd nie none durst bury under that stone, 
More than he had been dead a few years agone: 
For Mr. Michael's name doth terrifie each one." 

History of the right honourable name of Scott, 
12. Salamanca's cave. — P. 6. 
Spain, from the relics, doubtless, of Arabian 
learning and superstition, was accounted a favourite 
residence of magicians. Pope Sylvester, who ac- 
tually imported from Spain the use of the Arabian 
numerals, was supposeil to have learned there the 
magic, for which he was stigmatized by the igno- 
rance of his age. — William uf JMalmsbnry, lib. ii, 
cap. 10. There were public schools, where magic, 
or rather the sciences supposed to involve its mys- 
teries, were regularly taught, at Toledo, Seville, 
and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were held 
in a deep cavern, the mouth of which was walled 
up by queen Isabella, wife of king Ferdinand.^ 
I)\iutun on Learned Incredidity, p. 4.5. Tliese 
Spanisli schools of magic are celebrated also by the 
Italian poets of romance: 

Questa citta di Tolleto solea 
Tenere studio di Negromanzia: 
Quivi di magica arte si leggea 
Pubblicamente, e di Piromanzia; 
E molti tieomanti sempre avea, 
E sperimenti assai d' Idromanzia 
E d' altre false opinion di sciocchi 
Come e fatture, o spesso batter gli occhi. 

// Morgaute Maggiore, Canto xxv, St. 259. 

The celebrated magician Maugis, cousin to Ri- 
naldo of Montalban, called by Ariosto, Malagigi, 
studied the black art at I'oledo, as we learn from 
UHistoire de Maugis lY.lygremont. He even held 
a professor's chair in the necromantic university; 
for I so interpret the passage, " qu^en tons les sept 
ai'ts d'enchantemeiit, ties charmes et conjurations, 
il n'y avoit mcilleur maistre que lui; et en tel renom 
qu'on le laissoil en chaise, et Vappelloit on maistre 
Maugis." This Salamancan Domdaniel is said 
to have been founded by Hercules. If the classic 
reader inquires where Hercules himself learned 
magic, he may consult " Les faiects et proesses du 
noble et vaillant Hercules," where he vill learn, 
that the fable of his aiding Atlas to support the 
heavens, arose from the said Atlas having taught 
Hercules, the noble kiught errant, the seven liberal 
sciences, and in particular, that of judicial astro- 
logy. Such, according to the idea of the middle 
ages, were the studies," maximiis qu;e docuit .itlas." 
—In a romantic history of Roderic, the last Gothic 
king of Spain, he is said to have entered, one ot 
those enchanted caverns. It was situated beneath 
an ancient tower near Toledo: and, when the iron 
gates, which secured the entrance, were unfolded, 
tliere rushed forth so dreadful a whirlwind, that 
hitherto no one had dared to penetrate into its re- 
cesses. But Roderic, threatened with an invasion 
of the Moors, resolved to enter the cavern, where 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



35 



he expected to find some prophetic intimation of 
the event of the war. Accordingly, his train being 
furnished with torches, so artificially composed, 
that the tempest could not extinguish them, the 
king* with great difficult)', penetrated into a square 
hall, inscribed all over with Arabian characters. 
In the midst stood a collossal statue of brass, rep- 
resenting a Saracen wielding a Moorish mace, with 
■which it discharged furious blows on all sides, and 
seemed thus to excite the tempest whicli raged 
around. Being conjured by Roderick, it ceased 
from striking until he read, inscribed on the right 
hand, " Wretched monarch, for thy evil hast tho^i 
come hither;'''' on the left hand, " Thou shall be 
dispossessed by a strange people,-" on one shoulder, 
" / invoke the sons of Hagar;'''' on the other, " / 
do mine office." When the king had decyphered 
these ominous inscriptions, the statue returned to 
its exercise, the tempest commenced anew, and 
Roderic retired, to mourn over the predicted evils 
"which approaclied his throne. He caused the gates 
of the cavern to be locked and barricaded; but, in 
the course of the night, tiie tower fell with a tre- 
mendous noise, and under its ruins concealed for 
ever the entrance to the jmystic cavern. The con- 
quest of Spain by the Saracens, and the death of 
the unfortunate Don Roderic, fulfilled the prophe- 
cy of the bi-azen statue. Historia verdadera del 
Iley Don Rodrigo por el sabio Jllcayde Jlbidcacim, 
traduzeda de la lengua Arabiga por J\liqtiel de Lu- 
na, 1654, cap. vi. 

13. The bells would ring' in Notre Dame.— P. 6. 
" Tantamiie rem tam negligenter?" says Tyr- 
whitt, of his predecessor Speight; who, in iiis com- 
mentary on Chaucer, had omitted, as trivial and 
fabulous, the story of Wade and his boat Guinge- 
lot, to the great prejudice of posterity, the memory 
of the hero and the boat being now entirely lost. 
That future antiquaries may lay no such omission 
to my charge, 1 have noted one or two of the most 
current traditions concerning Michael Scott. He 
was chosen, it is said, to go upon an embassy, to 
obtain from the king of France satisfaction for 
certain piracies committed by his subjects upon 
those of Scotland. Instead of preparing a new 
equipage and splendid retinue, the ambassador re- 
treated to Ids study, opened his book, and evoked 
a fiend in the shape of a huge black horse, mounted 
upon his back, and forced him to fly through tiie 
air towards France. As they crossed the sea, the 
devil insidiously asked his rider, what it was that 
the old women of Scotland muttered at bed time? 
A less experienced wizard might have answered, 
that it was the Pater Noster, which would have 
licensed the devil to precipitate him from his back. 
But Michael sternly replied, « What is that to 
thee? Movmt, Diabolus, and fly!" When he ar- 
rived at Paris, he tied his horse to the gate of the 
palace, entered and boldly delivered his message. 
An ambassador, with so little of the pomp and cir- 
cumstance of diplomacy, was not received with 
much respect, and the king was about to return a 



v.'hen residing at the tower of Oakwood, upon the 
Ettrick, about three miles above Selkirk, he heard 
of the fame of a sorceress, called the witch of False- 
hope, who lived on the opposite side of the river. 
Michael went one morning to put her skill to the 
test, hut was disappointed by her denying positive- 
ly any knowledge of the necromantic art. 

In his discourse with her, he laid his wand in- 
advertently on the table, which the hag observing, 
suddenly snatched it up, and struck him with it. 
Feeling the force of the charm, he rushed out of the 
house; but, as it had conferred on him the external 
appearance of a hare, his servant, who waited with- 
out, haloo'd upon the discomfited wizard his own 
greyhounds, and pursued him so close, that in 
order to obtain a moment's breathing to reverse 
the charm, Michael, after a very fatiguing course, 
was fain to take refuge in hi^ own ja-uj-hole[anglice, 
common sewer). In order to revenge himself of 
the witch of Falsehope, Michael, one morning in 
the ensuing harvest, went to the hill above the 
house with his dogs, and sent down his servant to 
ask a bit of bread from the good-wife for his grey- 
hounds, with instructions what to do if he met with 
a denial. Accordingly, when the witch had refused 
the boon with contumely, the servant, as his mas- 
ter had directed, laid above the door a paper, 
which he had given him, containing amongst ma- 
ny cabalistical words, the well-known rhyme, — 
Maister Micliael Scot's man 
Sought meat, and gat nane. 
Immediately the good old woman, instead of 
pursuing her domestic occupation, which was ba- 
king bread for the reapers, began to dance round 
the fire, repeating the rhyme, and continued this 
exercise till her husband sent the reapers to the 
house, one after another, to see what had delayed 
their provision; but the charm caught each as they 
entered, and, losing, all idea of returning, they 
joined in the dance and chorus. At length the old 
man himself went to the house; but as his wife's 
frolic with Mr. Michael, whom he had seen on 
the hill, made him a little cautious, he contented 
himself with looking in at the window, and saw the 
reapers at their involuntary exercise, dragging his 
wife, now completely exhausted, sometimes round 
and sometimesthroughthe fire, which was, as usual, 
in the midst of the house. Instead of entering, he 
saddled a horse, rode up the hill, to humble him- 
self before Michael, and beg a cessation of the 
spell; which the good natured warlock immediately 
granted, directing him to enter the house hack wards, 
and, with his left hand, take the spell from above 
the door; which accordingly ended the su])ernatural 
dance. — This tale was told less particularly in for- 
mer editions, and I have been censured for inaccu- 
racy in doing so.^A similar charm occursin Huon 
du Bojirdeaux, and in the ingenious Oriental tale, 
called the Ccdiph Vathek. 

Notwithstanding his victory over the witch of 
Falsehope, Michael Scott, like his predecessor 
Merlin, fell at last a victim to female art. His wife, 



contemptuous refusal to his demand, when Michael °'' concubine, elicited from him the secret, that his 
besought him to suspend his resolution till he had "" '' ' > «• . _ 

seen his horse stamp three times. The first stamp 
shook every steeple in Paris, and caused all the 
bells to ring; the second threw down three of the 
towers of the palace; and the infernal steed had 
lifted his hoof to give the third stamp, when the 
king rather chose to dismiss Michael, with the 
most ample concessions, than to stand to the pro- 
bable consequences. Another time, it is said, that, 



art could ward off" any danger except the poison- 
ous qualities of broth, made of the flesh oi&breme 
sow. Such a mess she accordingly administered to 
the wizard, who died in consequence of eating it; 
surviving, however, long enough to put to death 
his treacherous confidante. 

14. The words, that cleft Eildon Hills in three. 

And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone.— P. 6. 

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much em* 



36 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



barrassed by a spirit, for whom he was under the 
necessity of finding constant employment. He com- 
manded him to build a caiild, pv dam-head, across 
the Tweed at Kelso; it was accomplished in one 
night, and still does honour to the infernal archi- 
tect. Michael next ordered,thatEildon hills, which 
was tiien a uniform cone, should be divided into 
three. Another niglit was sufficient to part its sum- 
mit into the three "picturesque peaks which it now 
bears. At lengtli the enchanter conquered this in- 
detatigable demon, by employing him in the hope- 
less and endless task of making ropes out of sea- 
sand. 

15. That lamp shall bnni unquenchably.— P. 7. 
Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of 
natural magic, talk mucli of eternal lamps, pre- 
tended to have been found burning in ancient se- 
pulchres. Fortunius Licetus investigates the sub- 
ject in a treatise, Se Lucernis antiquarian recon- 
ditis, published at Venice, IG'il. One of these per- 
petual lamps is said to have been discovered in 
the tomb of Tulliola, the daughter of Cicero. The 
wick was supposed to be composed of asbestos. 
Kircher enumerates three different receipts for 
constructing such lamps; and wisely concludes, 
that the thing is nevertheless impossible. — JMiin- 
dus Subtervaneus, p. 72. Delrio imputes the fab- 
rication of such lights to magical skill. — Disquid- 
tionen Magicx, p. 58. In a very rare romance, 
which " treateth of the lyfe of Virgilius, and of 
his death, and many marvayles that he dyd in iiis 
lyfe-time, by wyche-crafte and nygramancye, 
throughe the help of the de\7ls of hell," mention 
is made of a very extraordinary process, in which 
one of these mystical lamps was employed. It 
seems that Virgil, as he advanced in years, became 
desirous of renovating his youth by his magical 
art. For this purpose he constructed a solitary tow- 
er, having only one narrow portal, in which he 
placed twenty-four copper figures, armed with iron 
flails, twelve on each side of the porch. These en- 
chanted statues struck with their flails incessantly, 
and rendered all entrance impossible, unless when 
Virgil touched the spring which stopped their mo- 
tion. To this tower he repaired privately, attended 
by one trusty servant, to whom he conununicated 
the secret of the entrance, and hither they convey- 
ed all the magician's treasure. "Then sayde Vir- 
gilius, my dere beloved friende, and he that I above 
alle men truste and knowe mooste of my secret;" 
and then he led the man into a cellar, where 
he made a fayer lamp at all seasons buniynge. 
And then sayd Virgilius to the man, " See you the 
barrel that standetli here?" and he sayd. Yea: 
" Therein must you put me: fyrst ye must slee 
me and hew me smalle to pieces, and cut my bed 
in iiii pieces, and salte the heed under in the bot- 
tom, and then the pieces there after, and my herte 
in the myddel, and then set the barrel under the 
lampe, that nyghte and day the fat therein may 
dro|)pe and leak; and ye shall ix dayes long, ones 
in the day, fyllthe lampe, and fayle nat. And when 
this is all done, then shall I be renued, and made 
youngeagen." At this extraordinary proposal, the 
confidant was sore abashed, and made some scru- 
ple of obeyinghis master's commands. At length, 
however, he complied, and Virgil was slain, pick- 
led, and barrelled up, in all respects according to 
his own direction. The servant then left the tower, 
taking care to put the copper thrashers in motion 
at his departun;. lie continued daily to visit the 



tower, with the same precaution. Meanwhile, th« 
emperor, with whom Virgil was a great favourite, 
missed him from the court, and demanded of hi» 
servant where he was. The domestic pretended 
ignorance, till the emperor threatened him with 
death, when at length he conveyed him to the en- , 
chanted tower. The same threat extorted a disco- 
very of the mode of stopping the statues frora 
wielding tlieir flails. " And then the emperor en- 
tered into the castle with all his folke, and sought 
all aboute in every corner after Virgilius; and at 
the last they soughte so longe, that they came into 
the seller, v\ here they sawe the lampe hang over 
the barrel where Virgilius lay in deed. Then 
asked the emperor the man, who had made hym 
so herdy to put his myaster Virgilius so to dethe; 
and the man answered no word to the emperour. 
And then the emperour, with great anger, drewe 
out his sworde,and slewe he there Virgilius' man. 
And when all this was done, then sawe the empe- 
rour, and all his folke, a naked childe iii tymes 
rennynge about the barrell, saying these wordes, 
' Cursed be the tyme that ye ever came here!' 
And with these wordes vanyshed the chylde awaye, 
and was never sene ageyne; and thus abyd Virgil- 
ius in the barrell deed." Virgilius, bl. let. printed 
at Antwerpe by John Doesborcke. This curious 
volume is in tlie valuable library of Mr. Douce; 
and is supposed to be a translation from the French, 
printed in Flanders for the English market. See 
GoiijL't liiblioth. Franc, ix, 225. Catalogue de la 
Bibliotheque J\'ationale, torn, ii, p. 5. jDe JBure, 
No: 3857. 

16. Hethought,as he took it, the dead man frown 'd— P. 7. 
William ofDeloraine might be strengthened in 
this belief by the well-known story of the Cid Ruy 
Diaz. When the body of that famous Christian 
champion was sitting in state bj^ the high altar of 
the cathedral churcli of Toledo, where it remained 
for ten years, a certain malicious Jew attempted to 
pull him by the beard; but he had no sooner touch- 
ed the formidable whiskers, than the corpse start- 
ed up, and half unsheathed his sword. The Israe- 
lite fled; and so permanent was the effect of his 
terror, that he became a Christian. Heywood^s 
Hierarchie, p. 480, quoted from Sebastian Cobar- 
ruvias Crozee. 

17. The baron's dwarf his courser held.— P. 8. 
The idea of lord Cranstoun's goblin page, is 
taken from a being called Gilpin Horner, v ho ap- 
peared, and made some stay, at a farm-house among 
tlie Border-mountains. A gentleman of that coun- 
try has noted down the following particulars con- 
cerning his appearance. 

" Tile only certain, at least most probable ac- 
count, that ever I heard of Gilpin Horner, was 
from an old man, of the name of Anderson, whcr 
was born, and lived all his life, at Todshawhill, 
in Eskdale muir, the place where Gilpin appear- 
ed and staid for some time. He said there were 
two men, late in the evening, when it was grow- 
ing dark, employed in fastening the horses upon 
the uttermost paVt of their ground, (that is, tying 
their forefeet together, to hinder them from tra- 
velling far in the night,) when they heard a voice, 
at some distance, crying, ' tiiitj tint.' tint!'* One 
cf the men, named Jvloftat, called out, ' What de'il 
has tint you? Come here.' Immediately a crea- 
ture, of something like a human form, appeared. 
It was surprisingly little, disorted in features, and 

* Tint signifies lost. 



THE LAY OP THE LAST MNSTREL. 



37 



misshapen in limbs. As soon as the two men could 
see it plainly, they ran home in a fright, imagin- 
ing tliey had met with some goblin. By the way, 
Moffiitfell, and it ran over him, and was liome at 
the house as soon as either of them, and staid there 
a long time; but I cannot say how long. It was 
real flesh and blood, and ate and drank, was fond 
of cream, and, when it could get at it, would de- 
stroy a great deal. It seemed a mischievous crea- 
ture; and any of the children whom it could mas- 
ter, it would beat and scratch without mercy. It 
was once abusing a child belonging to the same 
Moffat, -who had been so frightened by its first ap- 
pearance; and he, in a passion, struck it so violent 
a blow upon the side of the head, that it tumbled 
upon the ground: but it was not stunned; for it set 
up its head directly, and exclaimed, ' Ah, hah. 
Will o' Moffat, you strike sair!' (viz. sore.) After 
it had staid there long, one evening, when the 
women were milking the cows in the loan, it was 
playing among the children near by them, when 
suddenly they heard a loud shrill voice cry, three 
times, 'Gilpin Horner!'' It started, and said, ' That 
is me, 1 must axvay!'' and instantly disappeared, 
and was never heard of more. Old Anderson did 
not remember it, but said he had often heard his 
father, and other old men in the place, who were 
there at the time, speak about it; and in my young- 
er years 1 have often heard it mentioned, and never 
met with any who had the remotest doubt as to 
the truth of the story; althougii, I must own, I 
cannot help thinking there must be some misre- 
presentation in it." — To this account, I have to 
add the following particulars from the most re- 
spectable authority. Besides constantly repeating 
the word tint! tint! Gilpin Horner was often heard 
to call upon Peter Bertram, or Be-teram, as he 
pronounced the word; and when the shrill voice 
called Gilpin Horner, he immediatel}' acknowledg- 
ed it was the summons of the said Peter Bertram; 
who seems, therefore to have been the devil, who 
had tint, or lost the little imp. As much has been 
objected to Gilpin Horner on account of his being 
supposed rather a device of the author than a po- 
pular superstition, 1 can only say, that no legend 
which 1 ever heard seemed to be more universal- 
ly credited, and that many persons of very good 
rank and considerable iuformatioii are well known 
to repose absolute faith in the tradition. 

18. But the Ladye of Branksomo gatlier'd a band. 
Of the best that would ride at her command.— P. 8. 

"Upon 25th June, 1557, dame Janet Beatoune, 
lady Buccleuch, and a great number of the name 
of Scott, delatit (accused) for coming to the kirk 
of St. Mary of the Lowes, to tlie number of two 
hundred persons bodin in feire of weire, (arrayed 
in armour,) and breaking open the doors of the 
said kirk, in order to apprehend the laird of Crans- 
toiuie for his destruction." On the 20th July, a 
warrant from the queen is presented, discharging 
the justice to proceed against the lady Buccleuch 
while new calling. Abridgement of Books of Ad- 
journal in Advocates^ library. — The following 
proceedings upon this case appear on the record 
of the Court of Justiciary. On the 25th of June, 
1557, Robert Scott, of Bowhill parish, priest of 
the kirk of St. Mary's, accused of the convocation 
of the queen's lieges, to the number of two hun 
dred persons, in warlike array, with jacks, helmets 
and other weapons, and marching to the chapel of 
St. Mary of the Lowes, for the slaughter of sir 
Peter Cranstoun, out of ancient feud and malice 



prepense, and of breaking the doors of the si^id 
kirk, is repledged by the archbishop of Glasgow. 
The bail given by Robert Scott of AUenhaugh, 
Adam Scott of Burnefute, Robert Scott in How- 
furde, Walter Scott in Todshawhaugh, Walter 
Scott younger of Synton, Thomas Scott of Hay- 
ning, Robert Scott, William Scott and James Scott, 
brotliers of the said Walter Scott, Walter Scott 
in the Woll, and Waller Scott, son of William 
Scott of Harden, and James Wemyss in Eckford, 
all accused of the same crime, is declared to be 
forfeited. On the same day, Walter Scott of Syn- 
ton, and Walter Chisholme of Chisholme, and 
William Scott of Harden, became bound, jointly 
and severally, that sir Peter Cranstoun, and his 
kindred and servants, should receive no injury 
from them in future. At the same time, Patrick 
Murray of Fallohill, Alexander Stuart, uncle to 
the laird of Trakwhare, John Murray of Newhall, 
John Fairlye, residing in Selkirk, George Tait, 
younger of Pirn, John Pennycuke, of Pennycuke, 
James Ramsay of Cokpen, the laird of Fassyde, 
and the laird of Henderstoune, were all severally 
fined for not attending as jurors; being probably 
either in alliance with the accused parties, or 
dreading their vengeance. Upon the 20th of July 
following, Scott of Synton, Chisholme of Chis- 
holme, Scott of Harden, Scott of Howpaslie, Scott 
of Burnfute, with many others, are ordered to ap- 
pear at next calling, under the pains of treason. 
But no farther procedure seems to have taken 
place. It is said, that, upon this rising, the kirk 
of St. Mary's was burned by the Scotts. 

NOTES TO CANTO III. 

1. When, dancing in the sunny beam, 

He raark'd the crane on the baron's crest.— P. 9. 
The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their 
name, is a crane dormant, holding a stone in his 
foot, with an emphatic Border motto, Thou shalt 
■want ere 1 want. 

2. Much he mai-velPd a knight of pride. 

Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride. — P. 9. 

" At Unthank, two miles N. E. from the church, 
(of Ewes) there are the ruins of a chapel for di- 
vine service, in time of popery. There is a tradi- 
tion, that friars were wont to come from Melrose, 
or Jedburgh, to baptize and marry in this parish; 
and from being in use to carry the mass-book in 
their bosoms, they were called, by the inhabitants, 
Book-a-bosomes. There is a man yet alive, who 
knew old men who had been baptized by these 
book-a-boSomes^ and who says one of them, cal- 
led Hair, vised this parish for a very long time." — 
Account of Parish of Ewes, afnid J)Iacfarlane^a 
MSS. J ^ 1 J 

3. It had much of glamour might. — P. 9. 

Glamour, in the legends of Scottish superstition, 
means the magic power of imposing on the eye- 
sight of the spectators, so that the appearance of 
an object shall be totally different from the reality. 
The transformation of Michael Scott by the witch 
of Falsehope, already mentioned, was a genuine 
operation of glamour. To a similar charm the 
ballad of Johnny Fa' imputes the fascination of the 
lovely countess, who eloped with that gipsy leader: 

Sae soon as they saw her weel far'd face, 

They cast the ^/amo«;- o'er her. 

It was formerly used even in war. In 1381, when 

the duke of Anjou lay before a strong castle, upon 

the coast of Naples, a necromancer offered to 

" make the ayre so thycke, that tliey within shal 



38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tliynke that there is a great hridge on the see, (by ville's Sadttcismus Triumphatus, mentions a simi- 

■which the castle was surrounded,) for ten men to lar phenomenon. 

go a front; and whan they within the castle se this | " I remember an old gentleman of the country, of 

bridge, they will be so afrayde, that they shall my acquaintance, an excellent justice of peace, and 

3'elde them to your mercy. The duke demanded — a piece of a mathematician; but what kind of a phi- 

Fayre Master, on this bridge that ye speke of, losopher he was you may understand from a 

may our people assuredly go thereon to the castell rhyme of his own making, which he commended 



to assay le \0 Syr, quod the enchantour, I dare 
not assure you that; for if any that passeth on the 
bridge make the signe of the crosse on hym, all shall 
go to noughte, and they that beon the bridge shall 
fall into the see. Then the duke began to laugh; and 
a certain of young knightes, that were there pre- 
sent, said, syr, for Godsake, let the master essaye 
his cunning; we sal leve making of any signe of 
the crosse on us for that time. " The earl of Savoy, 
shortly after, entered the tent, and recognised in the 
enchanter the same person who had put the castle 
into the power of sir Charles de la Payx, who then 



to me at my taking horse in his yard, which rhyme 
is this: 

Ens is nothing till sense find out; 

Sense ends in nothing, so naught goes about. 

AVhich rhyme of his was so rapturous to himself, 
that on the i-eciting of the second verse, the old 
man turned himselt about upon his toe as nimbly 
as one may observe a dry leaf whisked round in 
the corner of an orchard- walk by some little whirl- 
wind. With this philosopher I have had many dis- 
courses concerning the immortality of the soul and 
its distinction; when I have run him quite down 



held it, by persuading the garrison of the queen of^ by reason, he would but laugh at me and say, this 

Naples, through magical decei)tion, that the sea was 

coming over the walls. The sage avowed the feat, 

aqd added, that he was the man in the world most 

dreaded by sir Charles de la Payx. " By my fayth, 

quod the erl of Savoy, ye say well, and 1 will that 

sir Charles de la Payx shall know that he hath 

gret wronge to fear you. But I shall assure him 

of you: for ye shall never do enchantment to de- 

ceyve him, nor yet none other. I wolde nat tliat 

in tyme to come we shulde be reproached that in 

so high an enterprise as we be in, wherein there 

he so many noble knyghtes and squyers assembled, 

that we shulde do any thyng be enchauntment, nor 

that we shulde wyn our enemys by such crafte. 

Then he called to hym a servaunt, and sayd, go 

and get a hangman, and let hym stryke of this may- 

ster's heed without delay: and as sone as the erle 

had commanded it, incontynent it was done, for 

his heed was stiyken of before the erle's tent." 

Froissart, vol. i, ch. 391, 392. 

The art of glamour, or other fascination, was 
anciently a principal part of the skill of the jOTtg-- 
leur, or juggler, whose tricks formed much of the 
amusement of a gothic castle. Some instances of 
this art may be found in the Miiistrelsy of the Scot- 
tish Border, vol. iii, p. 119. In a strange allego- 
rical poem, called the Houlat, written by a de- 
pendant of the house of Douglas, about 1452-3, the 
jay, in an assembly of birds, plays the part of the 
juggler. His feats of glamour are thus described: 
He gart tliera see, as it semyt, in samyn houi-e, 

Hunting at herdis in holtis so hair; 
Some sailand on tlie see schippis of toure, 

Bernis battaland on bjurd bnm as a bare; 

He eoude carye the coup of the kingis des, 
Syne leve in the stede, 
Bot a black bunwede; 
He coulde of a henis hede, 

Make a man mes. 



He gait the emprour trow, and trewyle behald, 

That the comcraik, the pundare at hand. 
Had pojnidit all his i)ris hors in a poynd fald. 

Because thai ete of the corn in the kirkland. 
He could wirk windaris, quhat way that he wald; 

Mak a gray gus a gold garland, 
A lang spere of a biltile for a heme bald, 
Nobilis of uutschelles, and silver of sand. 
Thus joukit with Juxters the jaglane ja, 
Fair ladycs in rlngis, 
Knychtis in caralyngis, 
Bayth dansis and singis. 
It seniyt as sa. 

4. Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 
I cannot tellj so mot I thrive; 
It was not given by man alive. — P. 9. 
Dr. Henry More, in a letter prefixed to Glan- 



is logic, H. (calling me by my christian name;) 
to which I replied, this is reason, father L. (for so 
I used and some others to call him;) but it seems 
you are for the new ligiits, and immediate inspira- 
tion, which I confess he was <is little for as for the 
other; but I said so only in way of drollery to 
him in those times; but truth is, nothing but .pal- 
pable experience would move him; and being a 
bold man, and fearing nothing, he told me he h.id 
used all the magical ceremonies of conjuration he 
could, to raise the devil or a spirit, and had a most 
earnest desire to meet with one, but could not do 
it. But this he told me, when he did not so much 
as think of it, while his servant was pulling off his 
boots in the hall, some invisible hand gave him 
such a clap upon the back, that it made all ring 
again; so thought he now, I am invited to the con- 
verse of mj^ spirit, and therefore, so soon as his 
boots were off, and his shoes on, out he goes into 
the yard and next field, to find out tiie spirit that 
had given him tliis familiar clap on the back, but 
found none neither in the yard nor field next to it. 
" But though he did feel this stroke, albeit he 
thought it afterwards (finding nothing came of it) 
a mere delusion; yet, not long before his death, it 
had more force with him than all the philosophi- 
cal a:'guments I could use with him, though I could 
wind him and non-plus him as I pleased; but yet 
all my arguments, how solid soever, made no im- 
pression upon him; wherefore, after several rea- 
sonings of tills nature, whereby I could prove to 
him the soul's distinction from the body, and its 
immortality, when nothing of such subtle consi- 
derations did any more execution on his mind than 
some lightning is said to do, though it melts the 
sword, on the fuzzy consistency of the scabbard.-™ 
Well, said I, father L. , though none of these things 
move you, I have something still behind, and what 
yourself has acknowledged to me to be true, that 
may do the business: — Uo you remember the clap 
on your back when your servant was pulling off 
your boots in the hall? Assure yourself, said I, 
father L., tliat goblin will be the first that will 
bid you welcome into the other world. Upon rhis 
his countenance changed most sensibly, and he 
was more confounded with this rubbing up his 
inemory, than with all the rational or philosophi- 
cal argumentations that I could produce." 
5. The running stream dissolved the spell.— P. 10. 
It is a firm article of popular faith, that no en- 
chantment can subsist in a living stream. Nay, if 
you can interpose a brook betwixt youand witches, 



I 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



39 



gpectres, or even fiends, you are in perfect safety. 
Burns's inimitable Tarn o' Shantev turns entirely 
upon such a circumstance. The belief seems to 
be of antiquity. Brom()ton informs us, that cer- 
tain Irish wizards could, by spells, convert earthen 
clods, or stones, into fat pigs, which the)' sold in 
the market; but which always re-assumed their 
proper form, when driven by the deceived pur- 
chaser across a running stream, But Brompton is 
severe on the Irish, for a very good reason. " Gens 
ista spurcissimanon solvuntdecimas." — Chronicon 
Johanrds Brompton alnid decern Scriptores, p. 1076. 
6. His buckler scarce in breadth a span, 
No longer fence had he; 
He never coimted him a man, 

Would strike below the knee. — P. TO. 

Imitated from Drayton's account of Robin Hood 
and his followers. 

A hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, 
Still ready at his call that bowmen were right good; 
All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue, 
His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew. 
When setting to their lips their bugle loud and shnll. 
The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill; 
Their bauldrics set with studs athwart their shoulders cast. 
To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled fast, 
A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span. 
Who struck below the knee not counted then a man. 
All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wonderous 

strong. 
They not an arrow drew, but was a clothyard long. 
Of archery they had the very perfect craft, . 
With broad arrow, or but, or prick, or rovingshaft. 

To wound an antagonist in the thigh, or leg, was 
reckoned contrary to tiie law of arms. In a tilt 
betwixt Gawain Michael, an English squire, and 
Joachim Cathroe, a Frenchman, " they met at the 
speare poyntes rudely; the French squyer justed 
right pleasantly; the Englyshman ran too lowe, 
for he strak the Frenchman depe in the thygh. 
Wherewith the earl of Buckingham was right "sore 
displeased, and so were all the other lordes, and 
sayde how it was shamefully done." Froissart, 
vol. i, ch. 366. — Upon a similar occasion " the two 
knights came a fote echo against the other rudely, 
■with their speares low couched, to strike each 
other within the foure quarters. Johan of Castell- 
Morante strake the Englysh squyer, on the brest 
in such vryse, that sir Wyllyam Fermetone 
stombled and bowed, for his fote a lyttle fayled 
him. He helde his spear lowe with both his handes, 
and coulde nat amende it, and strake sir Johan of 
the Castell-Morante in the thighe, so that the 
speare went clene through that the heed was sene 
a handful on the other syde. And syre Johan with 
the stroke reled, but he fell nat. Then the En- 
glyshe knights and squyers were righte sore dis- 
pleased, and sayde how it was a foul stroke. Syr 
Wyllyam Fermetone excused himself, and sayde 
how he was sorie of that adventure, and howe that 
yf he had knowen that it shulde have been so, he 
wolde never have begon it: sayenge how he coude 
nat amende it, by cause of gla'unsing of his fote by 
constraynt of the great stroke that syr Johan of the 
Castell-Morante had given him." Ibid. ch. 373, 
7. And with a charm she stanch'd the blood.— P. 11. 
See several charms for this purpose in Reginald 
Scott's Discovery of Witchcraft, p. 273. 

Tom Potts was but a serving man. 

But yet he was a doctor g;ood; 

He bound his handkerchief on the wound. 

And with some kind of words he stanched the blood. 
Pieces of ancient popular Po-.try,l^onA. 1791, p. 131. 
8. But she has ta'en the broken lance, 
And washed it from the clotted gore, 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.— P, 11. 



Sir Kenelm Digby, in a discourse upon the cure 
by sympathy, pronounced at Montpelier, before 
an assembly of nobles and learned men, translated 
into Englisli, by R. White, gentleman, and pub- 
lished in 1658, gives us the following curious sur- 
gical case: 

" Mr. James Howel (well known in France for 
his public works, and particularly for his Dendro- 
logie, translated into French by Mons. Baudouin) 
coming by chance, as two of his best friends were 
fighting in duel, he did his endeavour to part them; 
and, putting himselfe between them, siezed with 
his left hand upon the hilt of the sword of one of 
the combatants, while, with his right hand, he laid 
hold of the blade of the other. They, being trans- 
ported with fury one against the other, struggled 
to rid themselves of the hindrance their friend 
made that they should not kill one another; and 
one of them roughly drawing the blade of his 
sword cuts to the very bone the nerves and mus- 
cles of Mr. Howel's hand; and then the other dis- 
engaged his hilt, and gave a cross blow on his ad- 
versarie's head, which glanced towards his friend, 
who heaving up his sore hand to save the blow, he 
was wounded on the back of his hand, as he had 
been before within. It seems some strange con- 
stellation reigned then against him, that he should 
lose so much blood by parting two such dear friends, 
who, had they been themselves, would have ha- 
zarded both their lives to have preserved his; but 
this involuntary eftVision of bloud by them, prevent- 
ed that which they sholde have drawn one from 
the other. For they, seeing Mr. Howel's face be- 
smeared with bloud, by heaving up his wounded 
hand, they both ran to embrace him; and having 
searched his hurts, they bound up his hand with 
one of his garters, to close the veins which were 
cut and bled abundantly. Tiiey brought him home, 
and sent for a surgeon. But this being heard at 
court, the king sent one of his own surgeons; for 
his nwjesty much affected the said Mr. Howel. 

"It was my chance to be lodged hard by him; 
and foiu' or five dajs after, as 1 was making myself 
ready, he came to my house, and prayed me to 
view his wounds; ' for I understand,' said he, 'that 
you have extraordinary remedies on such occasions, 
and my surgeons apprehend some fear that it may 
grow to a gangrene, and so the hand must be cut 
off.' In effect his countenance discovered that he 
was in much pain, which he said was insupporta- 
ble, in regard of the extreme inflammation. I told 
him I would willingly serve him. But if haply 
he knew the manner how I would cure liim, with- 
out touching or seeing him, it may be he would 
not expose himself to my manner of curing, be- 
cause he would think it, peradventure, either inef- 
fectual or superstitious. He replied, ' The won- 
derful things which many have related unto me of 
your way of medicinement, makes me nothing 
doubt at all of its efficac)-, and all that I have to 
say unto you is comprehended in the Spanish pro- 
berb, Hagase el milagro y hagalo Jlla/wma — Let 
the miracle be done, though Mahomet do it.' 

" I asked him then for any thing that had the 
bloud upon it; so he presently sent for his garter, 
wherewith his hand was first bound: and as I call- 
ed for a basin of water, as if I would wash my 
hands, I took a handful of powder of vitriol, which 
I had in ray study, and presently dissolved it. As 
soon as the bloudy garter was brought me, I put 
it within the basin, observing in the interim, what 
Mr. Howel did, who stood talking with a gentle- 



40 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



man in a corner of my chamber, not regarding at 
all what I was doing; bat he started suddenly, as 
if he had found some strange alteration in himself. 
1 asked him what he ailed ? ' I know not what ailes 
me; but I findc that I feel no more pain. Methinks 
that a pleasing kiiide of fresheness, as it were a 
wet cold napkin, did spread over my hand, which 
liath taken away the inflammation that tormented 
mc before.' 1 replyed, 'Since then that you feel 
already so good effect of my medicament, 1 advise 
you to cast away all your playsters; only keep the 
wound clean, and in a moderate temper betwixt 
heat and cold.' This was presently reported to the 
duke of Buckingham, and a little after to the king, 
who were botii verj' curious to know the circum- 
stance of the business, which was, that after din- 
ner I took the garter out of the water, and put it 
to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, but 
Mr. Howel's senant came running, that his mas- 
ter felt as much burning as ever he had done, if 
pot more; for the heat was such as if his hand was 
twi.xt coles of fire. 1 answered, although that had 
happened at present, yet he should find ease in a 
short time; for I knew the reason of this new acci- 
dent, and would provide accordingly; for his mas- 
ter should be free from that inflammation, it may be 
before he could possibly return to him; but in case 
he found no ease, I wished him to come presently 
back again; if not he might forbear coming. There- 
upon he went; and at the instant I did put again 
the garter into the water, whereupon he found his 
master without any pain at all. To be brief, there 
was no sense of pain afterward: but within five or 
six dayes the Wounds were cicatrized, and entire- 
ly healed. " p. 6. 

The king (James V'l) obtained from sir Kenelm 
the discovery of his .secret, which he pretended 
had been taiTglit him by a Carmelite friar, who bad 
learned it in Armenia, or Persia. Let not the age 
of animal magnetism and metallic tractors smile 
at the sympathetic powder of sir Kenelm Uigby. 
Reginald Scott mentions the same mode of cure 
in these terms: "and that which is more strange 
— They can remedie anie stranger with that verie 
sword wherewith thev are wounded. Yea, and 
that which is beyond all admiration, if they stroke 
the sword upward with their fingers, the partie 
shall feele no pain; whereas, if they draw iheir fin- 
gers downwards, tiiereupon the partie wounded 
shall feele intolerable pain." I (iresuiue that the 
success abscrihed to the sympathetic mode of treat- 
ment might arise from the pains bestowed in wash- 
ing the wound, and excluding the air, thus bringing 
on a cure by the first intention. It is introduced 
by Dryden in the Enchanted Jdaiid, a (very un- 
necessary) alteration of the '^Tempest: 

Ariel. Anoint tlie sword which pierced hiin with this 
Weapon-salve, and wraj) it close from air. 
Till I have time to viait him again. — Act. v, sc. 2. 

Again, in scene 4th, Miranda enters with Hip- 
polito's sword wrapt up: 

Hip. O my wound pains me. [5Ac unwraps the sword. 

Mir. I am come to east- yoii. 

Hijt. Alas, I feel the cold air come to me: 
My wound shoots worm: than ever. 

Mir, Does it still (jrirve youi' 

[.SVic wipes and anoints the sword. 

Hip. Now, methinks, there's something laid just upon it. 

Mir. Do you find no ease.' 

Hip. Yes, ycs; upon the sudden all this pain 
I* Uaviii|[; me. Sweet heaven, how I uiii easedl 

9. On I'erithryst clowsahaleoffnv, 

And three art kiudliag uu I'liesthaughswirc— r. 11. 



The Border beacons, from their number and po- 
sition, formed a sort of telegraphic communication 
with Edinburgh. — The act of parliament, 1455, c. 
48, directs, that one bale or faggot shall be warn- 
ing of the approach of the English in any manner; 
two bales, that they are coming indeed: four bales 
blazing beside each other, that the enemy are in 
great lorce. " The same taikenings to be watched 
and made at Eggerhope (Eggerstane) Castell, ffa 
tliey se the fire of Hume, that they fire right sjva. 
And in like manner on Sowtra Edge, sail se the 
fire of Eggerhope Castell, and mak taikening ir 
like manner. And then may all Louthiane be warn* 
ed, and in special the Castell of Edinburgh; and 
their four fires to be made in like manner that they 
in Fife, and fra Striveling east, and the east part 
of Louthairie, and to Dunbar, all may se them, and 
come to the defence of the realm." These beacons 
(at least in latter times) were " a long and strong 
tree set up, with a long iron pole across the head 
of it, and an iron brander fixed on a stalk in the 
middle of it, for holding a tar barrel." — Sleveti' 
soil's History, vol. ii, p. 701. 

10. Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.— P. 11. 

The speed with which the Borderers collected 
great bodies of horse, may be judged of from the 
following extract, when the subject of the rising 
was much less important than that supposed iivthe 
romance. It is taken from Carey's JMemuir^: 
" Upon the death of the old lord Scroop, the queen 
gave the west wardenry to his son, that had mar- 
ried my sister. He, having received that oflice, 
came to mc with great earnestness, and desired me 
to be liis'deputy, oftering me that I should live with 
bim in his house; that he would allow me half a 
dozen men, and as many horses, to be kept at his 
ciiarge; and his fee being 1IK)0 merks yearly, he 
would part it with me, and 1 should have tiie half. 
This his noble offer 1 accepted of, and went with 
him to Carlisle, where I was no sooner come, but 
I entered into my office. We had a stirring time 
of it; and few days past over my head but I was on 
horseback, either to prevent mischief, or take ma- 
lefactors, and to bring tlie Border in better quiet 
than it had been in times past. One memorable 
thing of God's mercy showed unto me, was such 
as I had good cause still to remember it. 

" 1 had private intelligence given me, that there 
were two Scottish men, who had killed a cliurch- 
man in Scotland, and were by one of the Griemes 
relieved. This Gr»nie dwelt within five miles of 
Carlisle. He had a pretty house, and close by it a 
strong tower, for his own defence in time of need. 
— About tv»'o o'clock in the morning, I took horse 
in Carlisle, and not above twenty-five in my com- 
pany, thinking to surprise the house on a sudden. 
Bctore I could surround the house, the two Scots 
were gotten in the strong tower, and I could see a 
boy riding from the house as fast as his horse 
could carry him; I little suspecting what it meant. 
But Thomas Carleton came to me presently, and 
told me, that if I did not presently jjrevent it, both 
myself and all my company would be either slain 
or taken prisoners. It was strange to me to hear 
this language. He then said to me, " Do you see 
that boy tliat rideth away so fast? He will be in 
Scotland within this half hour; and lie is gone to 
let them know tliat you are here, and to what end 
you are come, and the small number you have with 
you; and tiiat if tiiey will make haste, on a sudden 
they may surprise us, and do with us what tliey 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



41 



please." Hereupon we took advice what was best 
to be done. We sent notice presently to all parts 
to raise the country, and to come to us with all 
the speed they could; and withall we sent to Car- 
lisle to raise the townsmen; for without foot we 
could do no good against the tower. There we staid 
some hours, expecting more company; and within 
short time after the country came in on all sides, 
so that we were quickly between three and four 
hundred horse; and, after some longer stay, the 
foot of Carlisle came to us, to the number of three 
or four hundred men: whom we presently set to 
work, to get up to the top of the tower, and to un- 
cover the roof: and then some twenty of them to 
fall down together, and by that means to win the 
tower. — The Scots, seeing their present danger, 
offered to parley, and yielded themselves to ray 
mercy. They had no sooner opened the iron gate, 
and yielded themselves my prisoners, but we might 
see 400 horse within a quarter of a mile coming to 
their rescue, and to surprise me and my small 
compan)'; but on a sudden they stayed, and stood 
at gaze. Then had I more to do than ever; for all 
our Borderers came crying, with full mouths, 'Sir, 
give us leave to set upon them, for these are they 
that have killed our fathers, our brothers, and un 
cles, and our cousins; they are coming, thinkins^ 
to surprise you, upon weak grass nags, such as 
they could get on a sudden; and God hath put tiiem 
into your hands, that we may take reveuge of them 
for much blood that they have spilt of ours." I 
desired they would be patient a while, and be- 
thought myself, if I should give them their will, 
there would be few or none of the Scots that would 
escape unkilled (there were so many deadly feuds 
among them;) and therefore I resolved with myself 
to give them a fair answer, but not to give tliem 
their desire. So I told them, that if 1 were not 
there myself, they might then do what ])leased 
themselves; but being present, if I should give 
them leave, the blood that should be spilt that day 
would lie very hard upon my conscience. And 
therefore I desired them, for my sake, to forbear; 
and, if the Scots did not presently make away w ith 
all the speed they could, upon my sending to them, 
they should then have their wills to do what they 
pleased. They were ill satisfied with my answer, 
but durst not disobey. I sent with speed to the 
Scots, and bade them pack away with all the speed 
they could : for if they stayed the messenger's re- 
turn, they should few of them return to their own 
home. They made no stay; but they were turned 
homewards before the messenger had made an end 
of his message. Thus, by God's mercy, I escaped 
a great danger; and by my means, there were a 
great many men's lives saved that day." 

11. On many a cairn's g;ray pyramiil. 

Where nms of mighty cliiefs lie hiii.— P. 12. 

The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown 
the summit of most of our Scottish hills, and are 
found in other remarkable situations, seem usually, 
though not universally, to have been sepulchral 
monuments. Six flat stones are commonly found 
in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or smaller 
dimensions, in which an urn is often placed. The 
author is possessed of one, discovered beneath an 
immense cairn at Roughlee, in Liddesdale. It is 
of the most barbarous construction; the middle of 
the substance alone having been subjected to the 
fire, over which, when hardened, the artist had 
laid an inner and outer coat of unbaked claj', etched 
with some very rude ornaments; his skill appa- 



rently being inadequate to baking the vase, when 
completely finished. The contents were bones and 
ashes, and a quantity of beads made of coal. This 
seems to have been a barbarous imitation of tiie 
Roman fashion of sepulture. 

NOTES TO CANTO IT. 
1. Great Dundee.— P. 12. 
The viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of 
Killicrankie. 

2. For pathless marsh, and mountam cell. 
The peasant left his lowly shed.— P. 12. 
The morasses were the usual refuge of the Bor- 
der herdsmen on the approach of an English army. 
— {Minstrelsy of the Scottish Borcla', vol. i, p. 49.) 
Caves, hewed in the most dangerous and inacces- 
sible places, also afforded an occasional retreat. 
Such caverns may be seen in the precipitous banks 
of the Teviot at Sunlaws, upon the Ale at Ancram, 
upon the Jed at Hundalee, and in many other 
places upon the Border. The banks of the Esk, 
at Gorton and Hawthornden, are hollowed into 
similar recesses. But even these dreary dens were 
not always seciu-e places of concealment. "In the 
way as we came, not far from this place (Long Nid- 
dry,) George Ferres, a gentleman of my lord pro- 
tector's — happened upon a cave in the grounde, the 
mouth whereof was so worne with the fresh printe 
of steps, that he seemed to be certayne thear were 
sum folke within; and gone doune to trie, he was 
redily receyved with a hakebut or two. He left 
them not yet, till he had knowen wheyther thei 
wold be content to yeld and come out; which they 
tondly refusing, he went to my lorde's grace, and 
upon utterance of the thyngc, gat lisense to dtale 
with them as he coulde; and so returned to tlieni, 
with a skore or two of pioners. Three ventes had 
their cave, that we wear ware of, whereof he first 
stopt up one; another he fill'd full of strawe, and 
set it a fyer, whereat they within cast water apace; 
but it was so well maynteyned without, that the 
fyer prevayled, and thei within fayn to get them 
belyke into another parler. Then devysed we (for 
1 hapt to be with him) to stop the same up, whereby 
we should eyther smoother them, or fynd out their 
vents, if thei hadde any moe: as this was done at 
another issue, about xii score of, we moughte see 
the fume of their smoke to come out; the which 
continued with so great a force, and so long a while, 
tliat we could not but thinke they must needs get 
them out, or smoother within; and forasmuch as 
we found not that they dyd the tone, we thought 
it for certain thei wear sure of the toother. " — Pat- 
ien's Account of Soinersefs Expedition into Scot- 
land, apud DalzeWs Fragments. 



3. Southern ravage. — P. 12, 

From the following fragment of a letter from the 
earl of Northumberland to king Henrj' Mil, pre- 
served among the Cotton MSS. Calig. B, vii, 179, 
the reader may estimate the nature of the dreadful 
war which was occasionally waged upon the Bor- 
ders, sharpened by mutual cruelties, and the per- 
sonal hatred of the wardens, or leaders. 

Some Scottish barons, says the earl, had threat- 
ened to come within "three miles of my pore 
house of Werkworth, where I lye, and gif me light 
to put on my clothes at mydnyght; and alsoo the 
said Marke Carr said there opynly, that, seying 
they had a governor on the marches of Scotland, 
as well as they had in lugland, be shulde keep 
your hii;hness insiiticlions, g) ffyn unto your 5;ary ■ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



son, for making of any day-forrey; for he and his 
friends wolde burne eiiougli on the nyght, lettyng 
your counsaill here defyne a notable acte at theyre 
pleasures. Upon wliiche, in your highnes' name, I 
comaundet dewe watche to be kept on your mar- 
chies, for comyng in of anj^ Scotts. — Neutheless, 
upon Thursday at night last, came thyrty light 
horsemen into a litil village of niyne, called Whi- 
tell, having not past sex houses, lying towards 
Ryddisdaill, upon Shilbotell more, and there wold 
have fyred the said howses, but ther was noo fyre 
to get there, and they forgate to brynge any withe 
theyme; and loke a wyf, being great with childe, 
in the said towne, and said to hyr, Wher we can 
not gyve the laird lyght, yet we shall doo this in 
spyte of him; and gyve iier iii mortall wovnds upon 
the held, and another in the right side, with a 
dagger: wheruppon the said wyf is deede, and the 
childe in her bely is loste. Beseeching your most 
gracious highnes to reduce unto your gracious me- 
mory this wylful and shamefull murder, done with- 
in this your highnes' realme, notwithstanding all 
the inhabitants thereabout rose unto the said fray, 
and gave warnynge by becons into the countrey 
afore theyme, and yet the Scottsmen dyde escape. 
And uppon certeyne knowledge to my brother 
Ciyftbrthe and me, had by credable persons of 
Scotland, this abomynable act not only to be done 
by dyverse of the Mershe, but also tlie afore named 
persons of Tyvidaill, and consented to, as by ap- 
pearance, by the erle of Murey, upon Friday at 
night last, let slyp C of the best horsemen of Glen- 
daill, with a parte of your highnes' subjects of Ber- 
wyke, together with George Dowghis, whoo came 
into Ingland agayne, in the dawning of the day; 
but afore theyre retorne, they dyd mar the earl of 
Murrei's provisions at Coldingham: for they did 
not only burne the said town of Coldingham, with 
all the corne thereunto belonging, which is es- 
teemed wurthe cii marke sterling: but also burned 
twa townes nye adjoining thereunto, called Bra- 
nerdergest and Black Hill, andtoke xxiii persons, 
Ix horse, with cc hed of cutaill, which nowe, as I 
am informed, bathe not only been a staye of the 
said erle of Murrei's not coming to the Bordure 
as yet, but alsoo, that none iidande man will ad- 
venture theyr selfs upon the marshes. And as for 
the tax that shuld have been grauntyd for finding 
of the said iii hundred men, is utterly denyed. 
Upon which the king of Scotland departed from 
Edynburgh to Stirling, and as yet there doth re- 
mayn. And also I, by the advice of my brother 
Clyfforth, have devysed, that within this iii nyghts, 
Godde willing, Kelscy, in lyke case, shall be brent, 
with all the corne in the said town: and then they 
shall have noo place to lye any garyson in nygh 
unto the Borders. And as I shall atteigne further 
knawledge, I shall not faill to satisfye your high- 
nes, according to my most bounden dutie. And 
for this burnynge of Kelsey is devysed to be done 
secretly, by Tyndail and Ilyddysdale. And thus 
the holyTrynite and * * * your most royal estate, 
with long lyf, and as much increase of honour as 
your most noble heart can desire, ^t Werkrworth, 
the xxiiJ day of October, (1522. ) 

4. Watt Tinliiin.— P. 12. 
This person was, in my younger days, the theme 
of many a fireside tale. He was a retainer of the 
Buccleuch family, and held, for his Border service, 
a small tower on the frontiers of Liddesdale. Watt 
was, by profession, a siitor, but, by inclination and 
practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one occa- 



sion, the captain of Bewcastle, military governor of 
that wild district of Cumberland, is said to have 
made an excursion into Scotland, in which he was 
defeated, and forced to fly. WattTinlinn pursued 
him closely through a dangerous morass; the cap- 
tain, however, gained the firm ground; and seeing 
Tinlinn dismounted, and floundering in the bog, 
used these words of insult: " Sutor Walt, ye can- 
not sew your boots; the heels risp, and the seams 
rive."* — "If I cannot sew," retorted Tinlinn, dis- 
charging a shaft, which nailed the captain's thigh 
to his saddle, — "If I cannot sew, 1 can yerk."\ 
5. Bilhope Stag.— P. 12. 
There is an old rhyme, which thus celebrates 
the places in Liddesdale remarkable for game: 

Bilhope braes for bucks and raes, 

And Carit haugh for swine. 
And Tarras for the good bull-trout, 
Tf he be ta'tn in time. 
The bucks and roes, as well as the old swme, 
are now extinct; but the good bull-trout are still 
famous. 

6. Of silver brooch and bracelet proud.— P. 12. 
As the Borderers were indifferent about the fur- 
niture of their habitations, so much exposed to be 
burnt and plundered, they were proportionally 
anxious to display splendour in decorating and or- 
namenting their females. — SeeLESLT, deJVloribut 
Limitaneoriim. 

7. Belted Will Howard.— P. 13. 

Lord William Howard, third son of Thomas, 
duke of Norfolk, succeeded to Naworth Castle and 
a large domain annexed to it, in right of his wife 
Elizabeth, sister of George lord Dacre, who died 
without heirs male, in the 11th of queen Elizabeth. 
By a poetical anachronism, he is introduced into 
the romance a lew years earlier than he actually 
flourished. He was warden of the Western March- 
es; and, from the rigour with which he repressed 
the border excesses, the name of belted Will How- 
ard is still famous in our traditions. In the castle 
of Naworth, his apartments, containing a bed-room, 
oratory, and library, are still shown. They impress 
us with an unpleasing idea of the life of a lord war- 
den of the marches. Three or four strong doors, 
separating these rooms from the rest of the castle, 
indicate apprehensions of treachery from his gar- 
rison; and the secret winding passages, through 
which he could privately descend into the guard- 
room or even into the dungeons, imply the neces- 
sity of no small degree of secret superintendence 
on the part of the governor. As the ancient books 
and furniture have remained undisturbed, the ve- 
nerable appearance of these apartments, and the 
armour scattered around the chamber, almost lead 
us to expect the arrival of the warden in person. 
Naworth Castle is situated near Brampton in Cum- 
berland. Lord William Howard is ancestor of the 
earls of Carlisle. 

8. Lord Dacre.— P. 13. 

The well-known name of Dacre is derived from 
the exploits of one of their ancestors at the siege 
of Acre, or Ptolemais, under liichard Coeur de 
Lion. There were two powerful branches of that 
name. The first family, called lord Dacres of the 
South, held the castle of the same name, and are 
ancestors to the present lord Dacre. The other 
family, descended from the same stock, were cal- 



* Risp, cteak.—Rive, tear. 

t Yerk, to twitch; as shoemakers do, in securing the 
stitches of their work. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



43 



led lord Dacres of the North, and were barons of 
Gilsland and Graystock. A chieftain of the latter 
branch was warden of the West Marches during 
the reign of Edward VI. He was a man of a hot 
and obstinate character, as appears from some par- 
ticulars of lord Surrey's letter to Heniy Vlll, 
giving an account of his behaviour at the siege and 
storm of Jedburgh. It is printed in the J\Iinstrel- 
sy of the Scottish Border, Appendix to the Intro- 
duction. 

9. The Gennan Hackbut-men.— P. 13. 
In the wars with Scotland, Henry Vlll and his 
successors employed numerous bands of mercena- 
ry troops. At the battle of Pinky, there were in 
the English army six hundred hackbutters on foot 
and two hundred on horseback, composed chiefly 
of foreigners. On the 2~tli September, 1549, the 
duke of Somerset, lord protector, writes to the 
lord Dacre, warden of tlie West Marches: " The 
Almains, in number two thousand, very valiant 
soldiers, shall be sent to you shortly from New- 
castle, together with sir Thomas Hoicroft, and 
vith the force of your wardenry, (wliich we would 
■were advanced to the most strength of horsemen 
that might be,) shall make the attempt to Lough- 
maben, being of no such strength but that it may 
be skailed with ladders, wliereof, beforeliand, we 
■would you caused secretly some number to be pro- 
vided; or else underrayned with the pyke-axe, and 
so taken: either to be kept for the king's majesty, 
or otherwise to be defaced, and taken from the 

Erofits of the enemy. And in like manner the 
ouse of Carlaverock to be used. " Repeated men- 
tion occurs of the Almains, in the subsequent cor- 
respondence: and ttie enterprise seems finally to 
have been abandoned, from tlie difficulty of pro_; 
viding these strangers with the necessary " victu- 
als and carriage in so poor a country as Dunfries- 
shire. " History of Cumberland, vol. i, Introd. p. 
Ixi. From tlie battle-pieces of tlie ancient Flemish 
painters, we learn, that the Low Country and Ger- 
man soldiers marched to an assault with tlieir right 
knees bared. And we may also observe, in such 
pictures, tlie extravagance to which they carried 
the fashion of ornamenting their dress with knots 
of ribband. This custom of the Germans is allud- 
ed to in the JMirrourfor JMagistrates, p. 121. 

Their pleited garments therewith well accord, 
AH jagde and fi-ounst, with divers colours deckt. 



10. His re.idy lances Thii-lestane brave 
Array'd beneath a banner bright.— P. 13. 

Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the 
reign of James V, and possessed the estates of 
Thirlestane, Gamescleucli, Uc. lying upon the 
river Ettricic, and extending to St. Mary's Loch, 
at the head of Yarrow. It appears, that wlien James 
had assembled his nobility, and their feudal fol- 
lowers, at Fala, with the purpose of invading En- 
gland, and was, as is well known, disappointed by 
the obstinate refusal of his peers, this baron alone 
declared himself ready to follow the king wher- 
ever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, 
James gi-anted to his family a charter of arms, en- 
titling them to bear a border of fleurs-de-luce, 
similar to the treasure in the royal arms, with a 
bundle of spears for the crest; motto. Ready, ay 
ready. The charter itself is printed by Nisbet; 
but his work being scarce, 1 insert the following 
accurate transcript from the original, in the pos- 
session of the right honourable lord Napier, the 
representative of John of Thirlestane. 



"JAMES REX. 

" We James, be the grace of God, king of Scot- 
tis, considerand the ffaith and guid servise of of 
of* right traist friend John Scott of Thirlestane, 
quha cummand to our lioste at Soutraedge, with 
three score and ten launders on horseback of his 
friends and followers, and beand willing to gang 
with ws into England, when all our nobles and 
others refused, he was reddy to stake all at our 
bidding; ffbr the quhilk cause, it is our will, and 
we doe straitlie command and charg our lion he- 
rauld, and his deputies for the time beand, to give 
and to graunt to the said John Scott, ane Border 
of fleure-de-lises about his coatte of arms, sik as 
is on our royal banner, and alsua ane bundell of 
launces above his helmet, with thir words, Readdy, 
ay Readdy, that he and all his after-cummers may 
bruik the samine as a pledge and taiken of our guid 
will and kyndnes for his true worthiness: and thir 
our letters seen, ye nae wayes failze to doe. Given 
at Ffalla Muire, under our hand and privy cashet, 
the xxvii day of July, mc, xxxii zeires. By the 
king's graces speciall ordinance. Jo. A)'shine." 
On the back of the charter, is written, 
"Edin. 14. January, 1713. Registred, con- 
form to the act of parliament made aneiit probative 
writs, per M'kaile, pror. and produced by Alex- 
ander Borthwick, servant to sir William Scott of 
Thirlestane. M. L. J." 

11, An aged knight to danger steel'd, 

■With many a moss-trooper came on; 
And azure in a golden field, 
The stars and crescent grac'ed his shield, 
■Without the bend of Murdieston. — P. 13. 
The family of Harden are descended from a 
j'ounger son of the laird of Baccleuch, who flou- 
rished before the estate of Murdieston was acquir- 
ed by the marriage of one of those chieftains with 
the heiress, in 1296. Hence Winy bear the cogni- 
zance of the Scotts upon the field; whereas those 
of the Buccleuch are disposed upon a bend dex- 
ter, assumed in consequence of that marriage. 
See Gladstaine of TFhilelaxv's JilSS. and Scott of 
Stokoe''s Pedigree, Newcastle, 1783. 

Walter Scott of Harden, who flourished during 
the reign of queen Mary, was a renowned Border 
freebooter, concerning whom tradition has pre- 
served a variety of anecdotes, some of which have 
been published in the JMmstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border, others in Leydeii's Scenes of Infancy, and 
others more lately, in The JMountain Bard, a col- 
lection of Border ballads by Mr. James Hogg. 
The bugle horn, said to have been used by this 
formidable leader, is preserved by his descendant, 
the present Mr. Scott of Harden. — His castle was 
situated upon the very brink of a dark and preci- 
pitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet steals 
to meet the Borthwick. In the recess of this glen 
he is said to have kept his spoil, which served for 
the daily maintenance of his retainers, until the 
production of a pair of clean spurs, in a covered 
dish, announced to the hungry band that they must 
ride for a supply of provisions. He was married 
to Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dry hope, 
and called in song the Flower of Yarrow. He pos- 
sessed a very extensive estate, which was divided 
among his five sons. There are numerous descend- 
ants of this old marauding baron. The following 
beautiful passage of Leydeti's Scenes of Infancy, 
is founded on a tradition respecting an infant cap- 
tive, whom Walter of Harden carried off in a pre- 



' Sic in ong. 



44 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



datory incursion, and who is said to have become leaders, sir John Soltier, a natural son of Edward 

the author of some of our most beautiful pastoral the Black Prince, thus addressed them: " I coun- 

songs. sayle, let us be alle of one alliance, and of one ac- 

WhereEorthahoarse,thatloadsthemeadswthsapd, corde, and let us among ourselves reyse up the 

Rolls her red tide to Teviot's western strand, banner of St. George, and let us be frendes to 

Through slatyhills, wlios. sidesareshas^gedwith tliorn. | Q^,] .^J^^\ enenivcs to alle the worlde; for without 

Where springs, ... sca.i.r. .1 tulis, the dark-green corn, ^ ourselfe to be feared, we ?ette nothing." 

Towers wood-girt Haiilti., lar .ibove the vuie, , r. X , ,. i • -«i7-ri- ii i "^ 

And clouds ofravens o'er the turrets sail. "By my fayth,'- quod sir William Helmon, 

" ye saye right well, and so let us do." Tiiey all 
agreed with one voyce, and so regarded among 
them wiio shulde be their capitayne. Then they 
advysed in the case how they coude not have a bet- 
ter capitayne than sir John Soltier. For they suldc 
than have good leyserto do yvell, and they thought 
he was more metteyler thereto tlian any other. 
Then they raised up'the penon of St. George, and 
cried "a Soltier! a Soltier! the valyaunt baslarde! 
trends to God, and eneimies to all the worlde!" 
Froissart, vol. i, ch. 393. 

15. A gauntlet on a spear.^ — P. IS. 
A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith 
among tlie ancient Borderers, who were wont, when 
any one broke his word, to expose this emblem, 
and proclaim him a faithless villain at the first 
Border meeting. This ceremony was much dread- 
ed. See Lesly. 

16. We claim from thee William of Deloraine, 

That he may suffer march-treason pain. — P. 15. 

Several species of offences, peculiar to the Bor- 
der, constituted what was called march-treason. 
Among others, was the crime of riding or causing 
to ride, against the opposite country during the 
time of truce. Thus, in an indenture made at the 
water of Eske, beside Salom, the 25th day of 
March, 1334, betwixt noble lords and mighty, sirs 
Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, and Archi- 
bald Douglas, lord of Galloway, a truce is agreed 
upon until the 1st day of July; and it is expressly 
accorded, " Gif ony stellis, authir on the ta part, 
or on the tothyr, that he shall be henget or heofdit; 
and gif onj' cumpany stellis any gudes within the 
trieux beforesayd, ane of that company shall be 
hanget or heofdit, and the remnant sail restore the 
gudys stolen in tlie dubble." — History of IVestmore- 
land and Cumberland, Introd. p. xxxix. 

17. William of Delor-iine 

Will cleanse liiiii, by oath, of march-treason stain. — P.15. 

In dubious cases, the innocence of Border crimi- 
nals was occasionally referred to their own oath. 
The form of excusing bills, or indictments, by Bor- 
der-oath, ran thus: " You shall swear by heaven 
above you, hell beneath you, by your part of Para- 
dise, by all that God made in six days and seven 
nights, and by God himself, you are whart out 
sackless of art, part, way, witting, ridd, kenning, 
having, or recetting of any of the goods and cattels 
named in this bill. So help you God." — History of 
Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv. 

18. Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword. — P. 15. 

The dignity of knighthood, according to the ori- 
ginal institution, had this peculiarity, that it did 
not flow from the monarch, but could be conferred 
by one who himself possessed it, upon any squire 
who, after due probation, was found to merit the 
honour of chivalry. Latterly, this power was con- 
fined to generals, who were wont to create knights 
bannerets after or before an engagement. Even so 
late as the reign of queen Elizabeth, Essex highly 
ofi"ended his jealous sovereign by the indiscrimi- 
nate exercise of this privilege. Amongst others, 
he knighted the witty sir John Hawington, whose 



A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, 
The Scott, to rival I'ealma a mighty bar. 
Here fixed his mountain home; — a wide domain, 
And rich the soil, liad purple heath been grain; 
But, what the niggard ground of wealth denied^ 
From fields more blessed his fearless ann supphed. 

The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bi-ight; 
The warder's hom was heard at dead of night; 
And, as the massy portals wide were flung, 
With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rang. 
What fair, half-veil'dj leans from hm- latticed-hall, 
Where red the w:wer.i.g gleams of toich-light falK 
'Tis Yai-row's faiivst Fliiwr.-, who, llii-oiigh.lhe gloom, 
Looks, wistful, for her lovrr's dancing plume. 
Amid the piles of spoil, that stiiwt d tl.u giound. 
Her ear, all ai..\i<iiis, caught a wailing sound; 
With tremblijig basic tin- yoiitbl'ul mati-on flew. 
And from the hurried heaps an infimt drew. 

Scared at the light, his little hands he flung 
Around her neck, and to her bosom clung; 
While beauteous Mary soothed, in accents mild, 
His fluttering soul, and olasi.td her foster child. 
Of milder mood the gei.tli- captive gi-ew. 
Nor loved the scenes that seared his infant ^^ew; 
In vales remote, fro.n camps and castles far, 
He shunn'd the fearful shuddering joy of war; 
Content the loves of simple swains to sing. 
Or wake to fame the harp's heroic string. 

His are the strains, whose wandering echoes tlirill 
The shepherd, lingeiing on the twilight hill. 
When evening brings the merry folding hours, 
And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. 
He lived, o"er Yarrow's Flower to shed the tear; 
To strew the holly leaves o'er Hardcii's bier; 
But none was found above the minstrers tomb, 
Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom: 
He, nameless as the race from which he spiting. 
Saved other names, and left his own unsung. 

12. Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band.— P. 13. 
In this, and the following stanza, some account 
IS given of the mode in which the property of the 
valley of Esk was transferred from the Beatti- 
sons, its ancient possessors, to the name of Scott. 
It is needless to repeat the circumstances, which 
are given in the poem, literally as they have been 
preserved by tradition. Lord Maxwell, in the lat- 
ter pai-tofthe sixteenth century, took upon himself 
the title of earl of Morton. The descendants of 
Beattison of Woodkerrickc, who aided the earl to es- 
cape from liis disobedient vassals, continued to hold 
these lands within the memory of man, and were the 
only Beattisons who had property in the dale. "The 
old people give locality to the story, by showing the 
Galliard's Haugh, the place where Buccleuch's 
men were concealed, &cc. 

13. Their gathering word was Bellendeii.— P. 14. 
Bellenden is situate near the head of Borthwick 

water, and, being in the centre of the possessions 
of the Scotts, was frequently used as their place of 
rendezvous and gathering word. — Survey of Sel- 
kirkshire, in .')/«(7«r/rHi«'s J\1SS. Advocates' Li- 
brary. Hence Satchells calls one part of his geneal- 
ogical account of the families of that clan, his Bel- 
lenden. 

14, The camp their home, thijr law the sword. 
They knew no countiy, own'd no lord. — P. 14. 

The mercenary adventurers, whom, in 1380, the 
earl of Cambridge carried to the assistance of the 
king of Poiltigal against the Spaniards, mutinied 
for want of regular pay. At an assembly of their 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



45 



favnur at court was by no means enhanced by his 
new honours. — Sec the J\''iigse Antiqiia;, edited by 
Mr. Park. Hut probably tlie httest instance of 
knisjhtliood, conferred by a subject, was in the 
case of Thomas Ker, knighted by the earl of Hunt- 
lev, after the defeat of the earl of Argyle in the 
battle of Belrinnes. The fact is attested, both by a 
poetical and prose account of the engagement, con- 
tained in an ancient MS. in the Advocates' Library, 
and lately edited by Mr. Dalyell, in Godly Sangs 
and Ballets, Y.iYiw.'nm 

19. When Eiiglisli blood swell'd Ancram ford. — P. 15. 
The battle of Ancram Moor, or Peniel-heuch, 
■was fought A. D. 1545. The English, commanded 
by sir Ralph Evers, and sir Bryan Latoun, were 
totally routed, and both their leaders slain Jti the 
action. The Scottish army was commanded by 
Archibald Douglas, earl of Angus, assisted by the 
laird of Buccleuch and Norman Lesly. 

20. The blanche lion. —P. 16. 
This was the cognizance of the noble house of 
Howard in all its branches. The crest, or bearing 
of a warrior, was eften used as a 7iomme de gnerre. 
Tiius Richard iii, acquired his well known ei)ithet 
7'Ae Boar of York. In the violent satire on Cardi- 
nal Wolsey", written by Roy, commonly but erro- 
neously, imputed to Dr. Bull, the duke of Buck- 
ingham is called the Beautiful Sivan, and the duke 
of Norfolk, or earl of Surrey, tlie fVliite Lion. As 
tiie book is extremel)' I'are, and the whole passage 
relates to the emblematical interpretation of her- 
aldry, it shall be here be given at length. 
Tlie Dcscriplion of the arms. 
Of the proud t-.inlinal this is the shielde, 
iJorne up betwi-ne two anpels of Sathan; 
The sixe bloody axes in a bare fclde, 
Sheweth the craelte of the red man, 
Which hath devoured the Keautiful Swan, 
Mortai enemy unto the Whyte Lion, 
Carter of Yorke, the vyle l)ulihei"s Sonne. 
The sixe bulles heddt's in a fielde blacke, 
Eetokeneth his sttndy furiousness, 
Wherefore, the ffodly lyjjht to put ahaeke, 
He bryngeth in hjs dyvllsh darcnes; 
The bandog iu the middes doth ixpi-esse 
'I"he mastiff curre bred in Ypswiuh towne, 
GnawJ^)ge with his teeth a kiupjcs i rowne. 
The cloubbe signifieth pUiyiir iiis tiramty, 
Covered over Avitli a caidiiiars halt. 
Wherein shall be fulfilled the prophecy, 
Aryse up .lacke, and put on thy salatt. 
For the time is come of bajju;e and walatt, 
The temporall chevalry thus thrown downe, 
Wherfor, jjrest, take hede, and beware thy crowne. 
There were two copies of this very scarce satire 
in the library of the late John duke of Roxburgh. 
See an account of it also in sir Egerton Bridges's 
curious miscellany, tlie Cenmira .Literaria. 

21. Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraiiie 
In single tight.— P. 16. 

It may easily be supposed, that trial by single 
condjat, so peculiar to the fetidal system, was com- 
mon on the Borders. In 1558, "the well-known 
Kirkaldy of Grange fought a duel with Ralph Evre, 
brother to tlie then lord Evre, jn consequence of a 
dispute about a prisoner said to have been ill treat- 
ed by the lord Evre. Pitscottie gives the follow- 
ing account of the affair: " The lord of Ivers his 
brother provoked William Kircaldy of Grange to 
fight with him, in single combat, on horseback, 
with spears; who, keeping the appointment, accom- 
panied with Monsieur d'Ossel, lieutenant to the 
Erench king, and the garrison of Haymouth, and 
Air. Ivers, accompanied with the governor aud 



garrison of Berwick, it was discharged, under the 
pain of treason, that any man shouhi come near the 
champions within tiight-shot, exeepl one man for 
either of tlieni, to bear their spears, two trum])ets, 
and two lords to be judges. When they were in 
readiness, the trumpets sounded, the hearalds cri- 
ed, and the judges let them go. Then tliey encoun- 
tered very fiercely; but Grange struck his spear 
through his adversary's shoulder, and bare him off 
his horse, being sore wounded: but whether he 
died or not, it is uncertain." — 'P. 202. 

The following indenture will show at how late 
a period the trial by combat was resorted to on the 
border, as a proof of guilt or innocence: 

It is agreed between Thomas Musgrave and Lan- 
celot Carleton, for the true trial of such controver- 
sies as are betwixt them, to have it opeidy tried 
by way of combat, before God and the face of the 
world, to try it in Canonbyholme, before England 
and Scotland, upon Thursday in Easter-week, be- 
ing the eighth day of April next ensuing, A. D. 
1C02, betwixt nine of the clock, and one of the 
same day, to fight on foot, to be armed with jack, 
steel cap, plaite sleeves, plaite l)reaches, plaite 
sockes, two basleard swords, the blades to be one 
yard and a half quarter of length, two Scotch dag- 
gers, or dorks, at their girdles, and either of them 
to provide armour and weapons for themselves ac- 
cording to this indenture. Two gentlemen to be 
appointed on the field, to view both the parties: to 
see that both be equal in arms and weapons, ac- 
cording to this indenture; and being so viewed by 
the gentlemen, the gentlemen to ride to the rest 
of the company, and to leave them but two boys, 
viewed by the gentlemen, to be under sixteen 
years of age, to hold their horses. In testimony 
of this our agreement, we have both set our hands 
to this indenture, of intent ^11 matters shall be 
made so plain, as there shall be no question to 
stick upon that day. Which indenture, as a wit- 
ness, shall be delivered to two gentlemen. And 
for that it is convenient the world should be privy 
to every particular of the grounds of the quarrel, 
we have agreed to set it down in this indenture 
betwixt us, that knowing the quarrel, their eyes 
may be witness of the trial. 

The grounds of the Quarrel. 

"1. Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas Mus- 
gi'ave before the lordes of iter majesty's privy coun- 
cil, that Lancelot Carleton was told by a gentle- 
man, one of her majesty's sworn servants, that 
Thomas Musgrave had offered to deliver her ma- 
jesty's castle of Bewcastle to the king of Scots; 
and to witness the same, Lancelot Carleton had a 
letter under the gentleman's own hand for his dis- 
charge. 

" 2. He chargeth him, that whereas her majes- 
ty doth yearly bestow a great fee upon him, as 
captain of Bewcastle, to aid and defend her ma- 
jesty's subjects therein; Thomas Musgrave hath 
neglected his duty, for that her majesty's castle of 
Bewcastle was by him made a den of thieves, and 
an harbour and receipt for murderers, felons, and 
all sorts of misdemeanors. The precedent was 
Quintin Whitehead and Runion Blackbnrne. 

" 3. He cliargelh him, that his olfice of Bew- 
castle is open for the Scotch to ride in and through, 
and small resistance made by him to the contrary. " 

" Thomas Musgrave doth deny all this charge; 
and saith that he will prove that Lancelot Carle- 
ton doth falsely bely him, and will prove the saiu« 



46 



SCOTT'S POETICAI- WORKS. 



by way of combat, according to this indenture. 
Lancelot Carleton hath entertained this challenge, 
and so, by God's permission, will prove it true as 
before, and hath set his hand to the same. 

(Signed) Thomas JMusgrave. 
Lancelot Carleton." 

22. He, the jovial Harper. — P. 16. 

The person here alluded to, is one of our ancient 
Border minstrels called Rattling Roaring Willie. 
This soubriquet was probably derived from his 
bullying disposition: being, it would seem, such a 
roaring boy, as is frequently mentioned in old 
plays. While drinking at Newmill, upon Teviot, 
about five miles above Hawick, Willie chanced to 
quarrel with one of his own profession, who was 
usually distinguished by the odd name of Sweet 
Milk, from a place on Rule water so called. They 
retired to a meadow, on the opposite side of the 
Teviot, to decide the contest with their swords, 
and Sweet Milk was killed on the spot. A thorn- 
tree marks the scene of the murder, which is still 
called Sweet Milk Thorn. Willie was taken and 
executed at Jedburgh, bequeathing his name to the 
beautiful Scotch air, called "Rattling Roaring 
Willie." Ramsay, who set no value on tradition- 
ary lore, published a few verses of this song in the 
Tea Table JMiscellany, carefully suppressing all 
which had any connexion with the history of the 
author, and origin of the piece. In this case, how- 
ever, honest Allan is in some degree justified, by 
the extreme worthlessness of the poetry. A verse 
or two may be taken as illustrative of the history 
of Roaring Willie, alluded to in the text. 

Now Willie's gane to Jeddart, 

And he's for the rood-day;* 
But Stobs and young ralnash,-f- 

They followed him a' the way; 
They foUowecl him a' the way, 

They sought him up and down, 
In the links of Ousenam water. 

They found him sleeping sound. 
Stobs lighted aff his horse, 

And never a word he spak, 
Till he tied Willie's hands 

Fu' fast behind his back; 
Fu' fast behind his back. 

And down beneath his knee, 
And drink will be dear to Willie, 

When Sweet MilkJ gars him die. 
Ah, wae light on ye, Stobs! 

An ill death mot ye diel 
Ye're the first and foremost man 

That e'er laid hands on me; 
That e'er laid hands on me, 

And took my mare me fra; 
Wae to you, sir Gilbert Elliot! 

Ye are my mortal fae! 
The lasses of Ousenam water 

Are rugging and riving their hair. 
And a' for the sake of Willie, 

His beauty was so fair; 
His beauty was so fair. 

And comely for to see. 
And drink will be dear to Willie, 

When Sweet Milk gars him die. 

23. Black lord Archibald's battle laws, 
In the old Douglas' day.— P. 16. 

The title to the most ancient collection of Bor- 
der regulations runs thus: 

"Beit remembered, that, on the 18th day of 
December, 1468, earl William Do^iglas assembled 
the whole lords, free-holders, and eldest Border- 
ers, that best knowledge had, at the college of lin- 



• The day of the rood fair at Jedburgh. 

t Sir Gilbert Elliot of Stobs, and Scott of Falnash. 

X A wretched pun on his antagonist's name. 



clouden, and there he caused those lords and Bor- 
derers bodily to be sworn, the Holy Gospel touch- 
ed, that they, justly and truly, after their cun- 
ning, should decrete, decern, deliver, and put in 
order and writing, the statutes, ordinances, and 
uses of raarche, that were ordained in Black Ar- 
chibald of Douglases days, and Archibald his son's 
d.iys, in time of warfare; and they came again to 
him advisedly with these statutes and ordinances, 
which were in time of warfare before. The said 
earl William, seeing the statutes in writing decreed 
and delivered by the said lords and Borderers, 
tliought them right speedful and profitable to the 
Borderers: the which statutes, ordinances, and 
points ctf warfare, he took, and the whole lords 
and Borderers he caused bodily to be sworn, that 
they should maintain and supply him at their good- 
ly power, to do the law upon those that should 
break the statutes underwritten. Also, the said 
earl William, and lordes and eldest Borderers, 
made certain points to be treason in time of war- 
fare to be used, which were no treason before his 
time, but to be treason in his time and all time 
coming. 

NOTES TO CAXTO T. 

1. The Bloody Heart blazed in the van. 

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name. — P. 17. 

The chief of this poterit race of hei-oes, about 
the date of the poem, was Archibald Douglas, se- 
venth earl of Angus, a man of great courage and 
activity. The Bloody Heart was the well-known 
cognizance of the house of Douglas, assumed from 
the time of good lord James, to whose care Robert 
Bruce committed his heart to be carried to the 
Holy Land. 

2. The Seven Spears of Wedderbume.— P. 17. 

Sir David Home of Wedderbume, who was slain 
in the fatal battle of Flodden, left seven sons by 
his wife Isabel, daughter of Hoppringle of Gala- 
shiels (now Pringle of Whitebank.) They were 
called the Seven Spears of Wedderbume. 

3. And Swinton laid the lance in rest. 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantageuet.— P. 17. 

At the battle of Beague, in France, Thomas, 
duke of Clarence, brother to Henry V, was un- 
horsed by sir John Swinton, of Swinton, who dis- 
tinguislied him by a coronet set with precious 
stones, which he wore around his helmet. The fa- 
mily of Swinton is one of the most ancient in Scot- 
land, and produced many celebrated warriors. 

4. Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, 

And Hepburn's mingled banners, come, 

Down the steep mountain glittering fiir. 
And shouting still, "A Home! a Home!"— P. 17. 

The earls of Home, as descendants of the Dun- 
bars, ancient carls of March, carried a lion ram- 
pant, argent, but as a difference, changed the co- 
lour of the shield from gules to vert, in allusion to 
Greenlaw, their ancient possession. The slogan 
or war-cry, of this powerful family was, "A home! 
a home!" It was anciently placed in an escrol 
above the crest. The helmet is armed with a li- 
on's head erased gules, with a cap of state gules, 
turned up ermine. 

The Hepburns, a powerful family in East Lo- 
thian, were usually in close alliance with the 
Homes. The chief of this clan was Hepburn, lord 
of Hailes; a family which terminated in the too 
famous earl of Bothwell. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



417 



5. Pursued the foot-ball play.— P. ]8. 
The foot-ball was anciently a very favourite 
sport all through Scotland, but especially upon 
the Borders. Sir John Carmicliael, of Carmichael, 
■warden of the middle marches, was killed in 1600 
by a band of the Armstrongs, returning from a 
foot-ball match. Sir Robert Carey, in his memoirs, 
mentions a great meeting, appointed by the Scot- 
tish riders to be held at Kelso, for the purpose of 
playing at foot-ball, but which terminated in an in- 
cursion upon England. At present the foot-ball is 
often played by the inhabitants of adjacent parishes, 
or of the opposite banks of a stream. The victoiy is 
contested with the utmost fury, and very serious 
accidents ha>e sometimes taken place in the strue- 
gle. 

6. 'Twixt truce and war, such sudden chang^e 
Was not infrequent, nor held strang;e, 
In the old Border day.— P, 18. 

Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the 
Borders, and the occasional cruelties wliich mark- 
ed the mutual inroads, the inhabitants ou either 
side do not appear to have regarded each other 
with that violent and personal animosity, which 
might have been expected. On the contrar}', like 
the outposts of hostile armies, they often carried 
on something resembling friendly intercourse, 
even in the middle of hostilities; and it is evident, 
from various ordinances against trade and inter- 
marriages between English and Scottish Border- 
ers, that the governments of both countries wei-e 
jealous of their cherishing too intimate a connexion. 
Froissart says of both nations, that "Englyshraen 
on the one party, and Scottes on the other party, are 
good men of warre; for when they meet, there is 
a hard fight without sparynge. There is no hoo 
^truce) between them, as long as spears, swords, 
axes, or daggers will endure, but lay on eche upon 
uther; and whan they be well beaten, and that the 
one party hath obtained the victory, they then 
glorify* so in theyre dedes of armes, and are so 
joyful, that such as be taken they shall be ransom- 
ed or that they go out of the felde; so that shortly 
eche of them is so content with other, that at their 
departynge curtyslye they will say, God thank 
j'ou." — Jiemer's Froissart, vol. ii, p. 1.53. The 
Border meetings of truce, which, although places 
of merchandise and merriment, often witnessed 
the most bloody scenes, may serve to illustrate the 
description in the text. Tiicy are vividlj- i)ortray- 
ed in tiie old ballad of the Reidsquair. Both par- 
ties came armed to a meeting of the wardens, yet 
tliey intermixed fearlessly and peaceably with each 
other in mutual sports and familiar intercourse, 
until a casual fray arose; 

Then was there nought but bow and spear; 
And every man pulled out a brand. 

In the 29th Stanza of this Canto, there is an at- 
tempt to express some of the mixed feelings, with 
which the Borderers on each side were led to re- 
gard their neighbours. 

7. And frequent on the darkening^ plain, 

Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran; 
As bands, then' stragglers to regain,' 
Gave the shrill watuh-word of their clan. — P. 18. 
Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disor- 
derly conduct of the English Borderers, who at- 
tefided tlie Protector Somerset on his expedition 
against Scotland. " As we wear then a setling, 
and the tents a setting up, among all things els 
commendable in our hole journey, one thing seem- 
ed to me an intolerable disorder and abuse: that 



whereas always, both in all tounes of war, and in 
all campes of armies, quietness and stilnes, with- 
out nois, is, principally in the night, after the 
watch is set, observed, (1 nede not reason why,) 
our northern prikkers, the Borderers, notwith- 
standyng, with great enormitie, (as thought me,) 
and not imlike (to be playn) unto a masteries 
hounde howlyng in a hie wey when he hath lost 
him he waited upon, some hoopynge, sum whist- 
lyng and most with crying, a Berwyke, a Berwyke ! 
a Fenwyke, a Fenwyke! a Bulmer, a Bulmer! 
or so otherwise as theyr captains names wear, ne- 
ver lin'de these troublous and dangerous noyses 
all the nyghte longe. Tliey said, Uiey did it to 
finde their captain and fellows; but if tlie soldiers 
of our other countreys and sheres had used the 
same manner, in th.at case we should have oft tymes 
had the state of our camp more like the outrage 
I of a dissolute huntyng, than the quiet of a well or- 
dred armye. It is a feat of war, in mine opinion, 
that might right well be left. I could reherse caus- 
es (but yf I take it, they are better unspoken than 
uttred, unless the iaut wear suje to be amended) 
that might shew tliei move aKi-eis more peral to 
our armie, but in their one nyght's so doynge, than 
they shew good service (as sum sey) in a hool vj- 
age." — ^pud Dalzell's Fraginents, p. 75. 

8. Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way. 

And with the bugle rouse the fray.— P. 21. 

The pursuit of Border marauders was followed 
by the injured party and his friends with blood- 
hounds and bugle-horn, and was called the hoi trod 
He was entitled, if his dog could trace the scent, 
to follow the invaders into the opposite kingdom- 
a privilege which often occasioned blood-shed. Iii 
addition to what has been said of the blood-Iiound, 
I may add, that the breed was kept up by the Buc- 
cleuch family on their Border estates till within 
the 18th century. A person was alive in the me- 
mory of man, who remembered a blood-hound be- 
ing kept at Eldinhope, in Ettrick Forest, for 
whose maintenance the tenant had an allowance 
of meal. At that time the sheep were always 
watched at night. Upon one occasion, when the 
duty had fallen on the narrator, then a lad, he be- 
came exhausted with fatigue, and fell asleep, upon 
a bank, near sun-rising. Suddenly he was awaken- 
ed by the tread of horses, and saw five men, well 
mounted and armed, ride briskly over the ed°-e 
of the hill. They stopped and looked at the flock, 
but the day was too far broken to admit the chance 
of their carrying any of them oft". One of tliem, 
in spite, leaped from his horse, and coming to the 
shepherd, siezed him by the belt he wore round 
his waist, and setting his foot upon his body, pul- 
led it till it broke, and canied it awav with him. 
They rode off at the gallop; and, the sliepherd 
giving the alarm, the blood-hound was turned 
loose; and the people in the neighbourhood alarm- 
ed. The marauders, however, escaped notwith- 
standing a sharp pursuit. This circumstance serves 
to show how very long the license of the Border- 
ers continued in some degree to manifest itself 



KOTES TO CAIfTO TI. 

1. Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, &c. P. 21. 

The influence of local attachment has been so 

exquisitely painted by my friend Mr. Polwhele, in 

the poem which bears that title, as might well have 

dispensed with the more feeble attempt of any con- 



48 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



temporary poet. To the reader who has not beon 
so fortunate as to meet with this philosopliical and 
poetical detail of the nature and operations of t!ie 
love of our country,- the following brief extract 
cannot fail to be acceptable: — 

Yes— home still charms; and lie, who, clad in fur. 
His rapid rein-deer drives o'er plains of snow, 

Would rather to the same wild tracts recur 
That various life had mark'd with joy or wo, 

Than wander w here the spicy breezes blow 

To kiss the hyacinths of Azza's hail- 

Rather, than wliere luxuriant summers glow, 

To the white mosses of his hills repair. 

And bid his antler-train the simple baiKiuet share. 

2. She wrought not by forbidden spell.— P. 21. 

Popular belief, though contrary to the doctrines 
of the church, made a favourable distinction be- 
twixt magicians and necromancers, or wizards: 
the former were sujiposed to command the evil 
spirits, and the latter to serve, or at least to be in 
league and compact with those enemies of man- 
kind. The arts of subjecting the daemons were 
manifold: sometimes the fiends were actually swin- 
dled by the magicians, as in the case of a bargain 
betwixt one of their number and the poet Virgil. 
The classical reader will, doidilless, be curious to 
peruse this anecdote: 

" Virgilius was at scole at Tolenton, Vhere he 
stodyed dylygently, for he was of great understands 
yng. Upon a tyme, the scolars had lycense to go 
to play and sporte them in the fyldes, after tlie 
usance of the olde time. And there w-as also Vir- 
gilius therebye, also walkyng among the hylles 
alle about. It fortuned he spyed a great hole in 
the syde of a great hyll, wherein he went so depe, 
that he culd not see no more lyght; and then he 
went a lytell farther therein, and then he saw some 
lyght agayne, and then he went fourth streyghte, 
and within a lytyll wyle after he harde a voyce 
that called, 'Virgilius! Virgilius!' and looked 
aboute, and he colde nat see no body. Than said 
he, ( i. e. the voice) ' Virgilius, see ye not the ly- 
tyll bourde lying beside you there marked with 
that word?' Than answered Virgilius, 'I see that 
borde well anougb.' Tiie voyce said, ' Doo awaye 
that borde, and lette me out thereatte.' Then an- 
swered Virgilius to the voyce that was under the 
lytell borde, and sayde, ' Who art thou that callest 
me so?' Than answered the devyll, '1 am a de-' 
vyll conjured out of the body of a certeyne man, 
and banysshed here till the day of judgment, with- 
out that I be delyvered by the handes of men. 
Thus, Virgilius, 1 pray thee, delyver me out of 
this payn, and I shall sliewe unto the many bokes 
of negromancye, and how thou shalt come bj^ it 
lyghtly, and know the practyse therein, that no 
man in the scyence of negromancye shall passe 
thee. And moreover, I shall shewe and enforme 
the so, that thou shalt have all thy desyre, where- 
by raythynke it is a great gyfte for so lytell a ilo- 
5'ng. For ye may also tlius all your power frynds 
help, and make ryche your enemyes.' — Through 
that great promyse was Virgilius tempted: he 
badde the fynd show the bokes to him, that he 
mio-ht have and occupy them at his wyll: and so 
the fynde showed him. And than Virgilius jxdled 
open a borde, and there was a lytell hole, and 
thereat wrang the devil out lyke a yeel, and cam 
and stood before Virgilius like a bygge man: where- 
of Virgilius was astonished and marveyled greatly 
the>-cof, that so great a man myght come out at so 
little a hole. Than sayd Virgilius, 'Shulde ye 
well passe into the hole that yc cam out of?'— 



' Yea, I shall well,' said the devyl. ' I hold the 
best plegge that 1 have, that ye shall not do it.' 
'Well,' said the devyl, ' thereto I consent.' And 
than the devyl wrang himself into the lytell hole 
ageyne: and as he was therein, Virgilius kyvercd 
the hole ageyne with the bourde close, and so was 
the devyl begyled, and myght nat tliere come out 
agen, but abydeth shutte styll therein. Tiieu 
called the devyl dredefully to Virgilius, and said, 
' What have ye done, Virgilius?' Virgilius an- 
swered, ' Abyde there styll to your day ap])oy)it- 
ed;' and fro thens forth abyeth he tliere.— And so' 
Virgilius became very connynge in the practyse of 
the black scyence." 

This story may remind the reader of the Arabian 
tale of the fisherman and the imprisoned genie: 
and it is more than probable, that many of the 
marvels narrated in the life of Virgil are of orien- 
tal extraction. Among such I am disposed to reck- 
on the following whimsical account of the founda- 
tion of Naples, containing a curious theory con- 
cerning the origin of the earthquakes with which 
it is atHicted. Virgil, who was a person of gallant- 
ry, had, it seems, carried oft" the daughter of a cer- 
tain Soldan, and was anxious to secure his prize. 

" Then he thoughte in his mynde howe he 
myghte mareye hyr, and thought in iiis mynde to 
founde in the midtles of the sea a fayer towne, 
with great lands belongyng to it; and so he dyed 
by his cunnyge, and "called it Napells. And the 
fandacyon of it was of egges, and in that town of 
Napells he made a tower with iiii corners, and in 
the top he set an appell upon an jron yarde, and 
no man culd pull away that apell without he brake 
it; and thorough that yren set he a bolte, and in 
that bolte set he an egge. And he lienge the apell 
by the stanke upon a cheyne, and so hangetii is 
still. And when the egg styrrelh, so shulde the 
town of Napells quake: and whan the egge brake, 
tlian shnld the town sinke. Wlnm he had made 
an ende, he lette call it Napells." This appears to 
have been an article of current belief during the 
middle ages, as appears from the statutes of the 
order Du Saint Esprit, au droit desir, instituted 
in 1352. A chapter of the knights is appointed to 
be held annually at the castle o'" the enchante \ 
egg, near the grotto of Virgil. — Montfaucon, vol. 
ii', p. 3'29. 

3. A merlin sat upon her wrist.— P. 22. 

A merlin or sparrow-hawk was usually carried 
by ladies of rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, 
the constant attendant of a knight, or baron. See 
Latham on Falconry — Godscroft relates, that, when 
Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed the earl 
of Angus to admit a royal garrison into his castle 
of Tantallon. To this he returned no direct answer; 
but, as if apostrophising a goss-hawk which sat on 
bis wrist, and which he was feeding during the 
queen's speech, he exclaimed, " Tlie Devil's in 
this greedy glade, she will never be full." Hvme's 
History oj the House of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii, p. 
131. liarclay complains of the coinmon and inde- 
cent practice of bringing hawks and hounds into 
churclies. 

4. And princely peacock's gilded train.— P. 22. 

The peacock, it is well known, was considered, 
during the times of chivalry, not merely as an ex- 
quisite delicacy, but as a dish of peculiar solemni- 
ty. After being roasted, it was atjain decorated 
with its plumage, and a sponge, dipt in lighted 
spirits of wiue,Nv as placed in its bill. When it was 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



49 



introduced on days of errand festival, it was the 
sisinal for tlie adventurous knights to take upon 
them vows to do some deed of chivahy, " before 
the peacock and the ladies." 

5. And o'tT the I)o:ii-lie;i(l, f^avnish'd brave. — P. 22. 

Tlie boar's head was also a usual dish of feu- 
dal splendoiu". In Scotland it was sometimes sur- 
rounded with little banners, displaying the colours 
and achievements of the baron, at whose board it 
Avas served. Pinkerton^s Historif, vol. i, p. 432. 

6. And cygnet from St. Mary's wave.— P. 22. 
There arc often flights of wild swans upon St. 

Mary's lake at the head of the river Yarrow. 

7. Smote, with liis gauntlet, stout Hunthjll.— P. 22. 
The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient 

race of Border lairds, whose names occur in his- 
tory, sometimes as defending the frontier against 
the English, sometimes as disturbing the peace of 
their own country. Dickon Draw-tlie-sword was 
son to the ancient warrior, called in tradition the 
Cock of Huulhill. 

8. But bit his glove, and shook his head. — P. 22. 

To bite the thumb, or the glove, seems not to 
have beeil considered, upon the Border, as a ges- 
ture of contempt, though so used by Shakspeare, 
but as a pledge of mortal revenge. It is yet remem- 
bered, that a young gentleman of Teviotdale, on 
the morning after a hard drinking-bout, observed, 
that he had bitten his glove. He instantly demand- 
ed of his companions, with whom he had quarrelled 
and learning that he had had words with one of the 
partj-, insisted on instant satisfaction, asserting, 
that tliongli he remembered nothing of the dispute, 
yet he was sure he never would have bit liis glove 
unless he had received some vnipardonable insult 
He fell in the duel, which was fought near Selkirk 
in 1721. 

9. Arthur Fire-the-Braes.— P. 22. 

The person, bearing this redoubtable nomme de 
guerre, was an Elliot, and resided at Tliorleshope, 
in Liddesdale. He occurs in the list of Border ri- 
ders, in 1597. 

10. Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 

When In the cleiiih the buck was ta'en.— P. 22. 

A tradition, preserved by Scott of Satchells, who 
published, in 1688, ./Z true history of the right 
honourable name of Scott, gives the followingro- 
mantic origin of that name. Two brethren, natives 
of Galloway, having been banished from that 
country for a riot, or insurrection, came to Ran- 
kelburn, in Ettrick forest, wliere the keeper, whose 
name was Brydone, received them joyfully, on ac- 
count of their skill in w inding the horn, and in 
the other mysteries of the chase. — Kenneth Mac- 
Alpiue, then king of Scotland, came soon after to 
hunt in the royal forest, and pursued a buck from 
Ettrickheuch to the glen now called Buckleuch, 
about two miles above the junction of RankelbtUMi 
M'ith the river Ettrick. — Here the stag stood at 
bay; and the king and his attendants, who followed 
on liorseback, were thrown out by the steepness 
of the hill and the morass. John, one of the 
brethren from Gallowaj', had followed the chase 
on foot: and now coming in, seized the buck by the 
horns, and, being a man of great strength and ac- 
tivity, threw him on his back, and ran with his 
burden about a mile up the steep hill, to a place 
called Cracra-Cross, where Kenneth had halted, 
and laid the buck at the sovereign's feet.* 



•Froissart relates, that a knight of the liousehold of llie 
Compte de Foix tihibited a similar feat of sirLuglh. Tlie 



The deer being curee'd in that place, 

At his majesty's demand. 
Then John of Gallouay r.'.n apace, 

And fetched water to lii< hand. 
The king did wash into a dish. 

And Galloway John lie wot; 
lie said, " Thy naiae now after this 

Shall ever be called John Scott. , 

" The forest and the deer therein, 

We commit to thy hand, 
For thou slialt sure the ranger be, 

If thou obey tommand: 
And for the buck thou stoutly brought 

To us up that steep heuch. 
Thy designation ever shall 

Be John Scot in Buckscleugh. 

In Scotland no Buckleuch was then. 
Before the buck, in the cleuch was slain; 
Night's men* at first they did appear, 
Because moon and stars to their arms they bear. 
Their crest, supporters, and hunting-horn. 
Shows iheir beginning from hunting come; 
Tlieir name and stile, the book doth say, 
John gained them both into one day. WaWs Bellenden, 
The Buccleuch arms have been altered, and now 
allude less pointedly to this hunting, whetherre.il 
or fabulous. The family now bear Or upon a bend 
azure, a mullet betwixt two crescents of the field; 
in addition to which, they formerly bore in the 
field a hunting horn. The supporters, now two la- 
dies, were formerly a hound and buck, or, accord- 
ing to the old terms, a hart of leash and a hart of 
greece. The family of Scottof Howpasley andTliir- 
lestane long retained the bugle-horn: they also 
carried a bent bow and arrow in the sinister can- 
tie, perhaps as a difterence. it is said the motto 
was — Best lading bij moon-light, in allusion to the 
crescents on the shield, and perhaps to the habits 
of those who bore it. The motto now given is ^4mo, 
applying to the female supporters. 

11. old Albert Gra;me, 

The Minstrel of that ancient name. — P. 22. 
"John Grahame, second son of Malice, earl of 
JMonteith, commonly surnamed Johnxvith ihebrisrht 
sword, upon some displeasure risen against him 
at court, retired with many of his plan and kindred, 
into the English Borders, in the reign of king Heniy 



hall-fire had waxed low, and wood was wanted to mend it. 
The knight went down to the court-yard, where stood an 
ass laden with fiiggots, seized on the animal and his bur- 
den, and eariying him up to the hall on his shoulders, 
tumbled liim into the chimney witli his htels uppeniiosl; 
a humane pleasanti-y, much applauded by the court and 
all the spectators. 

* " Minions of the moon," as Falstaff would h.ave said. 
The vocation pursued by our ancient Borderers may be 
justified on the authority of the most polished of the an- 
cient nations: " For the Grecians in old time, and such 
barbarians as in the continent lieved neere into the sea, or 
else inhabited the islands, after they once began to cross 
over one to another in ships, became theeves, and went 
abroad under the conduct of their more puissant men, 
both to enrich themselves, and to. fetch in maintenance 
for the weak; and falling upon towns unfortified, or scat- 
teringly inhabited, rifled them, and made this the best 
means of their living; being a matterat that time nowhere 
in disgrace, but rather carrying with it something of glo- 
ry. This is manifested by some that dwell upon the con. 
tinent, amongst w hom, so it be performed nobly, it is still 
esteemed as an ornament. The same is also proved by 
some of the ancient poets, who introduced men question- 
ing of such its sail by, on all coasts alike, whether they be 
theeves or not; as a thing neyther scorned by such as were 
asked, nor upbraided by those tha' were desirous to know. 
They also roubed ime another w ithin the main land; and 
much of Greece uselh that old custome, as the Locriaiis, 
the Aranianiaiis, and those of the continent in that quar- 
ter, unto this day. Moreover, the fashion of wearing iron 
remaineth yet with the people of that continent, from 
their old trade of theeving."— ifi/iifi' T/iucyUidcn, p. 4, 
Lond. 1(339. 



50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the fourth, where they seated themselves: and many 
of their posterity have continued there ever since. 
Mr. Sandford speaking of them, says (which in- 
deed was applicable to most of the Borderers on 
both sides,) tiiey were all stark moss-troppers, 
and arrant thieves: Both to England and Scotland 
outlawed; yet sometimes connived at, because they 
g;ave intelligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 
400 horse at any time upon a raid of the English 
into Scotland. A saying is recorded of a mother 
to her son (which is now become proverbial,) 
Jtide, Rowley, hough's i' the pot; that is, the last 
piece of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was 
high time for him to go and fetch more. Jntroduc- 
tion to the History of Cumberland. 

The residence of the Griemes being chiefly in 
the Debateable land, so called because it was claim- 
ed by both kingdoms, their depredations extended 
both to England and Scotland, with impunity, for 
as both wardens accounted tliem the proper sub- 
jects of their own prince, neither inclined to de- 
mand reparation for their excesses from the oppo- 
site officers, which would have been an acknowl- 
edgment of his jurisdiction over them. — See a long 
correspondence on this subject betwixt lord Dacre 
and the English privy council, in Introduction to 
History of Cwnberlaiid. The Debateable land was 
finally divided betwixt England and Scotland, by 
commissioners appointed by both nations. 

12. The Sim shines fair on Carlisle wall.— P. 22. 
This burden is adopted, with some alteration, 

from an old Scottish song, beginning thus: 
She leaned her back against a thoni, 
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wa'; 
And there she has her young babe born, 
And the lyon shall be lord of a'. 

13. Who has not heard of Surrey's fame'— P. 23. 
The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, earl 

of Surrey, was unquestionably the most accom- 
plished cavalier of his time; and his sonnets dis- 
play beauties which would do honour to a more 
polished age. He was beheaded on Tower-hill in 
1546; a victim to the mean jealousy of Henry Vill, 
•who coidd not bear so brilliant a character near 
his tVirone. 

The song of the supposed bard is founded on an 
incident said to have happened to the earl in his 
travels. Cornelius Agrippa, the celebrated alche- 
mist, showed him, in a looking-glass, the lovely 
Geraldine, to whose service he had devoted his 
pen and his sword. The vision represented her as 
indisposed, and reclined upon a couch, reading her j 
lover's verses by the light of a waxen taper. 
14. The storm-swept Orcadts; 

Where erst St Ciairs h.-ld princely sway, 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay.— P. 23. [ 

The St. ciairs are of Norman extraction, bemg 
descended from William de St. Clair, second son ^ 
of Walderne compte de St. Clair, and Margaret, j 
daughter to Richard duke of Normandy. He was 
called for his fair deportment, the seemly St. Clair; 
and settling in Scotland during the reign of Mal- 
colm Ceanmoie, obtained large grants ot land in 
Mid-Lothian. — These domains were increased by 
the liberality of succeeding monarchs to the des- 
cendants of the family, and comprehended the ba- 
ronies of Roseline, Pentland, Cowsland, Cardaine, 
and seveial others. It is said a large addition was 
obtained from Robert Bruce, on the loUowmg oc- 
casion: The king, in following the chase upon 
Pentland hills, had often started " a white launch 
deer," which had always escaped from his hounds; 



and he asked the nobles, who were assembled 
around him, whether any of them had dogs, which 
they thought might be more successful. No cour- 
tier would affirm that his hounds were fleeter than 
those of the king, until sir William St. Clair of 
Roseline unceremoniously said, he would wager 
his head that his two favourite dogs. Help and Hold, 
would kill the deer before she could cross the 
Mai'ch-burn. The king instantly caught at his un- 
wary offer, and betted the forest of Pentlandmoor 
against the life of sir William St. Clair. All the 
hounds were tied up, except a few ratches, or slow 
hounds, to put up the deer; while sir William St. 
Clair, posting himself in the best situation for slip- 
ping his dogs, pi'ayed devoutly to Christ, the bless- 
ed Virgin, and St. Katherine. The deer was short- 
ly aftei' roused, and the hounds slipped; sir Wilr 
liam following on a gallant steed, to cheer his dogs. 
The hind, however, reached the middle of the 
brook, upon which the hunter threw himself from 
his horse in despair. At this critical moment, how- 
ever. Hold stooped her in the brook ; and Help, 
coming up, turned her back, and killed heron sir 
William's side. The king descended from the hill, 
embraced sir William, and bestowed oil him the 
lands of Kirkton, Logan-house, Earncraig, &c. in 
free forestrie. Sir William, in acknnowledgment 
of St. Katherine's intercession, built the cViapel of 
St. Katherine in the Hopes, the churchyard of 
which is still to be seen. The hill, from which 
Robert Bruce beheld this memorable chase, is still 
called the King's Hill; and the place where sir 
William hunted is called the knight's field.* — 
MS. History of the family of St. Clair, by Richard 
Augustin Hay, Canon of St. Genevieve. 

This adventurous huntsman married Elizabeth, 
daughter of Malice Spar, earl of Orkney and Stra- 
therne, in whose right their son Henry was, in 
1379, created earl of Orkney, by Haco, king of 
Norway. His title was recognized by the kings of 
Scotland, and remained with his successors until it 
was annexed to the crown, in 14"1, by act of Par- 
liament. In exchange for this earldom, the castle 
and domains of Ravenscraig, or Ravensheuch, 
were conferred on William Saintclair, earl of 
Caithness. 

IS. Still nods their palace to its fall. 

Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall. — P. 23 

The castle of Kirkwall was built by the St. 
Ciairs, while earls of Orkney. It was dismantled 
by the earl of Caithness about 1015, having been 
garrisoned against the government by Robert Stew- 
art, natural son to the earl of Orkney. 

Its ruins afforded a sad subject for contemplation 
to John, master of St. Clair, who, flying irom his 
native country, on account of his share in the in- 
surrection, in 1715, made some stay at Kirkwall. 

* The tomb of sir William St. Clair, on which he ap- 
pears sculptured in armour, with a greyhound at his feet, 
is still to be seen in Rosline chapel. The person who 
shows it alw ays tells the story of his hunting match, with 
some addition to Mr. Hay's account; as that the knight 
of Rosline's fright made him poetical, and that, m the 
last emergency, he shouted. 

Help, baud, an' ye may. 
Or Koslin will lose his head this day. 
' If this couplet does him no great honour as a poet, the 
conclusion of the story does him still l«s credit He set 
his foot on the dog, says the narrator, and killed him on 
the spot, saying, he should never again put his neck in 
such a risk.' As Mr. Hay does not menUon tl'is cu-cum 
stance, I hope it is only founded on the couchant posture 
of the hound on the monument. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



51 



** I had occasion to entertain mjself at Kirkwall 
with the melancholic prospect of the ruins of an 
old castle, the seat of the old earls of Orkney, my 
ancestors; and of a more melancholy reflection, of 
so great and noble an estate as the Orkney and 
Shetland isles being taken from one of them by 
James III, for faultrie after his brother Alexander, 
Juke of Albany, had married a daughter of my 
family, and for protecting and defending the said 
Alexander against the king, who wishe<l to kill 
him, as he had done his youngest brother, the earl 
of Mar; and for which, after the forfaultrie, he 
gratefully divorced my forfaulted ancestor's sister; 
though I cannot persuade myself that he had any 
misalliance to plead against a familie in whose 
veins the blood of Robert Bruce ran as fresh as in 
his own; for their title to the crowne was by a 
daughter of David Bruce, son to Robert; and our 
alliance was by marrying a grandchild of the same 
Robert Bruce, and daughter to the sister of the 
same David, out of the familie of Douglas, which 
at that time did not much suUie the blood, more 
than my ancestour's having not long before, had 
the honour of marrying a daughter of the king of 
Denmark's, who was named Florentine, and has 
left in the town of Kirkwall a noble monument of 
the grandeur of the times, the finest church ever I 
saw entire in Scotland. I then had no small reason 
to think, in that unhappy state, on the many not 
inconsiderable services rendered since to the roy- 
al familie, for these many years by-gone, on all oc- 
casions, when they stood most in need of friends, 
■which they have thought themselves very often 
obliged (o acknowledge by letters j-et extant, and 
in a stile more like triends than sovereigns: our 
attachment to them, without anie other thanks, 
having brought upon us considerable losses, and 
among others, that of our all in Cromwell's time; and 
It ft in that condition, without the least relief except 
what we found in our own virtue. IVTy father was the 
only man of the Scotts nation "who had courage 
enough to protest in parliament against kingWil- 
liam's title to the throne, which was lost, God knows 
how; and this at a time when the losses in the cause 
of the royall familie and their usual gratitude, had 
scarce left him bread to maintain a numerous fam- 
ilie of eleven children, who had soon after sprung 
up on him, in spite of all which, he had honoura- 
bly persisted in his principle. I say, these things 
considered, and after being treated as I was, and in 
that unluckie state, when objects appear to men in 
their true light, as at the hour of death, could I be 
Dlamed for making some bitter reflections to myself, 
and laughing at the extravagance and unaccount- 
able humour of men, and the singularitie of my 
own case, (an exile for the cause of the Stuart 
family,) when I ought to have known, that the 
^eatest crime 1, or my family, could have com- 
mitted, was persevering to my own destruction, in 
serving the royal familie faithfully, though obsti- 
nately, after so great a share of depression; and af- 
ter they had been pleased to doom me and my fam- 
ilie to starve." — MS. Memoirs of John, Master of 
St. Clair. 

16. Kin^s of the main their leaders brave. 
Then- barks the drag^ojis of the wave.— P. 23. 

The chiefs of the Vakingr, or Scandinavian pi- 
rates, assumed the title of Sxkonungr, or Sea- 
kings. Ships, in the inflated language of the Scalds 
are often termed the serpents of the ocean. 

17. Of that sea-snake, tremendous eurl'd, 
Whose monstrous circle girds the world.— P. 24. 



"Yhii jormungandr, or snake of the ocean, whose 
folds sm-round the earth, is one of the wildest fic- 
tions of the Edda. it was very nearly caught by 
(he god Thor, who went to fish for it with a hook 
baited with a bull's head. In the battle betwixt 
the evil demons and the divinities of Odin, which 
is to precede the Ragiiaraokr, or Twilight of the 
gods, this snake is to act a conspicuous part. 

13. Of those dread maids, whose hideous yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell.— P. 24. 

These were the Valkijriur, or selectors of the 
slain, despatched by Odin from Valhalla, to choose 
those who were to die, and to distribute the contest. 
They are well known to the English reader, as 
Gray's Fatal Sisters. 

19. Ransack'd the graves of warriors old. 

Their falchions wreiichM from corpses' hold.— P. 24. 

The northern warriors were usually entombed 
with their arms, and their other treasures. Thus, 
Angantyr, before commencing the duel in which 
he was slain, stipulated, that if lie fell, his sword 
Tyrfing should be buried w ith liim. His daughter, 
Hervor, afterward took it from his tomb. The 
dialogue which passed betwixt her and Angantyr's 
spirit on this occasion has often been translated. 
I'he whole history may be found in the Harvarar- 
Saga. Indeed the ghosts of the northern warriors 
were not wont tamely to suff"er their tombs to be 
plundered; and hence the mortal heroes had an 
additional temptation to attempt such adventures; 
for they held nothing more worthy of their valour 
than to encounter supernatural beings. — Bartho- 
LiNus I)e causis contempts a Da7ua mortis, lib. 1, 
cap. 2, 9, 10, 13. 

20. ■ Rosabelle.— P. 24. 

This was a family name in the house of St. 
Clair. Henry St. Clair, the second son of the line, 
married Rosabelle, fourth daughter of the earl of 
Stratherue. 

21. Castle Ravensheuch.— P. 24. 

A large and strong castle, now ruinous, situated 
betwixt Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a steep crag, 
washed by the Frith of Forth. It was conferreil 
on sir William St. Clair, as a slight compensation 
for the earldom of Orkney, by a charter of king 
James III, dated in 1471, and is now the property 
of sir James Si. Clair Erskine, (now earl of Ross- 
lyn,) representative of the family. It was long a 
principal residence of the barons of Roslin. 

22. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncottin'd lie; 

Each baron, for a sable shroud. 

Sheathed in his iron panoply.— P. 24. 
The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still intolera- 
ble preservation. It was founded in 1446 by Wil- 
liam St. Clair, prince of Orkney, duke of Olden- 
burgh, earl of Caithness and Stratherne, lord St. 
Clair, lord Niddesdale, lord admiral of the Scot- 
tish seas, lord chief justice of Scotland, lord war- 
den of the three Marches, baron of Roslin, Pent- 
land, Fentlandmoor, he. knight of the Cockle and 
of the Garter, (as is affirmed,) high chancellor, 
chamberlain, anil lieutenant of Scotland. This lofty 
person, whose titles, says Godscroft, might weary 
a Spaniard, built the castle of Roslin, where he 
resided in princely splendour, and founded the 
chapel, which is in the most rich and florid style 
of Gothic architecture. Among the profuse carv- 
ing on the pillars and buttresses, the rose is fre- 
quently introduced, in allusion to the name, with 



52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■which, however, the flower lias no connexion; the 
et3fniology being Rosslinnhe, the promontory of 
the linn or water-fall. The chapel is said to ap- 
pear on fire previous to the death of any of his de- 
scendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer 
in his Theatriim Scotix, and alluded to in the text, 
is probably of Norwegian derivation, and may have 
been imported by the earls of Orkney into their 
Lotliian domains. The tomb-fires of the nortli are 
mentioned in most of the Sagas. 

Tlie barons of Roslin were buried in a vault be- 
neath the cliapel floor. The manner of their in- 
terment is thus described by Father Hay, in the 
MS. history already quoted. 

" Sir William Sinclair, the father, was a lend 
man. He kept a miller's daughter, with whom, it 
is alledged, he went to Ireland: yet I think the 
cause of his retreat was rather occasioned by tlie 
Presbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of 
his religion being Roman Catholic. His son, sir 
William, died during the troubles, and was inter- 
red in the cliapel of Roslin the very same day that 
the battle of Dimbar was fought. When my good 
father was buried, his (i. e. sir William's) corpse 
seemed to be entire at the opening of the cave; but 
■when they came to touch his body, it fell into dust. 
He was lying in his armour, with a red velvet cap 
on his head, on a fiat stone; nothing was spoiled 
except a piece of tiie white furring, that went round 
the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the 
head. All his predecessors were buried after the 
same manner, in their armovir: late Rosline, my 
good father, was the first that was buried in a cof- 
fin; against the sentiments of king James the Se- 
venth, who was then in Scotland, and several other 
persons well versed in antiquity, to whom my mo- 
ther would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be 
buried after that manner. The great expenses she 
was at in burying her husband, occasioned the 
sumptuary acts which were made in the following 
parliament." 



-"Gylbin, come!"— P. 24. 



See the story of Gilpin Horner, p. 36, in notes. 

24. For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, 
Like him, of whom the story ran. 
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. — P. 24. 

The ancient castle of Peel-town, in the Isle of 
Man, is surrounded by four churches now riiinous. 
Through one of these chapels, there was formerlj' 
a passage from the guard-room of the garrison. 
This was closed, it is said, upon the following oc- 
casion: "They say, that an apparition, called in 
the Mankish language, the Maitthe Dooq; in the 
shape of a large black spaniel, with curled shaggy 
hair, was used to haunt Peel-castle; and has been 
frequently seen in every room, but particularly in 
the guard-chamber, where, as soon as candles were 
lighted , it came and lay do w n before the fire, in pres- 
ence of all the soldiers, who, at length, by being 
so much accustomed to the sight of it, lost great 
part of the terror they were seized with at its first 
appearance. They still, however, retained a cer- 
tain awe, as believing it was an evil spirit, which 
only waited permission to do them hurt; and, for 
that reason, forbore swearing,and all prophane dis- 
cource, while in its company. But though they 
endiued the shock of such a guest when all toge- 



ther in a body, none cared to be left alone with 
it. It being the custom, therefore, for one of the 
soldieis to lock the gates of the castle at a cei tain 
hour, and cary the keys to the captain, to whose 
apartment, as 1 said before, the way led through 
the church, they agreed among themselves, that 
whoever was to succeed the ensuing night his fel- 
low in this errand, should accompany him tliat 
went first, and by tliis means no man would be ex- 
posed singly to the danger: for I foJ'got to mention, 
that the Mauthe Doog was always seen to come 
out from that passage at the close of day, an'd return 
to it again as soon as the morning dawned; which 
made them look on this place as its peculiar resi- 
dence. 

" One night, a fellow being drunk, and by the 
strength of the liquor rendered more daring tlian 
ordinarily, laughed at the simplicity of his com- 
panions; and, though it was not his turn to go 
with tlie keys, would needs take that office upon 
him to testify his courage. All the soldiers en- 
deavoured to dissuade him; but the more they said, 
the more resolute he seemed, and swore that he 
desired nothing more than that the JMatithe Dooff 
would follow him as it had done the others; for he 
would try if it were dog, or devil. After having 
talked in a very reprobate manner for some time, 
he snatched up the keys, and went out of the guard- 
room: in some time after his departure, a great 
noise was heard, but nobody had the boldness to 
see what occasioned it, till the adventurer return- 
ing, they demanded tlie knowledge of him; but as 
loud and noisy as he had been at leaving them, he 
was now become sober and silent enougli; for he 
was never heard to speak more: and though all the 
time he lived, whicli was three days, lie was en- 
treated by all who came near him, either to speak, 
or if he could not do that, to make some signs, by 
which they might understand what had happened 
to him; yet nothing intelligible could be got from 
him, only that by the distortion of his limbs and fea- 
tures, it might be guessed that he died in agonies 
more than is common in a natural death. 

" The JMautlie Doog was however never after, 
seen in the castle, nor would any one attempt to 
go through that passage; for wliich reason it was 
closed up, and another way made. This accident 
liappened about threescore years since: and I heard 
it attested by several, but especially by an old sol- 
dier, who assured me he had seen it otiener tlian 
he had then hairs on his head."— ^ruW/wj's j[>e- 
scription of the Isle ofJVIan, p. 107. 

25. And lie a solemn sacred plis:ht 

Did to St. Bryde of Douglas juake.— P. 25. 
This was a favourite saint of the house of Dou- 
glas, and of the earl of Angus in particidar, as we 
learn from the following passage. Tlie queen re- 
gent had proposed to raise a rival noble to the du- 
cal dignity; and discoursing of her purpose witiv 
Angus he answered, "Why not madam? we are 
happy tliat have such a princess, that can know 
and will acknowledge men's service, and is willing 
to recompence it: but, by the might of (iod, (tiiis 
was his oath wlien he was serious and in angei-, at 
other times, it was by St. Bride of Douglas,) if lie 
be a duke, I will be a drake!" — So siie desisted 
from prosecuting of that purpose. — Godscroft, vol- 
ii, p. 131. 



A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD. 

Alas! that Scottish maid should sinjj 

'1 he oombat where her lover fell! 
That Scottish Bard should wake the strinp, • , 

The triumph of our foes to tell. Leydcn, * 

TO THE RIGHT HONOUHxVBLE HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, &c. 

THIS aOMAIfCE IS ISTSCKIBED, BX THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It is hardly to be expected, that an author, whom 
the public has honoured ■with some degree of ap- 
plause, should not be again a trespasser on their 
kindness. Yet the author oi JMarmion must be 
supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its suc- 
cess, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this 
second intrusion, any reputation which his first 
poem ma)' have procured him. The present story 
turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious 
characler; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, 
because the hero's fate is connected with that me- 
morable defeat, and tlie causes which led to it, 
The design of the author was, if possible to ap- 
prise his readers, at the outset, of the date of his 
story, and to prepare tiiem for the manners of the 
age in which it is laid. Any historical narrative, 
far more an attempt at epic composition, exceeds 
his plan of a romantic tale; yet he may be permit- 
ted to hope from the popularity of The Lay of the 
Last JYlinstrel, that an attempt to paint the man- 
ners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and 
in the course of a more interesting stoiy, will not 
be unacceptable to the public. 

The poem opens about the commencement of 
August and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, 
9th September, 1513. 



MARMION. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO I. 

TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, Esa. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest, 
Notembeh's sky is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear: 
Late, gazing down the steepy linn. 
That hems our little garden in. 
Low in its dark and narrrow glen. 
You scarce the rivulet might ken, 
So thick the tangled green-wood grew, 
So feeble trilled the streamlet thi-ough: 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
1 hrough bush and brier, no longer green, 
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with double speed. 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our forest hills is shed; 
No more, beneath the evening beam, 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam; 
Away hath passed the heather-bell, 



That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell, 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Y'are. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven. 
To sheltered dale and down are driven. 
Where yet some faded herbage pines. 
And yet a watery simbeam shines: 
In meek despondenc)' they ej'e 
The withered sward and wintry sk)'-. 
And far beneath their summer hill. 
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill: 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's foM 
And wraps him closer from the cold; 
His dogs no merry circles wheel, 
But, shivering, follow at his heel; 
A cowering glance they often cast, 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, 
As best befits the mountain child. 
Feel the sad influence of the hour, 
And wail the daisy's vanislied flower; 
Their summer ganiljols tell, and mourn, 
And anxiqus ask, — Will spring return, 
And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray? 
Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer "bower; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie; 
The lambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the round, 
And while you frolick light as they. 
Too sliort shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings; 
The genial call dead Nature hears. 
And in her glory re-appears. 
But Oh! my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate? 
What powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike, and the wise? 
The mind, that thouglit for Britain's weal, 
The hand, that grasped the victor steel? 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows; 
But vainly, vainly may he sliine, 
Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine; 
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom 
That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed tomb! 

Deep graved in every British heart, 
O never let those names depart! 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, 
Who victor died on Gadite wave; 
To him, as to the burning levin, 
Short, bright, resistless course was given; 



54 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Where'er his country's foes were found, 
Was heard the fated thunder's sound, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth. 
Who bade the conqueror go forth, 
And lanched that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar; 
Who, born to g^ida»such high emprise, 
For Brilafti's ^veal was earl)' wise; 
Alas! to wiiom the Almighty gave. 
For Britain's sins, an early grave; 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf, 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strained at subjection's hursting rein, 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained. 
The pride, he would not crush, restrained. 
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 
And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's 
laws. 

Had'st tiiou but lived, though stripped of power, 
A watchman on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land. 
When fraud or danger were at hand; 
By thee, as by the beacon-light. 
Our pilots had kept course aright; 
As some proud column, though alone, 
Thy strength had propped the tottering throne. 
Now is the stately column broke. 
The beacon-ligiit is quenched in smoke. 
The trumpet's silver sound is still. 
The warder silent on the hill! 

Oh, think, how to his latest day, 
When death, just hovering, claimed his prey. 
With Palinure's unaltered mood, 
Firm at his dangerous post he stood; 
Each call for needful rest repelled. 
With dying hand the rudder held, 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway. 
The steerage of the realm gave way! 
Then, while on Britain's thousand plains 
One unpolluted church remains, 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
But still, upon the hallowed day, 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here! 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
Because his rival slumbers nigh; 
Nor be thy requiescat dumb, 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb. 
For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
When best employed, and wanted most; 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound. 
And wit that loved to play, not wound; 
And all the reasoning powers divine. 
To penetrate, resolve, combine; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below: 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave. 
Be every harsher thought suppressed. 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, 



* Copenhagen. 



Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; 

Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 

The distant notes of holy song. 

As if some angel spoke agen. 

All peace on eartii, good-will to men; 

If ever from an English heart, 

O here let prejudice depart. 

And, partial feeling cast aside. 

Record, tliat Fox a Britain died! 

When Europe crouched to France's yoke. 

And Austria bent, and Prussia broke. 

And the firm Russian's purpose brave 

Was bartered by a timorous slave. 

Even then dishonour's peace he spurned, 

The sullied olive-branch returned. 

Stood for his country's glory fast. 

And nailed her colours to the mast! 

Heaven, to rewai-d his firmness, gave 

A portion in this honoured grave; 

And ne'er held marble in its trust 

Of two such wond'rous men the dust. 

With more than mortal powers endowed, 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race. 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place; 
Like fabled Gods, then' mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar; 
Beneath each banner proud to stand, 
Looked up tiie noblest of the land. 
Till through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, 
Though his could drain the ocean dry. 
And force the planets from the sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent with these. 
The wine of life is on the lees. 
Genius, and taste, and talent gone. 
For ever tombed beneath the stone. 
Where — taming thought to human pridel 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'Twill trickle to his rival's bier; 
O'er Pitt's tlie mournful requiem, sound. 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
" Here let their discord with them die; 
Speak not for those a separate doom, 
Whom fate made brothers in the tomb. 
But search the land of living men. 
Where wilt thou find their like agen?" 

Rest, ardent Spirits! till the cries 
Of dying Natiu-e bid you rise; 
Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
The leaden silence of your hearse: 
Then, O how impotent and vain 
This grateful tributary strain ! 
Though not unmarked from northern clime. 
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme: 
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung; 
The bard you deigned to praise, your deathless 
names has sung. 

Stay yet illusion, stay awhile. 
My wildered fancy still beguile! 
From this high theme how can I part. 
Ere half unloaded is my heart! 
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew. 
And all the raptures fancy knew. 
And all the keener rush of blood. 
That throbs through bard in bard-like mood, 
Were here a tribute mean and low, 
Though all their mingled streams could flow- 



MARMION. 



55 



Wo, wonder, and sansation high, 
In one spring-tide of ecstasy' ! — 
It will not be— it may not last — 
The vision of enchantment's past: 
Like frost-work in tiie morning ray. 
The fancied fabric melts away; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial stone, 
And long, dim, lofty aisle are gone. 
And, lingering last, dece))tion dear, 
The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down. 
The silent pastures bleak and brown. 
The farm begrit with copse-wood wild. 
The gambols of each frolic child. 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run. 
Thus Nature disciplines lier son: 
Meeter, she says, for me to stray. 
And waste the solitary day. 
In plucking from yon fen the reed. 
And watch it floating down the Tweed; 
Or idly list the shrilling lay 
With which the milk-maid cheers her way. 
Marking its cadence rise and fail, 
As from the field, beneath her pail. 
She trips it down the uneven dale: 
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn. 
The ancient shepherd's tale to learn. 
Though oft he stop in rustic fear. 
Lest his old legends tire the ear 
Of one, who, in his simple mind. 
May boast of book-learned taste refined. 

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, 
(For few have read romance so well,) 
How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in vain; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds. 
By warriors wrought in steely weeds, 
Still throb for fear an<l pity's sake; 
As when the champion of the lake 
Enters Morgana's fated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Despising spells and demons' force. 
Holds converse with the unburied corse;i 
Or when, dame Ganore's grace to move, 
(Alas! that lawless was their love,) 
He sought proud Tarquin in his den. 
And freed full sixty knights; or when, 
A sinful man, and unconfessed. 
He took the Sangreal's holy quest. 
And, slumbering, saw the vision high. 
He might not view with waking eye.2 

The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorned not such legends to prolong: 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream. 
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme; 
And Dryden, in immortal strain. 
Had raised the Table Round again, 
But that a ribald king and court 
Bade him toil on, to make them sport; 
Demanded for tlieir niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay. 
Licentious satire, song, and play:^ 
The world defrauded of the high design. 
Profaned the God-given strength, and marred the 
lofty line. , 

Warmed by such names, well may M'e then, 
Though dwindled sons of little men, 
Essav to break a feeble lance 



In the fair fields of old romance; 

Or seek the moated castle's cell. 

Where long through talisman and spell, 

Wliile tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 

Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept: 

There sound the harpings of the North, 

Till lie awake and sally forth. 

On venturous quest to prick again. 

In all his arms, with all his train. 

Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and soorf; 

Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 

And wizard, with his wand of might. 

And errant maid on palfrey white. 

Around the Genius weave their spells. 

Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells; 

Mystery, half veiled and half revealed; 

And Honour, with his spotless shield; 

Attention, with'fixed eye; and Fear, 

That loves the tale he shrinks to hear; 

And gentle Courtesy; and Faith, 

Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death; 

And Valour, lion- mettled lord. 

Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown, 
A worthy meed maj- thus be won; 
Ytene's* oaks — beneath whose shade. 
Their theme the merry minstrels made. 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold,* 
And that red king,t who, while of old. 
Though Boldrewood the chase he led. 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renewed such legendary strain; 
For thou hast sung, how he of Gaul, 
That Amadis, so famed in hall, 
For Oriana, foiled in fight 
The necromancer's felon might; 
And well in modern verse hast wove 
Partenopex's mj'slic love: 
Hear then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 



THE CASTLE. 

I. 

Day set on Norham's castled steep, 

And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,* 

And Cheviot's mountains lone: 
The battled towers, the donjon keep," 
The loop-hole grates where captives weep. 
The flanking walls that round it sweep. 

In yellow lustre shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high. 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 

Seemed forms of giant height: 
Their armour, as it caught the rays 
Flashed back again the western blaze. 

In lines of dazzling light. 

II. 

St. George's banner, broad and gay. 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung; 
The evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the donjon tower. 

So he.-wily it hung. 
Tlie scouts had parted on their search. 

The castle gates were barred; 
Above the gloomy portal arch. 
Timing his footseps to a march, 

• The new forest in Hampshire, anciently so called, 
t WilUam Rufus. 



56 



SCOTT'S POETlCAx. WORKS. 



The warder kept his guard; 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient border-gathering song. 

111. 
A distant trampling sound he hears; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump* of spears. 

Beneath a pennon gay: 
A horseman, darting from the crowd, 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 

Uefoj-e the dark array. 
Beneatii tiie sable palisade, 
That closed the castle barricade, 

His bugle horn he blew; 
The warder hasted from the wall, 
And warned the captain in the hall. 

For well the blast he knew; 
And joyfully that knight did call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 

IV. 

«' Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring i)asties of the doe. 
And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minsti-el sound his glee. 

And all our trumpets blow; 
And from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot; 

Lord Marmion waits below!" — 
Then to the castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall, 
The iron- studded gates unbarred. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard. 
The lofty palisade unsparred. 

And let the drawbridge fall. 

V. 

Along the bridge lord Marmion rode. 
Proudly his red-roan charger trod. 
His helm hung at the saddle bow; 
Well, by his visage, you might know 
He was a stal worth knight, and keen, 
And had in many a battle been; 
The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
A token true of Bosworth field; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire. 
Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire: 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare, 
His thin moustache, and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 
But more through toil than age; 
His square turned joints, and strength of limb. 
Showed him no carpet knight so trim, 
But, in close fight, a champion grim, 
In camps, a leader sage. 

VI. 

Well was he armed from head to heel, 

In mail, and plate of Milan steel;7 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 

Was all with burnished gold embossed; 

Amid the plumage of the crest 

A falcon hovered on her nest. 

With wings outspread, and forward breast; 



* This word properly applies to a flight of water-fowl; 
but is applied, uy analogy, to a body of aoi-se. 
There is a knight of ihe North Country, 
1^'liich leads a \\x.stj pluinp of spears. 

Battli: o/Flodden. 



E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 
Soared sable in an azure field: 
The golden legend bore aright, 
" who checks at me, to death is dight."^ 
Blue was the charger's broidered rein; 
Blue ribbons decked his arching mane; 
The knightly housing's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. 

VII. 

Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
Of noble name, and knightly sires; 
Tliey burned tlie gilded spurs to claim; 
For well could eacli a war-horse tame. 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway. 
And lightly bear the ring away; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored, . 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love-ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 

VIII. 

Fotn' men-at arms came at their backs. 
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe: 
They bore lord Marmion's lance so strong. 
And led iiis sumpter-mules along. 
And ambling palfrey, when at need 
Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last, and trustiest of the four. 
On high his forky pennon bore; 
Like swallow's tail, in sliape and hue. 
Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, 
Where, blazoned sable, as before. 
The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
In hosen black, and jerkins blue. 
With falcons broidered on each breast. 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
FiSch, chosen for an archer good, 
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood; 
Each one a six foot bow could bend. 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong. 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys, and array. 
Showed they had marched a weary way. 

IX. 

'Tis meet that I should tell you now, 
How fairly armed, and ordered how. 

The soldiers of the guard. 
With nmsquet, pike, and morion. 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the castle-yard; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were there, 
The gunner held his linstock yare, 

For welcome-siiot prepared — 
Entered the train, and such a clang. 
As then through all his turrets rang. 

Old Norhara never heard. 

X. 

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced. 

The trumpets flourished brave. 
The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blith salute, in martial sort. 

The minstrels well might sound. 
For, as lord Marmion crossed the court, 

He scattered angels round. 
"Welcome to Noriiam, Mai'mion, 

Stout heart, and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. 

Thou flower of English land!" 



MARMION. 



57 



XI. 

Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 
With silver scutcheon round their neck, 

Stood on the steps of stone. 
By which you reach the donjon gate, 
And there, willi herald pomp and state. 

They hailed lord Marmion: 
They hailed him lord of Fontenayc, 
Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Taniworth tower and town;9 
And he, their courtesy to requite, 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight, 

All as he lighted down. 
"Now, largesse,* largesse,'0 loi'd Marmion, 

Knight of the crest of gold! 
A blazoned shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er guarded heart so bold." 
Xll. 
They marshalled him to the castle-hall. 

Where the guests stood all aside. 
And loudly flourished the trumpet-call, 

And the heralds loudly cried, 
-—"Room, lordings, room- for lord Marmion, 

With the crest and helm of gold! 
Full well we know the trophies won 

In the lists at Cottiswold: 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand; 
To him he lost his ladye-love. 

And to the king his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair; 
We saw lord Marmion pierce his shield, 

And saw his saddle bare; 
We saw the victor win the crest 

He wears with worthy pride; 
And on the gibbet tree, reversed. 

His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-knight ! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay. 
For him who conquered in the right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye ! "-^ 
XIII. 
Then stepped to meet that noble lord. 

Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 

And captain of the Hold." 
He led lord Marmion to the deas, 

Raised o'er the pavement high. 
And placed him in the upper place— 

They feasted full and high: 
The whiles a northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

"■ Hoiv the fierce TIdrl-walls, and Ridleys all,^^ 
Stout Willimonchiuick, 
And Hard-ridiiiq Dick, 

And Hug-hie of Haiuden, and Will o' the Wall, 
Have set on sir Albany Featherstonhaiigh, 
And taken his life at the Deadmaii's shaw. "f — 

Scantly lord Marmion's ear could brook 

The harper's barbarous lay; 
Yet much he praised the pains he took, 

And well those pains did pay: 
For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain. 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 

XIV. 
"Now, good lord IMarmion," Heron says, 

" Of your fair courtesj'. 



• The cry by which the heralds expressed their thanks 
for the bounty of the nobles, 
t The rest of this old ballad may be found in the note. 



I pray you bide some little space 

In this poor tower with me. 
Here may you keep your arms from rust, 

May breathe your war-horse well; 
Seldom hath passed a week, but giust 

Or feat of arms befel: 
The Scots can rein a mettled steed, 

And love to couch a spear; — 
St. George! a stirring life they lead. 

That have such neighbours near. 
Then stay with us a little space. 

Our northern wars to learn; 
I pray you for your lady's grace." — 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. 
XV. 
The captain marked his altered look, 

And gave a squire the sign; 
A mighty wassail bowl he took. 

And crowned it high with wine. 
"Now pledge me here, lord Marmion: 

But first, I pray thee fair, 
Where hast thouleft that page of thine. 
That used to serve thy cup of wine. 

Whose beauty was so rare ? 
When last in Raby towers we met, 

The boy I closely eyed. 
And often marked his cheeks were wet 

With tears he fain would hide: 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
To burnish shield, or sharpen brand. 

Or saddle battle-steed; 
But meeter seemed for lady fair. 
To fan her cheeks, or curl her hair. 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare. 

The slender silk to lead: 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, 

His bosom — when he sighed. 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower? 
Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 

A gentle paramour?" 

XVI. 
Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest; 

He rolled his kindling eye, 
With pain his rising wrath suppressed, 

Yet made a calm reply: 
" That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair. 
He might not brook the northern air. 
More of his fate if thou would'st learn, 
I left him sick in Lindisfarn: 
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say. 
Why does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to-day? 
Or has that dame, so fair and sage. 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage?" — 
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. 

XVII. 

Unmarked, at leat unrecked, the taunt. 

Careless the knight replied, 
"No bird, whose feathers gayly flaunt, 

Delights in cage to bide: 
Norham is grim, and gi-ated close. 
Hemmed in by battlement and fosse. 

And many a dai-ksorae tower; 
And better loves my lady bright. 
To sit in liberty and light, 

In fair queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our greyhound in oui- hand. 



58 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Our falcon on our glove; 
But where shall we find leash or band, 

For dame that loves to rove? 
Let the wild falcon soar her swing, 
She'll stoop when she has tired her wing." — 

XVIU. 
"Nay, if with royal James's bride. 
The lovely lady Heron bide. 
Behold me here a messenger. 
Your tender greetings prompt to bear; 
For, to the Scottish court addressed, 
1 journey at our king's behest. 
And pray you, of your grace, provide 
For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 
I have not ridden iu Scotland since 
James backed the cause of that mock prince, 
Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then did I march with Surrey's power 
What time we razed old Ay ton tower." — '3 

XIX 
•' For suchlike need, my lord, I trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow; 
For here be some have pricked as far, 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 
Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale; 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
And given them light to set their hoods." — I'l 

XX 
" Now, in good sooth," lord Marmion cried, 
" Were I in warlike-wise to ride, 
A better guard I would not lack. 
Than your stout forayers at my back: 
But, as in form of peace I go, 
A friendly messenger, to know. 
Why, through all Scotland, near and far, 
Their king is mustering troops for war. 
The sight of plundering border spears 
Might justify suspicious fears. 
And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil. 
Break out in some unseemly broil: 
A herald were my fitting guide; 
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide; 
Or pardoner, or travelling priest. 
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 

XXI. 
The captain mused a little space. 
And passed his hand across his face. 
— " Fain would 1 find the guide you want. 
But ill may spare a pursuivant. 
The only men that safe can ride 
Mine errands on the Scottish side; 
And, though a bishop built this fort, 
Few holy brethren here resort; 
Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 
Since our last siege, we have not seen: 
The mass he might not sing or say. 
Upon one stinted meal a day; 
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 
And prayed for our success the while. 
Our Norham vicar, wo betide. 
Is all too well in case to ride. 
The priest of Siioreswood'5 — he could rein 
The wildest war-horse in your train; 
But then, no spearman in the hall 
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man; 
A blitlisome brother at the can, 
A welcome guest in hall and bower. 
He knows each castle, town, and tower. 



In which the wine and ale are good. 

'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 

But that good man, as ill befalls. 

Hath seldom left our castle walls. 

Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, 

In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, 

To teach dame Alison her creed. 

Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; 

And John, an enemy to strife. 

Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 

The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 

That, if again he venture o'er. 

He shall shrieve penitent no more. 

Little he loves such risks, I know; 

Yet, in your guard, perchance, will go."— 

XXII. 

Young Selby, at the fair hall-board. 

Carved to his uncle, and that loi'd. 

And reverently took up the word. 

" Kind uncle, wo were we each one, 

If harm should hap to brother John. 

He is a man of mirthful speech. 

Can many a game and gambol teach; 

Full well at tables can he play. 

And sweep, at bowls, the stake away. 

None can a lustier carol bawl. 

The needfullest among us all. 

When time hangs heavy in the hall. 

And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 

And we can neither hunt, nor ride 

A foray on the Scottish side. 

The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude. 

May end in worse than loss of hood. 

Let friar John, in safety, still 

In chimney-corner snore his fill, 

Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill: 

Last night, to Norham there came one 

Will better guide lord Marmion." 

" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay. 

Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say." 

XXIII. 

" Here is a holy palmer come. 

From Salem first, and last from Rome; 

One, that hath kissed the blessed tomb. 

And visited each holy shrine. 

In Araby and Palestine; 

On hills of Armenie hath been. 

Where Noah's ark may yet be seen; 

By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, 

Which paited at the propiiet's rod; 

In Sinai's wilderness he saw 

Tiie Mount, where Israel heard the law. 

Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin. 

And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 

He shows saint James's cockle shell, 

Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod. 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From all the youtli of Sicily, 

Saint Rosalie retired to God.is 

XXIV. 

" To stout saint George of Norwich meiTy, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
Cuthbei't of Durham, and saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he pi-ayed. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; 
Little he eats, and long will wake. 
And drinks but of the streams or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale; 
But, when our John hath quaffed his ale. 



MARMION. 



59 



As little as Ihe wind that blows, 

And warms itself against his nose, 

Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — 

XXV. 

" Cramercy !" quoth lord Marmion, 
" Full loth were 1, that friar John, 
That venerable man, for me. 
Were placed in fear or jeopardy: 

If this same palmer will me lead 
From hence to Holy-Rood, 

Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, 

Instead of cockle shell or head, 
With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers; still 
They know to charm a weary hill. 

With song, romance, or lay: 
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 
Some lying legend, at the least. 

They bring to cheer the way. " — 

XXVL 

<' Ah! noble sir, young Selby said, 

And finger on his lip he laid, 

•' This man knows much, ])erchance e'en more 

Than he could learn by holy lore. 

Still to himself he's muttering. 

And shrinks, as at some unseen thing. 

Last night we listened at his cell; 

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, 

He murmured on till morn, howe'er 

No living mortal could be near. 

Sometimes 1 thought I heard it plain, 

As other voices spoke again. 

1 cannot tell — I like it not — 

Friar John hath told us it is wrote. 

No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 

Can rest awake, and pray so long. 

Himself still sleeps before his beads 

Have marked ten aves, and two creeds." — '^ 

xxvn. 

— " Let pass," quoth Marmion; " by ray fay, 

This man shall guide me on my way. 

Although the great arch fiend and he 

Had swoi-n themselves of company; 

So please you, gentle youth, to call 

This palmer to the castle hall." 

The summoned palmer came in place; 

His sable cowl o'erhung his face; 

In his black mantle was he clad, 

With Peter's keys, in cloth of red. 
On Ms broad shoultkiirs wrought;'^ 

The scallop shell his cap did deck; 

The crucifix around his neck 
Was from Loretto brought; 
His sandals were with ti'avel tore. 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore: 
The faded palm-branch in his hand. 
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 

XXVllI. 

When as the palmer came in hall, 

Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall, 

Or had a statelier step withal. 

Or looked more high and keen: 
For no saluting did he wait. 
But strode across the hall of state, 
And fronted Marmion where he sate, 

As he his peer had been. 
Hut his gaunt frame was worn with toil; 
His" cheek was sunk, alas, the while! 
And when he struggled at a smile. 

His eye looked haggard wild: 



Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare. 
If she had been in presence there. 
In his wan face, and sun-burned hair, 

She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or wo, 
Soon change the form that best we know — ■ 
For deadly fear can time outgo, 

And blanch at once the hair; 
Hard toil can roughen form and face. 
And want can quench the eye's bright grace; 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace. 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall, 
Rut this poor palmer knew them all. 

XXIX. 

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask; 
The palmer took on him the task. 
So he would march with morning tide, 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
— " But I have solemn vows to pay, 
And may not linger by the way, 

To fair Saint Andrews bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
Where good saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 

Sung to the billows' sound;i9 
Thence to saint Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 

And the crazed brain restore: — 20 
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 
Could back to peace my bosom bring. 

Or bid it throb no more ! " — 

XXX. 

And now the midnight draught of sleep. 
Where wine and spices richly steep, 
In massive bowl of silver deep, 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest. 
The captain pledged his noble guest. 
The cup went through among the rest, 

Who drained it merrily: 
Alone the palmer passed it by. 
Though Selby pressed him courteously. 
This was the sign the feast was o'er: 
It hushed the merry wassel-roar. 
The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle nought was heard, 
But the slow footstep of the guard. 
Pacing his sober round. 

XXXL 

Withearly dawn lord Marmion rose: 

And first the chapel doors unclose; 

Then, after morning rites were done, 

(A hasty mass from friar John,) 

And knight and squire had broke their fast, 

On rich substantial repast. 

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse : 

Then came the stirrup-cup in course. 

Between the baron and his host, 

No point of courtesy was lost; 

High thanks were by lord Marmion paid. 

Solemn excuse the captain made. 

Till, filing from the gate, had past 

That noble train, their lord the last. 

Then loudly rung the trumpet-call; 

Thundered the cannon from tlie wall, 
And shook the Scottish shore; 

Around the castle eddied slow. 

Volumes of smoke as white as snow. 
And hid its turrets hoar; 



60 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Till they rolled forth upon the air, 
And met the river breezes there, 
VVliich gave again the prospect fair. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO II. 

TO THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, m. a. 

Jlshestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
The scenes are desert now, and bare, 
VVliere flourished Once a forest f;»ir,i 
When these waste glens with copse were lined, 
And peopled with the hart and hind. 
Yon thorn — percliance whose prickly spears 
Have fenced l>im for three hundred years, 
While fell around his green compeers — 
Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell 
The changes of his parent dell, 
Since he, so gray and stubborn now. 
Waved in each breeze a sappling bough; 
Would he could tell how deep the shade, 
A thousand mingled branches made; 
How broad the shadows of the oak, 
How clung the rowan* to the rock. 
And through the foliage showed his head, 
With narrow leaves, and berries red; 
Wliat pines on every mountain sprung, 
O'er every deli what birches hung, 
In every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

" Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, 
"The mighty stag at noontide lay; 
The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, 
(The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) 
With lurching step arotind me prowl, 
And stop against the moon to howl; 
Tlie mountain-boar, on battle set. 
His tusks upon my stem would whet; 
Wliile doe and roe, and red-deer good, 
Have bounded by through gay green-wood. 
Then oft, from Newark's riven tower. 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power: 
A thousand vassals mustered round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; 
And I might see the youth intent, 
Guard every pass with cross-bow bent;' 
And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk; 
And foresters, in green-wood trim. 
Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim, 
Attentive, as the bratchet'sf bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey. 
To slip them as be broke away. 
Tlie startled quarry bounds amain, 
As fast the gallant grey-hounds strain: 
Whistles the arrow from the bow. 
Answers the harquebuss below; 
While all the rocking hills i-eply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry. 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." — 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales. 
Up patidess Ettrick, and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the Outlaw drew his .arrow.* 
But not more blith that sylvan court. 
Than we have been at humbler sport; 
Tliough small our pomp and mean our game, 
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same. 
Uemeniber'st thou my grey-hounds true? 
O'er holt, or hill, there never flew. 
From slip, or leash, there never sprang. 



• Muunlain-ash 



+ Slow-liound. 



More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 

Nor dull, between each merry chase, 

Passed by the intermitted space; 

For we had fair resource in store, 

In Classic, and in Gothic lore: 

We marked each memorable scene, 

And held poetic talk between; 

Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 

But had its legend or its song. 

All silent now — for now are still 

Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill! 

No longer, from thy mountains dun, 

The yeoman hears the well-known gun, 

And, while his honest heart glows warm, 

At thought of his paternal farm. 

Round to his mates a brimmer Alls, 

And drinks, " Tlie chieftain of the hills!" 

No fair}^ forms, in Yarrow's bowers. 

Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers. 

Fair as the elves whom Janet saw, 

By moonlight, dance on Carterhaugh; 

No youthful baron's left to grace 

The forest-sherift''s lonely chase. 

And ape, in manly step and tone. 

The majesty of Oberon: 

And she is gotie, whose lovely face 

Is b\it lier least and lowest grace; 

Though if to Sylphid queen 'twere given. 

To show our earth the charms of heaven. 

She could not glide along the air, 

With form more light, or face more fair. 

No more the widow's deafened ear 

Grows quick, that lady's step to hear: 

At noontide she expects her not. 

Nor busies her to trim the cot; 

Pensive she turns her humming wheel, 

Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal; 

Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread. 

The gentle hand by which they're fed. 

From Yaii" — which hills so closely bind, 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 
Till all his eddying currents boil, — 
Her long-descended lord is gone. 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys. 
Companions of my mountain joys. 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth. 
When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side with what delight. 
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight. 
When, pointing to his aii^ mound, 
I called his ramparts holy ground!* 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak; 
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek. 
Despite the difference of our years, 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys! such feelings pure, 
They will not, cannot long endure; 
Condemned to stem the world's rude tide, 
You may not linger by the side; 
For fate shall thrust you from the shore. 
And passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still. 
Of the lone mountain, and the rill; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 
Wijen fiercer transports shidl be duuil). 
And you will think, right frequently. 
But, well 1 hope, without a sigh. 



• There is on .iliigh moiintaiuous i-ange above the farm 
of Ashestie), a fosse called Wallace's Trench. 



MARMION. 



61 



On tlie free hours that we have spent, 

Ton-ethtT, on the hrown lull's hent. 
Wlien, musing on companions gone, 

We (lonbly feel oursi-lves alone. 

Something, my tVii-nd, we yet may gain, — 

There is a (yleaisure in this pain: 

It sooths tlie love of lonely rest, 

Deep in eacli gentler heart impressed. 

'Tis silent, amid worldly toils. 

And stifled soon hy mental broils; 

IJiit, in a bosom thus prepared, 

Jts still small voice is often heard, 

Whispering a mingled sentiment, 

Twlxt resignation and content. 

Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, 

ty lone St. Mary's silent lake>5 

Thou know'bt it well, — nor fen, nor sedge. 

Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge; 

Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 

At once upon the level brink; 

And just a trace of silver sand 

Marks where the water meets the land. 

Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 

Each hill's huge outline you may view; 

Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 

Nor tree, nor bush, nor bi-ake is there, 

Save where, of land, yon slender line 

Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. 

Yet e'en this nakedness has power, 

And aids the feeling of the hour; 

Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spj% 

Where living thing concealed might lie; 

Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. 

Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell; 

Tiiere's notliing left to fanc3''s guess. 

You see that all is loneliness: 

And silence aids — though the steep hills 

Send to the lake a thousand rills; 

In summer tide, so soft Ibey weep, 

The sound but lulls the ear asleep; 

Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude. 

So stilly is the solitude. 

Nought living meets the eye or ear, 
But well I ween the dead are near; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,* 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
The peasant rests him from his toil, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid. 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 
If age had tamed the passions' strife, 
And fate had cut m)' ties to life, 
Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell. 
And rear again the chaplain's cell, 
Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
Where Milton longed to spend his age. 
'Twere sweet to mark the setting day 
On Bourhope's lonely top decay; 
And, as it faint and feeble died, 
On the broad lake, and mountain's side, 
To Say, " Thus pleasures fade away; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray!" — ■ 
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower. 
And think on Yarrow's faded Flower: 
And when that mountain-sound I heard, 
Which bids us be for storm prepared, 
The distant rustling of his wings. 
As up his force the tempest brings, 
'Twere sweet, ere \et his terrors rave. 
To sit upon the wizard's grave; 
That wizard priest's, whose bones are thrust 



From company of holy dust;* 

On which no sunbeam ever shines— 

(So superstition's creed divines,) 

Thence view the lake, with sullen roar. 

Heave her broad billows to the shore; 

And mark the wild swans mount the gale. 

Spread wide through mist their snowy sail, 

And ever stoop again, to lave 

Their bosoms on the surging wave; 

Then, when against the driving hail, 

No longer might my plaid avail, 

Back to my lonely home i-etire. 

And light my lamp, and trim ray fire: 

There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 

Till the wild tale had all its sway, 

And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 

I heard unearthly voices speak. 

And thought the wizard priest was come, 

To claim again his ancient home! 

And bade my busy fancy range 

To frame him fitting shape and strange. 

Till from the task my brow I cleared. 

And smiled to think that 1 had feared. 

But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, 

(Though but escape from fortune's strife,) 

Something most matchless, good, and wise, 

A great and grateful sacrifice; 

And deem each hour, to musing given, 

A step upon the road to heaven. 
Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease 

Such peaceful solitudes displease: 

He loves to drown his bosom's jar 

Amid the elemental war: 
And my black palmer's choice had been 
Some ruder and more savage scene. 
Like that which frowns round dark Lochskene.' 
There eagles scream from isle to shore; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven, 
Dark mists infect the summer heaven; 
Through the rude barriers of the lake. 
Away its hurrying waters break. 
Faster and whiter dash and curl, 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
Thunders the viewless stream below. 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave. 
Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell. 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. 
And well that palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene. 
Just on the edge, straining his ken. 
To view the bottom of the den, 
W^here, deep, deep down, and far within, 
Toils with the rocks the roaring linn: 
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 
W^hite as the snowy charger's tail. 
Drives down the pass of jvloftatdale. 
MaiTiot, thy harp, on Isis strung. 
To many a Border theme has rung: 
Then list to me, and thou shall know 
Of this mysterious man of wo. 

CANTO II. 

THE CONVENT. 

I. 

' The breeze, wliich swept away the smoke, 
j Round Norham Castle rolled, 
', When all the loud artilkr) spoke, 



62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke, 

As Marmion left the Hold. 
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze, 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 

It freshly blew, and strong, 
Where, from high Wliitby's cloistered pile, 
Bound to saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle,' 

It bore a bark along. 
Upon the gale she stooped her side. 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide. 

As she were dancing home; 
The merry seamen laughed, to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honoured freight; 
For, on the deck, in chair of state, 
The abbess of saint Hilda placed, 
With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 

II. 

'Twas sweet to see these holy maids, 
Ijike birds escaped to green wood shades. 

Their first flight from the cage, 
How timid, and how curious too. 
For all to them was strange and new. 
And all the common sights they view. 

Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail. 

With many a benedicite; 
One at the rippling surge grev*' pale, 

And would for terror pray; 
Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh, 
His round black head, and sparkling eye, 

lleared o'er the foaming spray; 
And one would still adjust her veil, 
Disordered by the summer gale, 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair turned arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom tliere. 
Save two, who ill might pleasure share, — 
The abbess, and the novice Clare. 

III. 

The abbess was of noble blood, 

But early took the veil and hood. 

Ere upon life she cast a look. 

Or knew the world that she forsook. 

Fair too she was, and kind had been 

As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 

For her a timid lover sigh. 

Now knew the influence of her eye. 

Love, to her ear, was but a name, 

Combined with vanity and shame; 

Her hopes, her fears, her joys, wei'e all 

Bounded within the cloister wall: 

The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 

AVas of monastic rule the breacli; 

And her ambition's higliest aim. 

To emulate saint Hilda's fame. 

For this slie gave her ample dower. 

To raise the convent's eastern tower; 

For this, with carving rare and quaint. 

She decked the chapel of the saint; 

And gave the relique-shrine of cost. 

With ivory and gems enibost. 

The poor her convent's bounty blest. 

The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 

IV. 

Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reformed on Benedictine school; 



Her cheek was pale, her form was spare: 
Vigils, and penitence austere 
Had early quenched the light of youth, 
But gentle was the dame in sooth; 
Though, vain of her religious sway, 
She loved to see her maids obey. 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell. 
And the nuns loved their abbess well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame; 
Summoned to Lindisfarn, she came. 
There, with saint Cuthbert's abbot old. 
And Tynemouth's prioress, to hold 
A chapter of saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict. 
On two apostates from the faith, 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 

V. 
Nought say I here of sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair; 
As yet a novice unprofessed. 
Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now dead. 
Or worse, who had dishonoured fled. 
Her kinsman bade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for her land; 
Herself, almost heart-broken now. 
Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
And shroud, within saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 

VI. 
She sate upon the galley's prow. 
And seemed to mark the waves below; 
Nay, seemed so fixed her look and eye. 
To count them as they glided by. 
She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
Far other scene her thoughts recal, — 
A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare. 
Nor wave nor breezes, murmured there; 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand. 
To hide it till the jackalls come. 
To tear it from the scanty tomb. — 
See what a woful look was given. 
As she raised up her eves to heaven ! 

VII, 
Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 
These charms might tame the fiercest breastj 
Harpers have sung, and poets told, 
That he, in fury uncontrolled. 
The shaggy monarch of the wood. 
Before a virgin, fair and good. 
Hath pacified his savage mood. 
But passions in the human frame. 
Oft put the lion's rage to shame; 
And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 
With sorded avarice in league. 
Had practised, with her bowl and knife, 
Against the mourner's harndess life. 
This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 
Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIII. 
And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland; 
Towns, towers, and halls successive rise. 
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk Wearmouth soon behind tlierti lay. 
And Tynemouth's priory and baj^; 
They marked, amid her ti-ees, the hall 
Of Lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 
Rush to the sea through sounding woods; 



MARMION. 



65 



They past the tower of Widderington, 

Mother of many a valiant son; 

At Coquet-isle "their beads they tell 

To the good saint wlio owned the cell; 

Then did tiie Alne attention claim, 

And VVarkworth, proud of Percy's name; 

And next, they crossed themselves, to hear 

The whitening breakers sound so near, 

Wliere, boiling through tlie rocks, they roar 

On Dunstanborougli's caverned shore: 

Thy tow'r, proud Bamborough, mark'd they there; 

Kmg Ida's castle, huge and square, 

From its tall rock look grimlj' down, 

And on the swelling ocean frown; 

Then from the coast they bore away. 

And reached the Holy Island's bay. 

IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain. 
And girdled in the saint's domain: 
For, with the flow and ebb, the style 
Varies from continent to isle; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day. 
The pilgrims to the shrine find way; 
Twice every day, the waves eftace 
Of staves and sandall'd feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley flew. 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The castle, with its battled wall. 
The ancient monastery's hall, 
A solemn, huge, and dak-red pile, 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



In Saxon strength that abbey frowned. 
With massive arches broad and round. 

That rose alternate, row and row^ 

On ponderous columns, short and low, 
Built ere the art was known. 

By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, 

The arcades of an alleyed walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had poured his impious rage in vain; 
And needful was such strength to these, 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
Scourged by the wind's eternal sway, 
Open to rovers fierce as they. 
Which could twelve hundred j'ears withstand 
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style. 
Showed where the spoiler's hand had been; 
Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint. 
And mouldered in his niche the saint. 
And rounded, with consuming power, 
The pointed angles of each tower: 
Yet still entire the abbey stood. 
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon as they neared his turrets strong. 
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. 
And with the sea-wave and tlie wind. 
Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, 

And made harmonious close; 
Then, answering from the sandy shore. 
Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar, 

According chorus rose. 
Down to the haven of the Isle, 
The monks and nuns in order file. 
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim; 



Banner, and cross, and reliques there, 
To meet saint Hilda's maids, they bare; 
And, as they caught the sounds on air. 

They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders, in joyous mood. 
Rushed emulously through the flood, 

To hale the bark to land; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood, 
Signing the cross the abbess stood. 

And blessed them with her hand. 

XII. 

Suppose we now the welcome said. 
Suppose the convent banquet made; 

AH through the holy dome. 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vestal maid might prj'', 
Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye. 

The stranger sisters roam; 
Till fell the evening damp with dew. 
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, 
For there, e'en summer night is chill. 
Then, having strayed and gazed their fill. 

They closed around the fire; 
And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid; for, be it known, 
That their saint's honour is their own. 

XIII. 

Then Whitby's nuns exulting told. 
How to their house three barons bold 

Must menial service do;'' 
While horns blow out a note of shame, 
And monks cry, " Fy upon your name ! 
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game, 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." 
" This, on Ascension-day, each j'ear, 
W^hile labouring on our harbour-pier, 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." 
They told how, in their convent cell, 
A saxon princess once did dwell, 

The lovely Edelfled;9 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone, 

When holy Hilda prayed. 
Themselves, within their holy bound, 
Their stony folds had often foimd. 
They told, how sea-fowls' jjinions fail, 
As over Whitby's towers they sail,'*) 
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint, 
They do their homage to the saint. 

XIV. 

Nor did saint Cuthbert's daughters fail 

To vie with these in holy tale; 

His body's resting-place, of old. 

How oft their patron changed, they told;" 

How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, 

The monks fled forth from Holy Isle; 

O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor. 

From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 

Seven years saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore. 

They rested them in fair Melrose; 

But though, alive, he loved it well. 
Not there his relics might repose; 

For, wondrous tale to tell! 
In his stone-coflin forth he rides, 
(A ponderous bark for river tides,) 

Yet light as gossamer it glides. 
Downward to Tillmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there. 
For southward did the saint repair; 



64 



SCOTT'S POETICAI- WORKS 



Chester-le Street, and Rippon, saw 
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last. 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 

Looks down upon the AVear. 
There, deep in Durham's (iothic shade, 
His relics are in secret laid; 

But none may know the place, 
Save of his holiest servants three, 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 

Who share that wondrous grace. 
XV. 
Who may his miracles declare! 
E'en Scotland's dauntless king, and heir 

(Although with them they led 
Galvvegians, wild as ocean's gale. 
And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, 
And the hold men of Tcviotdale,) 

Before his standard fled. '^ 
'Twas he, to vindicate his reign. 
Edged Alfred's falchion on the i)ane. 
And turned the conqueror back again, '^ 
When, with his Norman bowyer band, 
He came to waste Northumberland. 

XVI. 
But fain saint Hilda's nuns would learn, 
If, on a rock, by Lindisfarn, 
Saint Cutlibert sits, and toils to frame 
The sea-born beads that bear his name:'"' 
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told. 
And said they might his shape behold. 

And hear his anvil sound; 
. A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm, 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame. 
The nuns of Lindisfarn disclaim. 

xvn. 

While round the fire such legends go, 
Far different was the scene of wo, 
Wliere, in a secret aisle beneath, 
Council was held of life and death. 

It was more dark and lone, that vault, 
Than the worst dungeon cell; 

Old Colwulf 13 built it, for his fault. 
In penitence to dwell, 
^Vhen he, for cowl and beads, laid down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den, which, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight. 
Was calledthe vault of penitence, 

Excluding air and light, 
Was, by the pi-elate Sexlielm, mads 
A place of burial, for such dead 
As, having died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the church within. 
'Twas now a place of punishment; 
Whence, if so loud a shriek were sent. 

As reached the upper air, 
The hearers blessed themselves, and said, 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoaned their torments there. 
XVllI. 
But though, in the monastic pile. 
Did of this penitential aisle 

Some vague tradition go, 
Few only, save the abbot, knew 
Where the place lay; itnd still more few 
Were those, who had from him the clew 



" To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blind-fold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung. 
From the rude rock the side-walls sprung; 
The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er, 
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore. 
Were all the pavement of the floor; 
The mildew drops fell one by one. 
With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
A cresset,* in an iron chain, 
Which served to light this drear domain. 
With damp and darkness seemed to strive, 
As if it scarce might keep alive; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
The awful conclave met below. 

XIX. 
There, met to doom in seci'ecy. 
Were placed the heads of convents three; 
All servants of saint Benedict, 
The statutes of whose orders strict 

On iron table lay; 
In long black dress, on seats of stone, 
Behind were these tVu-ee judges shown, 

By the pale cresset's raj': 
The abbess of saint Hilda, there. 
Sate for a space with visage bare, 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
And tear-drops that for pity fell, 

She closely drew her veil: 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, 
By her proud mien and flowing dress. 
Is Tynemouth's haughty prioress,'*' 

And she with awe looks pale: 
And he, that ancient man, whose sight 
Has long been quenched by age's night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone. 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown. 

Whose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cuthbert's abbot is his style; 
For sanctity called, through the isle. 

The saint of Lindisfarn. 
XX. 
Before them stood a guilty pair; 
But, though an equal fate they share, 
Yet one aJone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied; 
The cloke and doublet, loosely tied. 
Obscured her charms, but could not hide. 

Her cap down o'er lier face slie drew; 
And, on her doublet-breast. 

She tried to hide the badge of blue. 
Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the prioress' command, 
A monk undid the silken hand. 

That tied her tresses fair. 
And raised the bonnet from her head. 
And down her slender form they spread. 

In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know, 
Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
Whom the church numbered with the dead. 
For broken vows, and convent fled. 

XXI. 
Wlien thus her face was given to view, 
(Although so pallid was her hue. 
It did a ghastly contrast bear. 
To those bright ringlets, glistering fair,) 
Her look composed, and steady eye. 
Bespoke a matchless constancy. 



' Antique chandtlicr. 



MARMION. 



65 



And there she stood, so calm, and pale, 
That, but her breathing did not fail, 
And motion sliglit of eye and head, 
And of her bosom, warranted, 
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, 
You might have thought a form of wax, 
Wrought to the very life, was there; 
So still she was, so pale, so fair. 

XXII. 

Her comrade was a sordid soul. 
Such as does murder for a meed; 

Who, but of fear, knows no control, 

Because his consience, seared and foul. 
Feels not the import of his deed; 

One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires 

Beyond iiis own more brute desires. 

Such tools the tempter ever needs. 

To do the savagest of deeds; 

For them, no visioned terrors daunt. 

Their nights no fancied spectres haunt; 

One fear with them, of all most base, ; 

The fear of death, — alone finds place. 

This wretch was clad in fi'ock and cowl. 

And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 

His body on the fi.oor to dash. 

And crouch, like hound beneath the lash; 

While his mute partner, standing near. 

Waited her doom without a tear. 

XXITI. 

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek. 
Well might her paleness terror speak, 
P'or there were seen, in that dark wal^ 
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall; — 
Who enters at such griesly door. 
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit moi-e. 
In each a slender meal was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of bread : 
By each, in Benedictine dress, 
Two haggard monks stood motionless; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch. 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch: 
Reflecting back the smoky beam, 
The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were displayed, 
And building tools in order laid. 

XXIV. 

These executioners >vere chose. 
As men who were with mankind foes. 
And, with despite and envy fired. 
Into the cloister had retired; 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 
Strove, by deep penance, to efface 

Of some foul crime the stain; 
For, as the vassals of her will, 
Such men the church selected still. 
As either jo)-ed in doing ill. 
Or thought more grace to gain. 
If, in her cause, they wrestled down 
Feelings tlieir nature strove to own. 
By strange device were they brought there. 
They knew not how, and knew not where.' 

XXV. 

And now that blind old abbot rose. 

To speak the chapter's doom. 
On those the wall was to enclose. 

Alive, within the tomb;'7 
But stopped, because that woful maid, 
(iathering her powers, to speak essayed. 
Twice she essayed, and twice, in vain; 
Her accents might no utterance aain; 



Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 
P'rom her convulsed and quivering lip: 

'Twixt each attempt all was so still, 

You seemed to hear a distant rill — 
'Twas ocean's swells and falls; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to tlie sounding surge so neai", 
A tempest there you scarce could hear; 
So massive were the walls. 
XXVI. 
At length, an effort sent .tpart 
The blood that curdled to her heart, 

And light came to her eye, 
And colour dawned upon her cheek, 
A hectic and a fluttered streak. 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 

By Autumn's stormy sky; 
And when her silence broke at length, 
Still as she spoke, she gathered strength, 

And armed herself to bear; 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy, 

In form so soft and fair. 

XXVII. 

"I speak not to implore j'our grace; 
Well know I, for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue: 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain; 
For if a death of lingering pain. 
To cleanse my^ sins, be penance vain. 

Vain are j'our masses too.— 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil. 
For three long years I bowed my pride, 
A horse-boy in his train to ride; 
And well my folly's meed he gave, 
Who forfeited, to be his slave. 
All here, and all be) ond the grave. — 
He saw young Clara's face more fair. 
He knew her of broad lands the heir. 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore. 
And Constance was beloved no more. 

'Tis an old tale, and often told; 
But, did my tate and wish agree, 

Ne'er had been read, in story old. 

Of maiden true betrayed for gold. 
That loved, or was avenged, like me ! 

XXVIIl. 

" The king approved his favourite's aim; 
In vain a rival barred his claim. 

Whose faith with Clare's was plight. 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — and on they came. 

In mortal lists to fight. 
Their oaths are said, 
Their prayers are prayed. 
Their lances in the rest are laid, 

They meet in mortal shock; 
And hark! the throng, witli thundering cry 
Shout ' Marmion, Marmion, to tiie sky ' 

De Wilton to the block!' 
Say ye, who preach lieaven shall decide. 
When in the lists two champions ride. 

Say, was heaven's justice here? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death. 

Beneath a traitor's spear. 
How false the charge, how true he fell, 
This guilty packet best can tell." — 
Then drew a packet from hei- breast. 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 



66 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXIX. 

"Still was folse Marmion's bridal staid j 
To Whitby's covent fled the maid, 

The hated match to shun. 
* Ho! shifts she thus?' king Henry cried, 
Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride. 
If she were sworn a nun.' 
One way remained — the king's command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land: 
I lingered here, and rescue plann'd 

For Clara and for me: 
This caitift' monk, for gold, did swear, 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair. 
And, by his drugs, my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath. 
Whose cowardice has undone us both. 

XXX. 
" And now my tongue the secret tells. 
Not that remorse my bosom swells. 
But to assm-e my soul, that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed. 
This packet, to the king conveyed. 
Had given him to the headsman's stroke. 
Although my heart that instant broke. — 
Now, men of death, work forth your will, 
For I can suffer, and be still; 
And, come he slow, or come he fast. 
It is but Death who comes at last. 

XXXI. 
" Yet dread me, from my living tomb. 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 
If Marmion's late remorse should wake. 
Full soon such vengeance will he take, 
That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
Had ratlier been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends! 
The altars quake, the crosier bends, 
The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing. 
Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 
Burst open to the sea-wind's sweep; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones. 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty, 
Marvel such relics here should be. " — 

XXXIl. 
Fixed was her look, and stern her air; 
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair; 
The locks, tliat wont her brow to shade. 
Stared up erectly from her head; 
Her figure seemed to rise more high; 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the astonished conclave sate; 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form. 
And listened for tlie avenging storm; 
The judges felt the victim's dread; 
No hand was moved, no word was said. 
Till thus the abbot's doom was given. 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven: — 
" Sister, let thy sorrows cease; 
Sinful brother, part in peace!" 
From that dire dungeon, place of doom. 
Of execution too, and tomb. 

Paced forth tlie judges three; 
Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 
The butcher-work that tliere befel. 
When they had glided from the cell 
Of sin and misery. 



xxxm. 

A hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day; 
But, ere tliey breathed the fresher air. 
They heard the shriekings of despair. 

And many a stifled groan: 
With speed their upward way they take, 
(Such speed as age and fear can make,) 

And crossed themselves for terror's sake, 
As hurrying, tottering on; 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone 
They seemed to hear a dying groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a parting soul. 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; 
To VVarkworth cell the echoes rolled, 
His beads the wakeful hermit told; 
The Bamborough peasant i-aise.d his head. 
But slept ere half a prayer he said; 
So far was heard the mighty knell, 
The stag sprung up on Clieviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind. 
Listed before, aside, behind, 
Tlien couched him down beside the hind. 
And qviaked among the mountain fern, 
To hear tliat sound, so dull and stern. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO IH. 
TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, Esa. 

Ashestid, Ettrick Forest. 
Like April morning clouds, that pass. 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
And imitate, on field and furrow. 
Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north. 
Now in a torrent racing forth. 
Now winding slow its silver train. 
And almost slumbering on the plain; 
Like breezes of the autumn day. 
Whose voice inconstant dies away. 
And ever swells again as fast, 
When tlie ear deems its murmur past; 
Thus various, my romantic tlieme 
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of light and shade's inconstant race; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar. 
Weaving its maze irregular; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through autumn trees; 
Then wild as cloud, or stream, or gale. 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale. 
Need 1 to thee, dear Erskine, tell, 
I love the license all too well. 
In sounds now lowly, and now strong. 
To raise the desultory song? — 
Oft when mid such capricious chime. 
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme. 
To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 
For many an error of the muse; 
Oft hast thou said, " If, still mis-spent. 
Thine hours to poetry are lent: 
Go, and, to tame thy wandering course, 
Quaft'from the fountain at the source; 
Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb, 
Immortal laurels ever bloom: 
Instructive of the feebler bard. 
Still from the grave their voice is heard; 
From them, and from the paths tliey showed, 
Choose honoured guide and practised road; 



MARMION. 



67 



Nor ramble on through brake and maze, 
With harpers rude ot' barbarous days. 

" Or, deem'st thou not our later time, 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable hearse? 
What! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
When valour bleeds for liberty ? 
Oh, hero of that glorious time, 
W^hen, with unrivalled light sublime, — 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her foes— 
The star of Brandenburgh arose ! 
Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
For ever quenched in Jena's stream. 
Lamented chief! — It was not given. 
To thee to change tlie doom of heaven, 
And crush that dragon in its birth, 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented chief! — not thine the power, 
To save in that presumptuous hour. 
When Prussia hurried to the field, 
'And snatched the spear, but left the shield! 
A''alour and skill 'twas thine to try. 
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 
Ill had it seemed tliy silver hair 
The last, the bitterest pang to share, 
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, 
And birtlirights to usurpers given; 
Thy lands, tliy children's wrongs to feel. 
And witness woes tliou could'st not heal! 
On thee relenting heaven bestows 
For honoured life an honoured close; 
And when revolves, in time's sure change, 
The hour of Germany's revenge. 
When, breatliing fury for her sake, 
Some new Arminius shall awake. 
Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 
To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb. 

" Or of the Red-Cross hero teach, 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach: 
Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
The brand, tlie bridle, or the oar; 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls. 
Which the grim Turk, besmeared with blood. 
Against the invincible made good; 
Or that, whose tliundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake, 
When stubborn Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
On the warped wave their death-game played; 
Or that, where vengeance and affright 
Howled round the father of the fight. 
Who snatched, on Alexandria's sand. 
The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that rung 
From the wild harp, which silent hung, 
By silver Avon's holy shore. 
Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er; 
When she, the bold enchantress, came. 
With fearless hand and heart on flame ! 
From the pale willow snatched the treasure. 
And swept it with a kindred measure. 
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Montforl's hate and Basil's love. 
Awakening at the inspired strain. 
Deemed their own Shakspeare lived again." 

Tny friendship thus thy judgment wronging. 
With praises, not to me belonging. 



In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
Would'st thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed 
That secret power by all obeyed. 
Which warps not less the passive mind, 
Its source concealed or undefined; 
Whether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth. 
One with our feeliiTgs and our powers. 
And rather part of us than ours; 
Or whether fitlier. termed the sway 
Of habit, formed in early day' 
Howe'er derived, its force confessed 
Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
And drags us on by viewless chain. 
While taste and reason plead in vain. 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why. 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky. 
He seeks not, eager to inhale. 
The freshness of the mountain gale, 
Content to rear his whitened wall 
Beside the dank and dull canaP 
He'll say, from youth he loved to see 
The white sail gliding by the tree. 
Or see yon weather-beaten hind. 
Whose sluggish herds before him "wind, 
Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern clime and kindred speak; 
Through England's laughing meads he goes. 
And England's wealth around him flows; 
Ask, if it would content him well. 
At ease in these gay plains to dwell. 
Where Iiedge-rows spread a verdant screen. 
And spires and forests intervene. 
And the neat cottage peeps between? 
No, not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range; 
Nor for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis gray and Garry's lake. 

Thus, while 1 ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charmed me yet a child. 
Rude though they be, still with the chime, 
Return the thoughts of early time; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. 
Which charmed my fiincy's wakening hour. 
Though no liroad river swept along 
To claim, ])erchance, heroic song; 
Though sighed no groves in summer gale. 
To prompt of love a softer tale; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed; 
Yet was poetic impulse given. 
By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild. 
Where naked clift's were rudely piled; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower grew. 
And honey-suckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all his round surveyed; 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
The mightiest work of human power; 
And marvelled, as the aged hind 
With some strange ta^e bewitched my mind, 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurred their horse, 
Their southern rapine to renew. 
Far in the distant Cheviot's blue. 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And home returning, filled the hall 

With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. — 

Methought that still with trump and clang 

The gate-way's broken arches rang; 

Methought grim features, seamed with scars, 

Glared ihrougli the window's rusty bars. 

And ever, by the winter hearth. 

Old tales 1 heard of woe or mirth. 

Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms, 

Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; 

Of patriot battles, won of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold; 

Of later fields of feud and fight. 

When, pouring from tlieir highland height, 

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 

Had swept the •scarlet ranks away. 

While stretched at length upon the floor, 

Again I fought each combat o'er, 

Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 

The mimic ranks of war displayed; 

And onward still the Scottish lion bore, 

And still the scattered Southron fled before. 

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace, 
Anew, each kind familiar face, 
That brightened at our evening fire; 
From tiie thatched mansion's gray-haired sire, 
Wise witliout learning, plain and good, 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood; 
Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen. 
Showed what in youth its glance had been; 
Whose doom discoi'ding neighbours sought, 
Content with equity unbought; 
To him the venerable priest. 
Our frequent and familiar guest, 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft 1 broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke: 
For 1 was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-willed imp, a grandame's child; 
But, half a plague, and half a jest. 
Was still endured, beloved, carest. 

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
The classic poet's well-conned task? 
Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill 
Let the wild heathbell flourish still; 
Cherish the tulip, prune tl>e vine, 
But freely let the woodbine twine. 
And leave untrimmed the eglantine: 
Nay, my friend, nay — since oft thy praise 
Hath given fresh vigour to ray lays. 
Since oft thy judgment could refine 
My flattened thought, or cumbrous line. 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 
And in the minstrel spare the friend; 
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale! 

CANTO HI. 

THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 

I. 

The livelong day lord Marmion rode: 
The mountain-path the Palmer showed; 
By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
They might not choose the lowland i-oad. 
For the Merse forayers Were abroad, 
Who, fired with hate and tHirst of prey, 
Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down; 



On wing of jet, from his repose 

In the deep heath, the black-cock rose; 

Sprung from the gorse the timid roe. 

Nor waited for the bending bow; 

And when the stony path began. 

By wluch the naked peak they wan. 

Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 

The noon had long been passed before 

They gained the height of Lammermoor; 

Thence winding down tlie northern way. 

Before them, at the close of day. 

Old Giftbrd's towers and hamlet lav. 

II. 
No summons calls them to the tower. 
To spend the hospitable hour. 
To Scotland's camp the lord was gone. 
His cautious dame, in bower alone, 
Dreaded her castle to unclose, - 
So late, to unknown friends or foes. 

On through the hamlet as they paced. 

Before a porcli, whose front was graced 

Willi bush and flaggon trimly placed, 
Ijord Marmion drew his i-ein: 

The village inui seemed large, though rude; 

Its cheerful fire and hearty food 
Might well relieve his train. 
Down from their seats the hprsemen spi'ang, 
Witii jingling spin's the court-yard rang; 
Tliey bind their horses to the stall. 
For forage, food, and firing call. 
And various clamour fills the hall; 
Weigliing the labour with the cost. 
Toils every where the bustling host. 

III. 
Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze. 
Through the rude hostel might you gaze; 
Might see, where in dark nook aloof. 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer; 
Of sea fowl dried, and solands store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar. 

And savoury haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide; 
Above, around il, and beside. 

Were tools for housewives' hand; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day, 
The implements of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate. 
And viewed, arpund the blazing hearth, 
His followers mix in noisy mirtii. 
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, 
From ancient vessels ranged aside, 
Full actively their host supplied. 

IV. 
Theirs was the glee of martial breast. 
And laughter theirs at little jest; 
And oft lord Marmion deigned to aid. 
And mingle in the mirth they made: 
For tliough, with men of high degree. 
The proudest of the proud was he. 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey. 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; 
With open hand, and brow as free. 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy, 
Ever the first to scale a tower. 
As venturous in a lady's bower:^ 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
I From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 



MARMrON. 



69 



Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 

Itight opposite the Palmer stood: 
His thin (lark visage seen but half, 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still fixed on Marmion was his look, 
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 

Strove by a frown to quell; 
But not for that, though more than once 
Full met thgir stern encountering glance, 

The Palmer's visagt, fell. 

VI. 

By fits less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud; 
For still as squire and archer stared 
On that dark face and matted beard. 

Their glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence drear, 
Unbroke, save wlien in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear. 

Thus whispered forth his mind: 
" Saint Mary! saw'st thou ere such sight? 
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright. 
Whene'er the fire-brand's fickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our lord he sets liis eye; 
For his best palfrey, would not I 

Endure that sullen scowl." — 

VII. 

But Marmion, as to chase the awe 

Which thus had quelled their heai'ts, who saw 

The ever-varying fire-light show 

That figure stern and face of woe, 

Now called upon a squire: — 
" Fitz-Eustace, knovv'st thou not some lay, 
To speed the lingering night away? 

We slumber by the fire." 
VIII. 
" So please you," thus the youth rejoined, 
" Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear. 
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike. 
And wake the lover's lute alike; 
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush; 
No niglitingale her love-lorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be, 
Detains from us his melody. 
Lavished on rocks, and billows stern, 
Or duller monks of Lindisfern. 
Now must I venture, as 1 may. 
To sing his favourite roundelay." 

IX. 
A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 
The air he chose was wild and sad; 
Such have 1 heard, in Scottish land. 
Rise from the busy harvest band. 
When falls before the mountaineer. 
On lowland plains, the ripened ear. 
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong. 
Now a wild chorus swells the song: 
Oft have I listened, and stood still. 
As it came softened up the hill. 
And deemed it the lament of men 
Who languish'd for their native glen; * 
And thought how sad would be such sound. 
On Susquehannali's swampy ground, 
Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake. 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. 



Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain. 
Recalled fair Scotland's hills again ! 

X. 

SONG. 
Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden^'s breast, 

Parted for ever? 
Where, through groves deep and hi^h. 

Sounds the far billow. 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow. 

■ ■ CHORUS. ^ 

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. 
There, through the summer day. 

Cool streams are laving; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are bougiis waving; 
There, thy rest slialt thou take. 

Parted for ever. 
Never again to wake. 

Never, O never. 

CHORUS. 

Eleii loro, &c. Never, O never. - 

XI. 

Where shall the traitor rest. 

He, the deceiver, 
Wiio could win maiden's breast. 

Ruin, and leave her? 
In the lost battle. 

Borne down by the flying. 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleit loro, &c. There shall he be lying. 
Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted. 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonour sit 

By his grave ever; 
Blessing shall hallow it, — 

Never, O never. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never. 

xn. 

It ceased, the melancholy sound. 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear. 
And plained as if disgaace and ill. 
And shameful death, were near. 
He drew his mantle past his face, 

Between it and the band, 
And rested with his head a space, 
Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not; but I ween. 
That, could their import have been seen. 
The meanest groom in all the hall. 
That e'er tied courser to a stall. 
Would scarce have wished to be their prey, 
For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 

XIII. 
High minds, of native pride and force. 
Most deeply feel tiiy pangs. Remorse ! 
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have— 
Thou art the torturer of the brave! 
Yet fatal strengtli tliey boast, to steel 
Tlieir minds to bear the wounds they feel. 



70 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Even wliile they -writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
P'or soon lord Marmion raised his head, 
And, smiling, to Filz-Eustace said, — 
" Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, 
Seemed in mine ear a deatli-peal rung. 
Such as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul? 
Say, what may this portend?"— 

I'hen first the palmer silence broke 
(The live-long day he had not spoke,) 

" The death of a dear friend."^ 

XIV. 

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity; 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 
Even from his king, a haughty look; 
Whose accent of command controlled, 
In camps, the boldest of the bold — 
Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now. 
Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow: 

For either in the tone, 
Or something in the palmer's look. 
So full upon his conscience strook. 

That answer he found none. 
Thus oft it haps, that when withia 
They shrink at sense of secret sin, 

A feather daunts the brave, 
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, 
And proudest princes veil their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 
XV. 
Well might he falter! — by his aid 
Was Constance Beverly betrayed; 
Not that he augur'd of the doom, 
Which on tlie living closed the tomb: 
But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid; 
And wroth, because, in wild despair. 
She practised on the life of Clare; 
Its fugitive the church he gave. 
Though not a victim, but & slave; 
And deemed restraint in convent strange 
Would hide her wrongs and her revenge. 
Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer. 
Held Romish thunders idle fear; 
Secure his pardon lie might hold. 
For some slight mulct of penance gold. 
Thus judging, he gave secret way. 
When the stern priests surprised their prey; 
His train but deemed the favourite page 
Was left behind, to spare his age; 
Or other if they deemed, none dared 
To mutter wiiatlie thought and heard: 
Wo to tiic vassal, wlio durst pry 
Into lord Marmion's privacy ! 

XVI. 

His conscience slept — he deemed her well. 
And safe secured in distant cell; 
But, wakened by her favourite lay. 
And that strange palmer's boding say. 
That fell so ominous and drear. 
Full on the object of his fear. 
To aid remorse's venomed throes, 
Dark tales of convent vengeance rose; 
And Constance, late betrayed and scorned 
All lovely on his soul returned; 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 
She left her convent's peaceful wall. 
Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute. 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit. 



Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
Hid feai's and blushes in his arms. 

XVll. 

" Alas!" he thought, " how changed that mien! 

How changed these timid looks have been. 

Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 

Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes! 

No more of virgin teiTor speaks 

The blood that mantles in her cheeks; 

Fierce, and unfeminine, are there. 

Frenzy for joy, for grief, despair; 

And 1 the cause — for whom were given 

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven! 

"Would," thought he, as tlie picture grows, 

" I on its stalk had left the rose! 

Oh why should man's success remove 

The very charms that wake his love! 

Her convent's peaceful solitude 

Is now a prison harsh and rude; 

And, pent within the narrow cell. 

How will her spirit chafe and swell! 

How brook the stern monastic laws! 

The penance how — and I the cause! 

Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse!"— 

And twice he rose to cry " to horse!" 

And twice his sovereign's mandate came, 

Like damp upon a kindling flame; 

And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 

Slie should be safe, though not at large ' 

They durst not, for their island, shred 

One golden ringlet from her head. " — 

XVIII. 

While tlms in Marmion's bosom strove 

Repentance and reviving love. 

Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway 

I've seen Loch Vennacliar obe)'. 

Their host the palmer's speech had heard, 

And, talkative, took up the word: — 

" Ay, reverend pilgrim, you, who stray 

From Scotland's simple land away, 
To visit realms afar. 

Full often learn the art to know 

Of future weal, or future wo. 
By word, or sign, or star. 
Yet miglit a knight his fortune hear. 
If, knight like, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence; — if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet-legend told. " — 
These broken words the menials move 
(For marvels still the vulgar love;) 
And, Marmion giving license cold. 
His tale tlie host thus gladly told. 

XIX. 

THE host's TAXE. 

" A clerk could tell what years have flown 

Since Alexander filled our throne 

(Third monarch of that warlike name,) 

And eke the time when here he came 

To seek sir Hugo, then our lord: 

A braver never drew a sword; 

A wiser never, at tlie hour 

Of midnight, spoke the word of power; 

The same, whom ancient records call 

The founder of the Goblin-Hall.s 

I would, sir knight, your longer stay 

Gave you that cavern to survey. 

Of lofty roof, and ample size. 

Beneath the castle deep it lies: 

To hew the living rock profound, 

The floor to pave, the arch to round. 



MARMION. 



71 



There never toiled a mortal arm, 
It all was wrought by word and charm; 
And I have heard my grandsire say, 
That the wild clamour and affray 
Of those dread artisans of hell, 
Who laboured under Hugo's spell, 
Sounded as loud as ocean's war, 
Among the caverns of Dunbar. 

XX. 
" The king lord Giftbrd's castle sought, 
Deep labouring with uncertain thought: 
Even tlien he mustered alj his host. 
To meet upon the western coast; 
p'or Norse and Danish galleys plied 
Their oars within the Frith of Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trim, 
Above Norweyan warriors grim,'* 
Savage of heart, and large of limb; 
Threatening both continent and isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunningham, and Kyle. 
Lord Giflord, deep beneath the ground, 
Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 
And tarried not his garb to change, 
Kut, in his wizard habit strange, 5 
Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight! 
His mantle lined with fox-skins white; 
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 
A pointed cap, such as of yore 
Clerks say that Pliaroah's magi wore; 
His shoes were marked with cross and spell, 
Upon his breast a pentacle;^ 
His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 
Or, as some tell, of dead-man's skin. 
Bore many a planetary sign, 
Combust, and retrograde, and trine; 
And in his hand he held, prepared, 
A naked sword without a guard. 

XXI. 
" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had marked strange lines upon his face; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim; 
His eyesight dazzled seemed, and dim. 
As one unused to upper day; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, sir knight, the griesly sire, 
In this unwonted wild attire; 
Unwonted, — for traditions run, 
He seldom thus beheld tlie sun. 
' I know,' he said, — his voice was hoarse. 
And broken seemed its hollow force, — 
* 1 know the cause, although untold, 
AVhy the king seeks his vassal's hold: 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or wo; 
But yet if strong his arm and heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 

XXLl. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud. 
Who ride upon the racking cloud. 
Can read, in fixed or wandering star, 
The issue of events afar. 
But still their sullen aid withhold, 
Save when by mightier force controlled. 
Such late I summoned to my hall: 
And though so potent was the call, 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
1 deemed a refuge from the spell; 
Yet, obstinate in silence still. 
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
But thou, — who little knowest thy might, 
As born upon that blessed night, 



When yawning graves, and dying groan. 

Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, — T 

With untaught valour shalt compel 

Response denied to magic spell. ' — 

' Gramercy,' quoth our monarch free, 

' Place him but front to front with me, 

.\nd, by this good and honoured brand, 

The gift of Coeur de-Lion's hand, — 

Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, 

The demon shall a buffet bide.' 

His bearing bold the wizard viewed. 

And thus, well Y»leased, his speech renewed:- 

' There spoke the blood of Malcohn! — mark: 

Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark. 

The rampart seek, whose circling crown 

Crests the ascent of yonder down: 

A southern entrance shalt thou find; 

There hault, and there thy bugle wind, 

And trust thine elfin foe to see. 

In guise of thine worst enemy: 

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — 

Upon him! and Saint George to speed! 

If he go down, thou soon shalt know 

Whate'er these airy sprites can show; — 

If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 

I am no waiTant for thy life. ' — 

XXIIL 

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 
Alone, and armed, forth rode the king 
To that old camp's deserted round: 
Sir knight, you well might mark the mound. 
Left hand the town, — the Pictish i-ace, 
The trench, long since, in blood did trace; 
The moor around is brown and bare. 
The space within is green and fair. 
The spot our village children know, 
For there the earliest wild flowers grow; 
But wo betide the wandering wiglit. 
That treads its circles in the night. 
Tlie breadth across, a bowsliot clear, 
Gives ample space for full career; 
Opposed to the four points of heaven. 
By four deep gaps are entrance given. 
The southernmost our monarch past, 
Halted, and blew a gallant blast; 
And on the north, within the ring. 
Appeared the form of England's king, 
Who then, a thousand leagues afar. 
In Palestine waged holy war: 
Yet arms like England's did he wield. 
Alike the leopards in the sliield, 
Alike his Syrian courser's frame. 
The rider's length of limb the same: 
Long afterwards did Scotland know, 
Fell Edward* was her deadliest foe. 

XXIV. 

" The vision made our monarch start. 
But soon he manned his noble heart. 
And, in the first career they ran. 
The elfin knight fell, horse and man; 
Yet did a splinter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance. 
And raised the skin — a puny wound. 
The king, light leaping to the ground. 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain, 
Memorial of the Danish war; 



• Edward I, suruamed Longshanks. 



72 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandished war-axe wield, 
And strike proud Haco from his carj 
While all around the shadowy kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cowered their wings. 
Tis said, that, in that awful nigiit, 
Remoter visions met Ids sight, 
I'ore-showing future conquests far, 
When our sons' sons wage northern war; 
A royal city, tower, and spire. 
Reddened the midnight sky with fire. 
And shouting crews her navy bore 
Triumphant to the victor shore. 
Such signs may learned clerks explain. 
They pass the wit of simple swain. 

XXV. 

" The joyful king turned home again. 
Headed his host, and quelled tlie Dane; 
But yearly, Avhen returned the night 
Of his strange combat with tlie sprite. 

His wound must bleed and smart; 
Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start.' 
Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
King Alexander iills his grave. 

Our lady give liira rest! 
Yet still the mighty spear and sliield 
The elfin warrior doth wield, 

Upon the brown hill's breast;'^ 
And many a knight hath proved his chance. 
In the charmed ring to break a lance. 

But all have foully sped; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. — 

Gentles, my tale is said." — • 

XXVI. 

The quaiglis* were deep, the liquor strong. 
And on tlie tale the yeoman-throng. 
Had made a comment sage and long. 

But Marmion gave a sign; 
And, vvitli their lord, the squires retire; 
The rest, around tlie hostel fire. 

Their drowsy limbs recline; 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
The quiver and the targe were laid. 
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, 
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore: 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange. 

XXVH. 

Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay; 
Scarce, by the ])ale moonlight, were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green: 
Ligiitly he dreamt, as youth will dream. 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread his slumber broke. 
And close beside him, when he woke. 
In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. 
Stood a tall form, with nodding plume; 
But, ere iiis dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marmion's voice he knew. 

XXVIII. 

— " Fitz-Eustace! rise, — I cannot rest; 
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, 



• A wooden cup, composed of staves hooped together. 



And graver thoughts have chafed ray mood. 

The air must cool my feverish blood; 

And fain would I ride forth, to see 

The scene of elfin chivalry. 

Arise, and saddle me my steed, 

And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 

Thou dost not rouse tliese (h-owsy slaves; 

I would not that the prating knaves 

Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 

That I could credit such a tale." 

Then softly down the steps they slid, 

Eustace the stable-door undid. 

And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed. 

While, whispering, thus the baron said:^ 

XXIX. 

" Did'st never, good my j'outh, hear tell 

That on the hour when I was born, 
St. George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 
Down from his steed of marble fell, 

A weary wight forlorn? 
The flattering chaplains all agree, 
The champion left Ids steed to me. 
I would, the omen's trutli to show. 
That I could meet this elfin foe! 
Hlith would I battle, for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite: — 
Vain thouglit! for elves, if elves there be. 
An empty race, by fount or sea, 
To dashing waters dance and sing. 
Or round the green oak wheel their ring."— 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad. 
And marked him pace the village road. 
And listened to his horse's tramp. 

Till, by the lessening sound. 

He judged that of the Pictish camp 
Lord Marmion sought the round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes, 
That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel what the church believed,— 
Should, stirred by idle tale. 
Ride forth in silence of the night. 
As hoping half to meet a sprite. 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know. 
That passions, in contending flow 

Unfix the strongest mind; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee. 
We welcome fond credulit)% 

Guide confident, though blind. 

XXXI. 

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
But, patient, waited till he heard, 
At distance, pricked to utmost speed. 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 

Come town-ward rushing on: 
First, dead, as if on turf it trod. 
Then clattering on the village road. 
In other pace than forth he yode,* 

Returned lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from sella, 
And, in his haste, well nigh he fell; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw, 
And spoke no word as he withdrew: 
But yet the moonlight did betray. 
The falcon crest was soiled with clay; 



Used by old poets for went. 



MARMION. 



7S 



And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see. 
By stains upon the charger's knee. 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his iboting sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous signs, 
At length to rest the squire reclines — 
Broken and short; for still, between. 
Would dreams of terror intervene: 
Eustace did ne'er so blithly mark 
The first notes of the moruing lark. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO IV. 
TO JAMES SKENE, Esa. 

Aihestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
An ancient minstrel sagely said, 
*' Where is the life which late we led?" 
That motely clown, in Arden wood, 
Whom humorous Jacjues with envy viewed, 
Not even that clown could amplify. 
On this trite text, so long as I. 
Eleven years we now ruay tell. 
Since we have known each other well; 
Since, riding side by side, our hand 
First drew the voluntary brand; 
And sure, through many a varied scene, 
Unkindness never came between. 
Away these winged years have flown. 
To join the mass of ages gone; 
And though deep marked, like all below, 
With chequered shades of joy and wo; 
Though thou o'er realms, and seas hast ranged, 
Marked cities lost, and empires changed, 
While here, at home, my naiTower ken 
Somewhat of manners saw, and men; 
Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, 
Fevered the progress of these years. 
Yet now days, weeks, and months, but seem 
The recollection of a dream; 
So still we glide down to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 
Even now it scarcely seems a day, 
Since first 1 turned this idle lay; 
A task so often thrown aside. 
When leisure graver cares denied. 
That now, November's dreary gale. 
Whose voice inspired my opening tale. 
That same November gale once more 
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 
Their vexed boughs streaming to the sky, 
Once more our naked birches sigh, 
And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 
Have donn'd their wintry shrouds again; 
And mountain dark, and flooded mead, 
Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
Earlier than wont along the sky, 
Mixed with the rack, the snow-mists fly; 
The shepherd, who, in summer sun, 
Has something of our envy won. 
As thou with pencil, I with pen. 
The features traced of hill and glen; 
He who, outstretched the livelong day. 
At ease among the heath-flowers lay, 
Viewed the light clouds with vacant look. 
Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 
Or idly busied him to guide 
His angle o'er the lessened tide;— 
At midnight now, the snowy plain 
Finds sterner labour for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamless sun, 
Through heavy vapours dank and dun; 



When the tired ploughman, dry and warm. 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
Hurling the hail and sleeted rain. 
Against the casement's tinkling pane; 
The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, 
To shelter in the brake and rocks, 
Are warnings whicii the shepherd ask 
To dismal, and to dangerous task. 
Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain. 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
Till, dark above and white below. 
Decided drives the flaky snow. 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and whine. 
To leave the hearth his dogs repine; 
Whistling and cheering them to aid. 
Around his back he wreathes the plaid: 
His flock he gathers, and he guides 
To open downs and mountain sides, 
Wiiere fiercest though the tempest blow. 
Least deeply lies the drift below. 
The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, 
Stittens his locks to icicles; 
Oft he looks back, while, streaming far. 
His cottage window seems a star, — 
Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
Turns patient to the blast again. 
And, facing to the tempest's sweep, 
Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. 
If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 
Benumbing death is in the gale; 
His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
Close to the liut, no more his own. 
Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
The morn may find the stiflened swain;! 
The widow sees, at dawning pale. 
His orphans raise their feeble wail; 
And, close beside him, in the snow. 
Poor YaiTow, partner of their wo. 
Couches upon his master's breast, 
And licks his cheek, to break his rest. 

Who envies now the shepherd's lot. 
His healtiiy fare, his rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood tree, 
His rustic kirn's* loud revelry. 
His native hill-notes, tuned on high. 
To Maiion of the blithsorae eye; 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed. 
And all Arcadia's golden creed? 

Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene? 
Our youthful summer oft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age: 
As he, the ancient thief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy; 
But Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 
Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
Then happy those — since each must drain 
His share of pleasure, share of pain. 
Then happy those, beloved of heaven. 
To whom the mingled cup is given; 
Whose lenient sorrows find relief. 
Whose joys are chastened by their grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 
When thou of late wert doomed to twine, — ■ 
Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her sire had smiled. 
And blessed the union of his child. 



' The Scottish harvest-home. 



74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOllKS. 



When love must change its joyous cheer, 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions, next his end, 
Speak more the father than the friend: 
Scarce had lamented Forbes paid^ 
The tribute to his minstrel's shade; 
The tale of friendship scarce was told, 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 
Far we may search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind ! 
But not around his honoured urn, 
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried. 
Pour at his name a bitter tide; 
And frequent falls the graleful dew. 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
"The widow's shield, the or[)han's stay." 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
"Thy father's friend forget thou not:" 
And grateful title may i plead. 
For many a kindly word and deed. 
To bring my tribute to his grave: — 
'Tis little — but 'tis all I have. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls our summer walks again; 
When, doing nought, — and, to speak true. 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wild unbounded hills we ranged. 
While oft our talk its topic changed, 
And, desultory as our way. 
Ranged, unconfined, from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance. 
No effort made to break its trance. 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence too; 
Tiiou gravely labouring to portray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray; 
I spelling o'er, with much delight. 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, ycleped the White. 
At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire. 
Jealous, each other's motions viewed. 
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
The laverock whistled from the cloud; 
The stream was lively, but not loud; 
From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head: 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossomed bough, than we. 

And blithsome niglits, too, have been ours. 
When winter stript the summer's bowers. 
Careless we heard, what now I hear. 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay, 
And ladies tuned the lovely lay; 
And he was held a laggard soul, 
Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl. 
Then Vie, whose absence we deplore. 
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore. 
The longer missed, bewailed the more; 

And thou, and I, and dear loved R , 

And one whose name 1 may not say, — 

For not Mimosa's tender tree 

Shrinks sooner from tlie touch than he, — 

In merry chorus well combined. 

With laughter drowned the whistling wind. 



Mirth was within; and care, without. 

Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 

Not but amid the buxom scene 

Some grave discourse might intervene — 

Of the good horse that bore him best. 

His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest: 

For, like mad Tom's,* our chiefest care, 

VVas horse to ride, and weapon wear. 

Such nights we've had; and, tliough the game 

Of manhood be more sober tame. 

And tliough the field day, or the drill. 

Seem less important now — ^yet still 

Such may we hope to share again. 

The sprightly thought inspires my strain! 

And mark, how, like a horseman true, 

Lord Marmion's mareh I thus renew. 



TlIS CAJIP. 

I. 

Eustace, I said, did blithly mark 
The first notes of tlie merry lark. 
The lark sung slirill, the cock he crew, 
And loudly Alarmion's bugles blew. 
And, with their light and lively call. 
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 

Whistling they came, and free of heart. 
But soon their mood was changed; 

Complaint was heard on every part 
Of something disarranged. 
Some clamoured loud for armour lost; 
Some brawled and wrangled with the host; 
" By Bocket's bones," cried one, " I fear 
That some false Scot has stolen my spear!" 
Young Blount, lord Marmion's second sijuLi-e, 
Found his steed wet with sweat and mire; 
Although the rated horse-boy sware, 
Last night he dressed him sleek and fair. 
While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, 
Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 
" Help, gentle Blount! help, comrades all! 
Bevis lies dying in his stall: 
To Mannion wlio the plight dare tell. 
Of the good steed he loves so well?" — 
Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 
The charger panting on his straw; 
Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — 
" What else but evil could betide. 
With that cursed palmer for our guide.' 
Better we had through mire and bush 
Been lantern-led by "friar Rush, "^f 

II. 

Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed. 

Nor wholly understood. 
His comrade's clamorous plaints suppressed; 

He knew lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought. 
And found deep plunged in gloomy thought. 

And did his tale display 
Simply, as if he knew of nought 

To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmion gave attention cold. 
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — ■ 
Passed them as accidents of course. 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 



in. 

Young Henry Blount, moanwhile, the cost 
Had reckoned with their Scottish host; 



i 



' See King Lear. 



t Mias Will o' ihe Wisp. 



MARMION. 



75 



And as the charge he cast and paid, 
"111 thou deserv'st tliy hire," he said^ 
♦' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight? 
Fairies have ridden him all the night, 

And left him in a foam! 
I trust that soon a conjuring hand, 
With English cross, and hlazing brand, 
Shall drive the devils from this land, 

To their infernal home: 
For in this haunted den, I trow, 
All night they trampled to and fro."— 
The laughing host looked on the hire, — 
" Gramercy, gentle southern squire, 
And if thou com'st among the rest. 
With Scottish broad sword to be blest. 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, . 
And short the pang to undergo." — 
Here stayed their talk, — for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The palmer showing forth the way. 
They journeyed all the morning day. 

IV. 

The green-sward way was smooth and good, 

Through Hurabie's and through Saltouu's wood; 

A forest glade, Avhich, varying still, 

Here gave a view of dale and hill; 

There narrower closed, till over head 

A vaulted screen the branches made. 

" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said; 

" Such as where errant-knights might see 

Adventures of high chivalry; 

Might meet some damsel flying fast. 

With hair unbound, and looks aghast; 

And smooth and level course were here. 

In her defence to break a spear. 

Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells; 

And oft, in such, the story tells, 

The damsel kind, from danger freed, 

Did grateful pay her champion's meed."— 

He spoke to cheer lord Marmion's mind; 

Perchance to show his lore designed; 
For Eustace much had pored 

Upon a huge romantic tome. 

In the h<»ll-window of his home. 

Imprinted at the antique dome 
Of Caxton or De Worde. 

Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain. 

For Marmion answei-ed nought again. 

V. 

Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill, 
In notes prolonged by wood and hill, 

Were heard to echo far; 
Each ready archer grasped his bow, 
But by the flourish soon they know. 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeraan's land. 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band 

Some opener ground to gain; 
And scarce a furlong had they I'ode, 
When thinner trees, receding, showed 

A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade 
The halting troop a line had made, 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 

VI. 

First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
So late the forest echoes rang; 
On prancing steeds they forward pressed. 
With scarlet mantle, azure vest; 



Each at his trump a banner wore, 
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon boi'e; 
Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came, 
In painted tabards, proudly showing 
Gules, argent, or, and azure glowing. 
Attendant on a king-at-arms, 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held. 
That feudal strife had often quelled. 
When wildest its alarms. 

VII. 

He was a man of middle age; 
In aspect manlj', grave, and sage, 

As on king's errand come; 
But in the glances of his eye, 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home; 
The flash of that satiric rage, 
VVhich, bursting on the early Stage, 
Branded the vices of the age. 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; ■ 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-i)lume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast. 

Silk housings swept the ground, 
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 

Embroidered round and round. 
The double tressure might you see. 

First by Achaius borne. 
The thistle, and the fleur-de-lis. 

And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the king's armorial coat, 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 
In living colours blazoned brave, 
The lion, which his title gave. 
A train, which well beseemed his state, 
But all unarmed, around him wait. 

Still is thy name in high account. 
And still thy verse has charms. 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord lion-king-at-arms I^ 

Vlll. 

Down from his horse did Marmion sprmg. 

Soon as he saw the lion-king; 

For well the stately baron knew 

To him such courtesy was due. 

Whom royal James himself had crowned. 
And on his temples placed the round 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem; 
And wet his brow with hallowed wine. 
And on his finger given to shine 
The emblematic gem. 

Their mutual greetings duly made. 

The lion thus his message said: — 

"Though Scotland's king hath deeply swore 

Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 

And strictly hath forbid resort 

From England to his royal court; 

Yet, for he knows lord Marmion's name. 

And honours much his warlike fame. 

My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack 

Of courtesy, to turn him back; 

And, by his order, I, your guide. 

Must lodging fit and fair provide, 

Till finds king James mtet time to see 

The flower of English chivalry. " 

IX. 

Though inly chafed at this delay, 
Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 



re 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The palmer, his mysterious guide, 
Beholding thus his place supplied, ] 

Sought to take leave in vain: 
Strict was the lion-king's command, 
That none who rode in Marmion's band 

Should sever from the train: 
" England has here enow of spies 
In lady Heron's witching eyes:" 
To Marchmount thus, apart, he said. 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right hand path they now decline. 
And trace against the stream the Tyne. 

X. 
At length up that wild dale they wind, 

Where Crichtouii-castle^ crowns the bank; 
For there the lion's care assigned 

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 
That castle rises on the steep 

Of the green vale of Tyne; 
And far beneatli, wliere slow they creep 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 
Where alders moist, and willows weep. 

You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in different ages rose; 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands; 
A mighty mass that could oppose. 
When deadliest hatred fired its foes, 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 
XI. 
Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 

Thy turrets rude and tottered keep 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced, within thy fort. 

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense. 

Scutcheons of lionour, or pretence. 
Quartered in old armorial sort. 

Remains of rude magnificence. 
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair; 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 

Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still vises unimpaired, below. 
The court-yard's graceful portico; 
Above its cornice, row and rowj 
Of fair-hewn facets richly show 

Their pointed diamond form, 
Though there but houseless cattle go 

To shiehl them from the storm. 
And, shuddering, still may we explore, 

Where oft whilome were captives pent, 
The darkness of ttiy massy-more:* 

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement. 
May trace, in undulating line. 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 

XII. 
Another aspect Crichtoun showed, 
As through its portal Marmion rode; 
But yet 'twas melanclioly state 
Received him at the outer gate; 
For none were in the castle then 
But women, boys, or aged men. 
With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame. 
To welcome noble Marmion, came; 
Her son, a stripling twelve years old. 
Proffered the baron's rein to hold; 
For each man that could draw a sword 
Had marched that morninsr with their lord. 



• The pit, or prison vault.— See Note. 



Earl Adam Hepbm'n,6 — he who died 

On Flodden by his sovereign's side. 

Long may his lady look in vain ! 

She ne'er shall see his gallant train 

Come sweeping back through Criciitoun-dean. 

'Twas a brave race, before the name 

Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. 

XIII. 

And here two days did Marmion rest. 
With every rite that honour claims. 
Attended as the king's own guest; — 
Such the command of royal James, 
Who marshalled then his land's array, 
Upon the Borough-moor that laj'. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry, 
Till full prepared was every band 
To march against the English land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 
Oft cheer the baron's moodier fit: 
And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,— • 
Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, 
And policies of war and peace. 

XIV. 

It chanced, as fell the second night. 

That on the battlement they walked. 
And, by the slowly fading light, 

On varying topics talked; 
And, unaware, tiie herald-bard 
Said, Marmion might his toil have spared. 

In travelling so far; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the English war:'' 
And, closer questioned, thus he told 
A tale which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled: — • 

XV. 

SIR BAVID I.INDESAT'3 TALE. 

" Of all the palaces so fair. 

Built for the royal dwelling. 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 

Linlithgow is excelling; 
And in its park, in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune. 

How blith the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild buck bells*^ from ferny brake. 
The coot dives merry on tlie lake. 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the year: 
Too well his cause of grief you know, — 
June saw his father's overthrow.* 
Wo to the traitors who could bring 
The princely boy against his king! 
Still in his conscience bui-ns the sting. 
In offices as strict as lent, 
King James's June is ever spent. 

XVI. 

" When last this ruthful month was come, 
And in Linlitligow's holy dome 

The king, as wont, was praying; 
While for his royal father's soul. 
The chanters sung, the bells did toll, 

The bishop mass was saying — ■ 
P'or now the year brought round again 
The day the luckless king was slain — 



* An ancient word for the cry of deer.— See Note. 



MARMION. 



77 



In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt, 
With sackcloth-sliirt, and iron belt, 

And e3'es witli sorrow streaming; 
Around him, in their stalls of state, 
The thistle's knight-companions sate, 

1 heir banners o'er tiiem beaming. 

I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 

Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 

AVas watching where the sunbeams fell, 
Through the stained casement gleaming; 

But, while I marked what next befell, 
It seemed as I were dreaming. 
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
In azure gown, with cincture white. 
His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
Now mock me not when, good my lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly-word. 
That, when I saw his placid grace, 
His simple majesty of face. 
His solemn bearing, and his pace 

So stately gliding on, — 
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the saint 
Who propped the virgin in her faint, — 
The loved apostle John. 

xvir. 

*» He stepped before the monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness there. 

And little reverence made; 
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent, 
But on the desk his arm he leant. 

And words like these he said. 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone: 

• My mother sent me from afar. 
Sir king, to warn thee not to war, — 

Wo waits on thine array; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair, 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware: 

God keep thee as he may!' 
The wondering monarch seemed to seek 

For answer, and found none; 
And when he raised his head to speak, 

The monitor was gone. 
The marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward past; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast 

He vanished from our eyes. 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast, 

That glances but, and dies." — 

XVIII. 

While Lindesay told this marvel strange, 

The twilight was so pale. 
He marked not 3Iarmion's colour change, 

While listening to the tale: 
But, after a suspended pause. 
The baron spoke : — " Of nature's laws 

So strong I held the force. 
That never super-human cause 

Could e'er control their course; 
And, three days since, had judged your aim 
Was but to make your guest your game. 
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
What much has changed my sceptic creed. 
And made me credit aught." — He staid, 
And seemed to wish his words unsaid : 

But, by that strong emotion pressed. 

Which prompts us to unload our breast, 
Even when discovery's pain, 



To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told 
At Gilford, to his train. 
Nought of the palmer says he there. 
And nought of Constance or of Clare: 
The thoughts which broke his sleep, he seems 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 

XIX. 

" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
My burning limbs, and couched my head: 

Fantastic thoughts returned; 
And, by their wild dominion led, 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode. 
And, as the moon shone bright and cold. 
Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I past through. 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer me.t my ear,— . 
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of my own. 
XX. 

" Thus judging, for a little space 

I listened, ere J left the place; 

But scarce could trust my eyes, 

Nor yet can think they sersed me true, 

When sudden in the ring I view, 

In form distinct of shape and hue, 
A mounted champion rise. — 
I've fought, lord lion, many a day, 
In single fight and mixed affray, 
And ever, 1 myself may say, 

Have borne me as a knight; 
But when this unexpected foe 
Seemed starting from the gulf below, — 
I care not though the truth 1 show, — 

1 trembled with affright; 
And as I placed in rest my spear, 
My hand so shook for very fear, 

1 scarce could couch it riglit. 

XXI. 

"Why need my tongue the issue tell? 
We ran our course, — my charger fell;^ 
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell?— 

I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 
The spectre shook his naked brand) — 

Yet did the worst remain: 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
Not opening hell itself could blast 
Their sight like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 
A face could never be mistook ! 
I knew the stern vindictive look. 
And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 
I well believe the last; 
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 
A human warrior, with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade : 
But when to good saint George I prayed, 
(The first time e'er I asked his aid,) 

He plunged it in the sheath; 
And, on his courser mounting light. 
He seemed to vanish from my sight : 
The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night 
Sunk down upon the heath. — 



78 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'Twere long to tell what cause I have 
To know his face that met me there, 

Called by his hatred from the grave. 
To cumber upper air; 

Dead or alive, good cause had he 

To be my mortal enemy. " — 

XXII. 

Marvelled sir David of the mount; 
Then, learned in story, 'gan recount 

Such chance had hap'd of old, 
When once, near Norham, there did fight 
A spectre fell, of fiendish might, 
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 

With Brian Buhner bold. 
And trained him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow. 

" And such a phantom too, 'tis said, 
With highland broad-sword, targe, and plaid, 
And lingers red with gore, 
Is seen in Rothiemurchus' glade, 
Or where the sable pine-trees shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Achnaslaid, 

Dromoucbty, or Glenmore.* 
And yet, what'er such legends say. 
Of warlike demon, host, or fay, 
On mountain, moor, or plain. 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold. 
True son of chivalry should hold 

These midnight terrors vain; 
For seldom have such spirits power 
To harm, save in the evil hour. 
When guilt we meditate within. 
Or harbour unrepented sin." — 
Lord Marmion turned him half aside. 
And twice to clear liis voice he tried, 

Then pressed sir David's hand, — 
But nought, at length, in answer said; 
And here their farther converse staid, 

Each ordering that his band 
Should bowne them with the rising day. 
To Scotland's camp to take their way,— 
Such was the king's command. 
XXIII. 
Early they took Dun-Edin's road. 
And I could trace each step they trode; 
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, 
I^ies on the path to me unknown. 
Much might it boast of storied lore; 
But, passing such digression o'er. 
Suffice it that their route was laid 
Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They passed the glen and scanty rill. 
And climbed the opposing bank, until 
They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 

XXIV. 
Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 
A truant-boy, I sought the nest. 
Or listed, as 1 lay at rest, 

While rose, on breezes thin, 
The murmur of the city crowd, 
And, from his steeple jangling loud, 

Saint Giles's mingling din- 
Now, from the summit of the plain. 
Waves all the hill with yellow grain; 
And, o'er the landscape as 1 look. 
Nought do I see unchanged remain. 
Save the rude clifts and chiming brook: 



To me they make a heavy moan 
Of early friendships past and gone. 

XXV. 
But different far the change has been, 

Since Marmion, from the crown 
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown: 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 
Spread all the Borough-moor below, i" 
Upland, and dale, and down: — 
A thousand did I say? I ween. 
Thousands on thousands there were seen. 
That chequered all the heath between 

The streamlet and the town: 
In crossing ranks extending far, 
Forming a camp irregular; 
Oft giving way where still there stood 
Some relics of the old oak wood, 
That darkly huge did intervene. 
And tamed the glaring white with green: 
In these extended lines there lay 
A martial kingdom's vast array. 

XXVI. 
For from Hebudes, dark with rain. 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain. 
And from the southern Redswire edge 
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge; 
From west to east, from south to north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
Of myriads up the mountain come; 
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank 
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank. 

And charger's shrilling neigh; 
And see the shifting lines advance, 
While frequent flashed, from shield and lance. 
The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVII. 
Thin curling in the morning air. 
The wreathes of falling smoke declare 
To embers now the brands decayed. 
Where the night-watch their fires had made. 
They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 
Full many a baggage-cart and wain, 
And dire artillery's clumsy car. 
By sluggish oxen tugged to war; 
And there were Borlhwick's sisters seven,* 
And culverins which France had given. 
Ill-omened gift! the guns remain 
The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 
Nor marked they less, where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair; 
Various in shape, device, and hue, 
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue. 
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square. 
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,t there 

O'er the pavilions flew.n 
Highest and midmost, was descried 
The royal banner floating wide; 

The staff a pine-tree strong and straight, 
Pitched deeply in a massive stone, 
Which still in memory is shown, 
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight. 
Whene'er the westei-n wind unrolled. 
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold. 
And gave to view the dazzling field, 
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. 
The ruddy lion ramped in gold.'^ 



* See the traditions conceruing Bulmer, and the spectre 
called Lhaiu-dearg, or Bloody-hand, in note 8. on canto 
III. 



* Seven culverins, so called, cast by one Borthwick. 
t Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different 
rank of those entitled to display them. 



MARMION. 



79 



XXIX. 

Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright,— 
He viewed it with a chief's delight, — 

Until within him burned his heart, 

And liglitning from his eye did part, 
As on the battle-day; 

Such glance did falcon never dart, 
When stooping on his prey. 

" Oh ! well, lord-lion, hast thou said, 

Thy king from warfare to dissuade 
Were but a vain essay; 
For, by St. George, were that host mine, 
Kot power infernal, nor divine. 
Should once to peace my soul incline. 
Till I had dimmed their armour's shine 

In glorious battle-fray!" — 
Answered the bard, of milder mood: 
"Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good, 

That kings would think withal. 
When peace and wealth their land has blessed, 
'Tis better to sit still at rest. 

Than rise, perchance to fall." 

XXX. 

Still on the spot lord Marmion stayed. 
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 

When sated with the martial show 

That peopled all the plain below, 

The wandering eye could o'er it go. 

And mark the distant city glow 
With gloomy splendour red; 

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow. 

That round her sable turrets flow. 
The morning beams were shed. 

And tinged them with a lustre proud. 

Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 

Such dusky grandeur clothed the height. 

Where the huge castle holds its state, 
And all the steep slope down. 

Whose ridg)' back heaves to the sky. 

Piled deep and massy, close and high. 
Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer blaze. 
On Ochil mountains fell the rays, 
And, as each heathy top they kissed, 
It gjeamed a purple amethyst. 

Yonder the shores of Fife you saw; 

Here Preston-bay, and Berwick-law; 
And, broad between them rolled. 
The gallant Frith the eye might note. 
Whose islands on its bosom float 
Like emeralds chased in gold. 

Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent; 

As if to give his rapture vent, 
The spur he to his charger lent, 

And raised his bridal-hand. 
And, making demi-vault in air. 
Cried, " Where's the coward that would not dare 

To fight for such a land ! " 
The lion smiled his joy to see; 
Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 

XXXI. 

Thus while they looked, a flourish proud. 
Where mingled trump and clarion loud. 

And fife, and kettle-drum. 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery. 
And war-pipe with discordant ci-y. 
And cymbal clattering to the sky. 
Making wild music bold and high, 

Did up the mountain come; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 



And thus the lion spoke: — 
" Thus clamoured still the war-notes when 
The king to mass his way has ta'en, 
Or to St. Chatherinc's of Sienne, 

Or chapel of St. Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame; 
But me remind of peaceful game, 

When blither was their cheer, «. 

Thrilling in Falkland woods the air, 
In signal none his steed should spare. 
But strive which foremost might repair 
To the downfall of the deer. 
XXXII. 
" Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth, 
1 view yon empress of the north 

Sit on her hilly throne; 
Her palace's imperial bowers, 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers. 
Her stately halls and holy towers — 

Nor less," he said, " 1 moan 
To think what wo mischance may bring, 
And how these meriy bells may ring 
The death dirge of our gallant king; 

Or, with their larum, call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not for my presaging thought. 
Dream conquest svn-e, or cheaply bought! 

Lord Marmion, 1 say nay: — 
God is the guider of the field. 
He breaks the champion's spear and Uiield, 

But thou thyself shalt saj'. 
When joins yon liost in deadly stowre, 
That England's dames must weep in bower, 

Her monks the death-mass sing; 
For never saw'st thou such a power 

Led on by such a king. " 
And now, down winding to the plain. 
The barriers of the camp they gain. 

And there they make a stay. — 
There stays the minstrel, till he fling 
His hand o'er every border string. 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing 
Of Scotland's ancient court and king. 

In the succeeding lay. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO V. 

TO GEORGE ELLIS, Esa. 

JEdinbvr^h. 
When dark December glooms the day. 
And takes our autumn joys away; 
When short and scant the sunbeam throws. 
Upon the weary waste of snows, 
A cold and profitless regard. 
Like patron on a needy bard; 
When sylvan occupation's done. 
And o'er the chimney rests the gun. 
And hang, in idle trophy, near, 
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; 
When wiry terrier, rough and grim, 
And greyhound, with his length of limb, 
And pointer, now employed no more, 
Cumber our parlour's narrow floor; 
When in his stall the impatient steed 
Is long condemned to rest and feed; 
When from our snow-encircled home, 
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam. 
Since path is none, save that to bring 
The needful water from the spring; 



80 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er, 

Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 

AnVi darkling politician, crossed. 

Inveighs against the lingering post. 

And answering housewife sore complains 

Of carrier's snow-impeded wains: 

When such the country cheer, I come, 

Well pleased, to seek our city home; 

For converse, and for books to change 

The forest's melancholy range. 

And welcome, with renewed delight. 

The busy day and social night. 

Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time. 
As erst by Newark's riven towers. 
And Ettrick stripped of forest bowers.* 
True, — Caledonia's queen is changed,' 
Since, on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent, 
By bulwark, line, and battlement, 
And flanking towers, and laky flood. 
Guarded and garrisoned she stood, 
Denying entrance or resort, 
Save at each tall embattled port; 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long. 
Since, early closed, and opening late, 
Jealous revolved the studded gale. 
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy bi'ow, 
Dun-Edin! O, how altered now. 
When safe amid thy mountain cotu't 
Thou sit'st, like empress at her sport, 
And, liberal, unconfined, and free. 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,^ 
For thy dark cloud with umbered lower, 
That hung o'er clift", and lake, and towei', 
Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 

Not she, the championess of old, 
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, — ■ 
She for the charmed spear renowned, 
Which forced each knight to kiss the ground, — 
Not she more changed, when placed at rest, 
What time she was Malbecco's guest,t 
She gave to flow her maiden vest; 
When from the corslet's grasp relieved. 
Free to the sight her bosom heaved; 
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, 
Erst hidden by the aventayle; 
And down her shoulders graceful rolled 
Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 
They who whilorae, in midnight fight. 
Had marvelled at her matchless might, 
No less her maiden charms approved. 
But looking liked, and liking loved. :(: 
The sight could jealous pangs beguile. 
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile; 
And he, the wandering squire of dames, 
Forgot his Columbella's claims. 
And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
The breast of blunt sir Satyrane; 
Nor durst light Pai-idel advance. 
Bold as he was, a looser glance. — 
She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 
Incomparable Britomarte! 

* See Introduction to Canto II. 
t See "The Fairy Queen," Book III, Canto IX. 
j " For every one her liked, and evei-y one her loved." 
Spencer, as above. 



So thou, fair city! disarrayed 
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and security are flown; 
Still, as of yore, queen of the north! 
Still canst thou send thy children forth. 
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, 
Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 
Thy daimtless voluntary line; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil, 
Full red would stain their native soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
Anil if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin I that eventful day, 
Itenowned for hospitable deed. 
That virtue much with heaven may plead, 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to share; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for the good town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty; 
Since first, when conquering York arose. 
To Henry meek she gave repose, 3 
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw. 

Truce to these thoughts! — for, as they rise. 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change, 
Vov fiction's fair romantic range. 
Or for tradition's dubious light, 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night: 
Dazzling alternately and dim, 
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to sec. 
Creation of my fantasy. 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen. 
And make of mists invading men. — 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon ? 
The moonlight than the fog of frost? 
And can we say, which cheats the most' 

But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain. 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones v.hilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear,* 
Famed Beauclerc called, for that he loved 
The minstrel, and his lay approved? 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem, 
Decaying on oblivion's stream; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung? — 
O! born, time's ravage to repair. 
And make the dying muse thy care; 
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe 
Was poising for the final blow. 
The weapon from his hand could wring 
And break his glass, and shear his wing, 
And bid, reviving in his strain. 
The gentle poet live again; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
An unpedantic moral gay. 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit; 
In letters, as in life, approved, 
[Example honoured, and beloved, 



MARMION. 



81 



Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art, 
To win at once the head and heart,-— 
At once to charm, instruct, and mend. 
My guide, my pattern, and my friend! 
Sucli minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, O! 
No more by thy example leach 
What few can practise, all can preach, 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease, and painful cure. 
And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
By mild and manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given; 
forbid the repetition. Heaven! 

Come listen, then I for thou hast known, 
And loved the minstrel's varying tone, 
Who, like his border sires of old. 
Waked a wild measure, rude and bold. 
Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain. 
With wonder heard the nortliorn strain. 
Come, listen! — bold in thy applause. 
The bard shall scorn pedantic laws, 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane, 
Irregularly traced and planned. 
But yet so glowing and so grand; 
So shall he strive, in changeful hue. 
Field, feast, and combat, to renew. 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
And all the pomp of chivalry. 



THE COURT. 

I. 

Thk train has left the hills of Braid; 
The barrier guard have open made 
(So Lindesay bade) the palisade. 
That closed the tented ground'. 
Their men the warders backward drew, 
And carried pikes as they rode through, 

Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 
Upon the southern band to stare; 
And envy with their wonder rose, 
To see such well-appointed foes; 
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows, 
So huge, that many simply thought. 
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought; 
And little deemed their force to feel 
Through links of mail, and plates of steel, 
When, rattling upon Floden vale. 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.3 

II. 
Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron through; 
And much he marvelled one small land 
Could marshal forth such various band: 

For men-at-arms were here, 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate, 
Like iron towers for strength and weight. 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 

With l)attle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and squires, a lighter train. 
Practised their chargers on the plain, 
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 

Each warlike feat to show; 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
And high curvett, that not in vain 
The sword-sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below. 6 



He saw the hardy burghers there 
March armed, on foot, witli faces bare,'' 

For visor they wore none, 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight; 
But buinisiied were their corslets bright, 
Their brigantines, and gorgets liglit, 

Like verj' silver siione. 
Long pikes they had for standing fight. 

Two-handed swords they wore. 
And many wielded mace of weight. 
And bucklers bright they bore. 
III. 
On foot the yeoman too,*' but dressed 
In his steel jack, a swarthy vest, 

With iron quilted well; 
Each at his back, (a slender store,) 
His forty days' provision bore, 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His arms were lialbert, axe, or spear, 
A cross-bow there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-knife, and brand — 
Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer. 
As loth to leave his cottage dear. 

And march to foreign strand; 
Or musing, who would guide his steer. 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
Did aught of dastard terror lie; — 

More dreadful far his ire 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name. 
In eager mood to battle came. 
Their valour like light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 
IV. 
Not so the borderer: — bred to war. 
He knew the battle's din afar, 

And joyed to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease; 
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please^, 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade. 
The light armed pricker plied his trade, — 

Let nobles fight for fame; 
Let vassals follow where they lead. 
Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed, 

But war's the borderers' game. 
Their gain, their glory, their delight. 
To sleep the day, maraud (he night. 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor; 
Joyful to figlit they took their way. 
Scarce caring who migiit win the day. 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as lord Marmion's train passed by. 
Looked on, at first, with careless eye. 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know 
The form and force of English bow. 

But when they saw the lord arrayed 
In splendid arms, and riph brocade, 
Each borderer to his kiusmfe said, 
" Hist, Ringan! seest tliou there! 

Canst guess wliich road they'll homeward ride? 

O! could we but, on border side. 

By Eusdale glen, or Liddell's tide, 
Beset a prize so fair! 

That fangless lion, too, their guide. 

Might chance to lose his glistering hide; 

Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied, 
Could make a kirtle rare." 

V. 

Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race 
Of different language, form, and face. 



80 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A various race of man; 
Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed, 
And wild and garish semblance made, 
The chequered trews, and belted plaid; 
And varying notes the war-pipes brayed, 

To evei-y varying clan; 
AVild through their red or sable hair 
Looked out their eyes, with savage stare, 

On Marmion as lie past; 
Their legs above the knee were hare; 
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 

And hardened to the Idast; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
Their hairy buskins well supplied; 
The graceful bonnet decked their head; 
Back from their siioulders hung the plaid; 

A broad-sword of unwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded large they wore, 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, O! 
Shoi-t was the shaft, and weak the bow. 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondei-ing cry. 
As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when 
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen. 
And, with their cries discordant mixed. 
Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 

VI. 

Thus through the Scottish camp they passed. 
And reached the city gate at last. 
Where all around, a wakeful guard. 
Armed burghers kept tlieir watch and ward. 
Well had they cause of jealous fear. 
When lay encamped, in field so near. 
The borderer and the mountaineer. 
As through the bustling streets they go. 
All was alive with martial show; 
At every turn, with dinning clang. 
The armoiu'er's anvil claslied and rang. 
Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel 
The bar that arms the charger's heel; 
Or axe, or falchion to the side 
Of jarring grindstone was applied. 

Page, groom, and squire, with huiTying pace. 

Through street, and lane, and market-place. 
Bore lance, or casque, or sword; 

While burghers, with important face. 
Described each new-come lord. 

Discussed his lineage, told his name. 

His following,* and ills warlike fame. — 
The lion led to lodging meet. 
Which high o'erlooked the crowded street; 

There must the barflu i%st. 
Till past the liour of vesper tide. 
And then to H0I3 -Rood must ride, — 

Such was the king's behest. 
Meanwhile the lion's care assigns 
A banquet rich, and costly wines,9 

To Marmion and his train; 
And when the appointed hour succeeds. 
The baron dons his peaceful weeds. 
And following Liudesay as he leads. 

The palace halls they gain. 



• Follorving— Feudal retainers. 



VII. 

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily. 

That night, with wassel, mirth, and glee: 

King James within her princely bower 

Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power, 

Summoned ta spend the parting hour; 
For he had charged, that his array 
Shoidd southward march by break of day. 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song. 
By day the tourney, and by night 
The merry dance, traced fast and light, 
The masquers quaint, the pageant bright. 

The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past; 
It was his blithest, — and his last. 

The dazzling lamps, fiom gallery gay. 

Cast on the court a dancing ray; 

Here to tlie harp did minstrels sing; 

There ladies touched a softer string; 

Witli long-eared cap, and motley vest, 

The licensed fool retailed his jest; 

His miigic tricks tlie juggler plied; 

At dice and draughts the gallants vied; 
Wliile some, in close I'ecess apart, 
Courted the ladies of their heart, 

Nor courted tiiem in vain; 
For often, in the parting hour. 
Victorious love asserts Ids power 

O'er coldness and disdain; 
And tiinty is her lieart, can view 
To battle march a lover true, — 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 
Nor own her share of pain. 

VIII. 

Tlirough this mixed crowd of glee and game, 
The king to greet lord Marmion came, 

While, reverend, all made room. 
An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly form to know, 
Although, his courtesy to show. 
He doffed, to Marmion bending low. 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal wei-e his garb and mien. 

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled. 
Trimmed willi the fur of martin wild; 
His vest of changeful satin sheen, 

Tlie dazzled eye beguiled; 
His gorgeous collar hung adovvn. 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown, 
The tliistle brave, of old renown; 
His trusty blade, Toledo right, 
Descended from a bal(h-ic bright; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare: 
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 

IX. 

The monarch's form was middle size; 
For feat of strength, or exercise, 

Shaped in proportion fair; 
And hazel was his eagle eye, 
And auburn of the deepest dye 

His short curled beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance. 
And firm his stirrup in the lists; 
And, oh ! he had that merry glance 
That seldom lady's heart resists. 



MARMION. 



83 



Lightly from fair to fair he flew, 
And loved to plead, lament, and sue; — 
Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain, 
For >ionarchs seldom sigh in vain. 
1 said he joyed in banquet-bower; 

But, mid liis mirth, 'twas often strange. 
How suddenly his cheer would change, 
His look o'ercast and lower. 
If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
The pressure of his iron belt. 
That bound his breast in penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain, lo 
Even so 'twas strange how evermore, 
Soon as the passing pang was o'er, 
Forward he rushed, with double glee. 
Into the stream of revelry: 
Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
Startles the courser in his Hight, 
And half he halts, half springs aside; 
But feels the quickening spur applied, 
And, straining on the tightened rein. 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. 

X. 

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 
Sir H.igh the heron's wife held sway:'' 

To Scotland's court she came. 
To be a hostage for her lord. 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored. 
And with the king to make accord, 

Had sent ids lovely dame. 
Noi- to that lady free alone 
Did the gay king allegiance own; 

For the fair queen of France 
Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and love, 

For her to break a lance;!^ 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand, 
And march three miles on southron land, 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's queen he drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest; 
And thus admitted English fair, 
His inmost counsels still to share; 

And thus, for both, he madly planned 

The ruin of himself and land ! 
And yet, the sooth to tell, 

Nor England's fair, nor France's queen, 

Were worth one pearl-drop bright and sheen. 
From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
His own queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow' 

bower. 
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 

XI. 

The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile, 

- And weeps the weary day, 

The war against Ker native soil. 

Her monarch's risk in battle broil; — 

And in gay Holy Rood, the while, 

Dame Heron rises with a smile 
Upon the harp to play. 

Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 
The strings her fingers flew; 

And as she touched, and tuned them all. 

Ever her bosom's rise and fall 
Was plainer given to view; 
For all, for heat, was laid aside. 
Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to sing. 
Then glanced her dark eye on the king. 
And then around the silent ring; 



And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 

Her pretty oath, by yea and nay. 

She could not, would not, durst not play! 

At lengtii, upon the harp, with glee, 

Mingled with arch simplicity, 

A soft, yet lively air she rung. 

While thus the wily lady sung. 

XII. 

lOCHINVAK. 

LADY HERON'S SONG. 

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Tlirough all the wide border his steed was the best; 
And save his good broadsword he weapons had 

none. 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 
There never was knigiit like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for 

stone. 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was 

none; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall. 
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, 

and all: 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his 

sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegi'oom said never a 

word, ) 
" O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar?" 

" I long woo'd your daugliter, my suit you denied; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; 
And now am I come, witli this lost love of mine. 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochin- 
var. " 
The bri<Ie kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, 
He quatfed ofTtlie wine, and he threw down the 

cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to 

sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — • 
" Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochin- 
var. 

So stately his form, and so lovely his face. 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace; 
While her mother did fret, aiul her fatlier did fame. 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume; 
And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere bet- 
ter by far 
To have matched our fair cousin with yoimg 

Lochinvar." 
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
When they reached the hall-door, and tlie charger 

stood near; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung! — 
" She is won ! we arc gone, over bank, bush, and 

scaur; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth yoimg 
Lochinvar. 



84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



There was mounting 'mong Grames of the Neth- 

erb}' clan; 
Forsters, Fen«icks, and Musgraves, they rode and 

lliey ran: 
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Xetherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

XIU. 
The monarch o'er the syren hung, 
And beat the measure as she sung; 
And, pressing closer, and more near, 
He whispered praises in her ear. 
In loud applause, the courtiers vied; 
And ladies winked, and spoke aside. 
The witching dame to Marmion threw 

A glance, where seemed to reign 
The pride that claims applauses due, 
And of her i-oyal conquest, too, 

A real or feigned disdain: 

Familiar was the look, and told, 

Marmion and she were friends of old. 
The king observed their meeting eyes. 
With something like displeased surprise; 
For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 
Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
Straight took he forth the parchment broad. 
Which Marmion's high commission showed: 

" Our borders sacked by many a raid, 

Our peaceful liegemen robbed," he said; 
" On day of truce our warden slain, 

Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en — 
Unworthy were we here to reign, 
Should these for -vengeance cry in vain; 
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 
Our herald has to Henry borne." 

XIV. 
He paused, and led where Douglas stood. 
And with stern eye the pageant viewed: 

I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 

Who coronet of Angus bore. 
And, when his blood and heart were high, 
Did the third James in camp defy, 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary flat: 
Princes and favourites long grew tame, 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-cat;'^ 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddesdale, 

Its dungeons, and its towers. 
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, 
And Bothwell bank is blooming lair, 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now, in age, he had laid down 
His armour for the peaceful gown. 

And for a staff his brand; 
Yet often would flash forth the fire. 
That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand; 
And even that day, at council board. 

Unapt to sooth liis sovereign's mood. 

Against the war had Angus stood. 
And chafed his royal lord.'-* 

XV. 
His giant-form, like ruined tower, 

Tliough fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt, " 

Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt. 
Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower: 

His locks and beard in silver grew; 

His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 



Near Douglas when the monarch stood. 
His bitter speech he ihus pursued: — 
" Lord Marmion, since these letters say. 
That in the north you needs must stay. 

While slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern. 
To say — Return to Lindisfarn, 
Until my herald come a^ain. — 
Then rest you in Tantallon hold;i5 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade, '^ 
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed; 
Yet loves iiis sovereign to oppose, 
More than to face his country's foes. 
And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen, 
But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 
A bevy of the maids of heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades. 
And, while they at Tantallon stav. 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." 
And, with the slaughtered favourite name^ 
Across the monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 

XVI. 

In answer nought could Angus speak; 

His proud heart swelled well nigh to break 

He turned aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the monarch sudden took. 
That sight his kind heart could not brook; 

"Now, by the Bruce's soul, 
Angus, mj- hasty speech forgive! 
For sure as doth his spirit live, 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold, 
In speecii more free, in war more bold. 

More tender, and more true;* 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again. "^ 
And, while the king his hand did strain. 
The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
To sieze the moment Marmion tried. 
And whispered to the king aside: 
" Oh! let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed! 
A child will weep a bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart: 
But wo awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh! what omen, dark and high. 
When Douglas wets his manly eye!" — 

XVII. • 

Displeased was James, that stranger viewed 

And tampered with his changing mood. 

" Laugh those tiial can, weep tliose that may,* 

Thus did the fiery monarch say, 

"Southward I march by break of day; 

And if within Tantallon strong, 

The good lord Marmion tarries long, 

Perchance our meeting next may fall 

At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." — 

The haughty Marmion felt the taunt. 

And answered, grave, the royal vaunt: 



• O, Dowglas! Dowglas! 
Tendir and trew. The Houlate. 



MARMON. 



85 



" Much honoured were my humble home, 

If in its halls king James should come; 

But Nottingliam has archers good, 

And Yorlvshire men are stei-n of mood; 

Northuinbri.in prickers wild and rude. 

Oil Derby liills the paths are steep; 

III Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep: 

And many a banner will be torn^ 

And many a knight to earth be borne, 

And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 

Ere Scotland's king shall cross the Trent: 

Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may." 

The monarch lightly turned away. 

And to his nobles loud did call, — 

"Lords, to the dance, — a h'all! a hall!"* 

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 

And led dame Heron gallantly; 

And minstrels, at the royal order, 

Rung out — " Blue bonnets o'er the border," 

xvm. 

Leave we these revels now, to tell 

What to St. Hilda's maids befel, 

Whose galley, as they sailed again 

To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. • 

Now at Dun-Edin did they bide. 

Till James should of their fate decide; 

And soon, by his command. 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To journey under Marmion's care. 
As escort 'honoured, safe, and fair, 

Again to English land. 
The'abbess told her cbaplet o'er. 
Nor knew wliicli saint slie should implore; 
P'or, when she thought of Constance, sore 

She feared lord Marmion's mood. 
And judge what Clara must have felt! 
The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, 

Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 
Unwittingly, king James had given, 

As guard to Whitby's sliades. 
The man most dreaded under heaven 

By these defenceless maids; 
Yet what petition could avail, • 
Or who would listen to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 
Mid bustle of a war begun? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 

XIX. 
Their lodging, so the king assigned. 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined; 
And thus it fell, that, passing nigh, 
The palmer caught the abbess' eye, 

Who warned him by a scroll, 
She bad a secret to reveal. 
That much concerned the church's weal. 

And health of sinner's soul; 
And with deep ciiarge of secrecy. 

She named a jilace to meet, 
Within an open balcon)-. 
That hung from dizzy pitch, and high. 

Above the stately street; 
To which, as common to each home, 
At niglit they might in secret come. 

XX. 

At night, in secret, there they came. 
The palmer and the holy dame. 
The moon among the clouds rode high, 
And all the city hum was by. 



' The ancient cry to make itiom for a dance, or pageant. 



tipon the street, where late before 

Did din of war and warriors roar, 
You might have heard a pebble fall, 

A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 

An owlet flap his boding wing 
On Giles's steeple tall. 
The antique buildings, climbing high. 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 

Were here wrapt deep in shade; 
There on their brows the moonbeam broke 
Through the faint wreaths of silveiy smoke. 

And on the casements played. 
And other light was none to see, 

Save torches gliding far. 
Before some chieftain of degree, 
Who left the royal revelry 

To bowne him for the war.— 
A solemn scene the abbess chose! 
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 

XXI. 
" O, holy palmer!" she began, — 
" For sure he must be sainted man. 
Whose blessed feet have trod the gi-ound 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found; — 
For his dear churcii's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of liglit avail, 
Though I must speak of worldly love,— 
How vain to those wlio wed above! 
De Wilton and lord Marmion woo'd 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood; 
(Idle it were of Whitby's dame. 
To saj' of that same blood 1 came;) 
And once, when jealous rage was high, 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart. 
And had made league with Martin Swart,''' 
When he came here on Simnel's part; 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
And down he threw his glove: — the thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the king; 
Where frankly did De Wilton own. 
That Swart in Guelders he had known; 
And that between them then there went 
Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
For tliis he to his castle sent; 
But when his messenger returned, 
Judge how De Wiltou's fury burned! 
For in his packet there were laid 
Letters that claimed disloyal aid. 
And proved king Henry's cause betrayed. 
His fame thus bligiiled, in the field 
He strove to clear, by spear and shield; — 
To clear his fame in vain he strove. 
For wondrous are His ways above ! 
Perchance some form was unobserved: 
Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved;'* 
Else how could guiltless cliampion quail, 
Or how the blessed ordeal fail? 

XXU. 
" His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
As recreant doomed to suffer law, 

Repentant, owned in vain. 
That, wliile he had the scrolls in care, 
A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
Had drenched him Mith a beverage rare; 

His words no faith could gain. 
With Clare alone he credence won, 
Who, rather than wed jNIarmion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair. 
To give our house her livings fair. 
And die a vestal vot'ress there — 



8C 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The impulse from the earth was given, 
But bent her to tlie paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid, 
!Ne'er sheltered her in Whilby's shade, 
No, not since Saxon Edelfled; 

Only one trace of earthly stain, 
That for her lover's loss 

She cherishes a sorrow vain. 
And murmurs at the cross. — 
And then her heritage, — it goes 

Along the banks of Tame; 
Deep fields of grain the reaper mows, 
In meadows ricli the heifer lows. 
The falconer, and liuntsman, knows 

Its woodlands for the game. 
Shame were it to saint Hilda dear, 
And I, her humble vot'ress here. 

Should do a deadly sin. 
Her temple spoiled before mine eyes, 
If this false Marmion sucli a prize 

By my consent should win; 
Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn. 
That Clare shall from our house be torn: 
And grievous cause have T to fear. 
Such mandate doth lord Marmion bear. 

XXIII. 

" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod ' 
To holy shrine, and grotto dim. 
By every martyr's tortured limb, 
By angel, saint, and seraphim. 

And by the church of God ! 
For mark: — When Wilton was betrayed, 
And with his squire forged letters laid, 
She was, alas! that sinful maid, 

By whom the deed was done, — 
O! shame and horror to be said. 

She was — a perjured nun ! 
No clerk in all the land, like her. 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem, 

That Marmion's paramour 
(For such vile thing she was) should scheme 

Her lover's nuptial hour; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain, 
As privy to his honour's stain. 

Illimitable power. 
For this she secretl)' retained 

Each proof that might the plot reveal. 
Instructions with his hand and seal: 
And thus saint Hilda deigned. 
Through sinner's perfidy impure, 
Her house's glory to secure. 
And Clare's immortal weal. 

XXIV. 

" 'Twere long, and needless, here to tell. 
How to my hand these papers fell; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her abbess true ! 
Who knows what outrage he might do. 

While journeying by the way? — 

blessed saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm domain. 
To travel or by land or main, 

Deei) penance may I pay ! 
Now, saintly palmer, mark my prayer; 
I give this packet to thy care, 
ior thee to stop they will not dare; 

And, O ! with cautious speed ! 



To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. 
That he may show them to the king; 

And, for thy well-earned meed. 
Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 
A weekly mass shall still be thine. 

While priests can sing and read. — 
What ail'st thou? — Speak!" — For as he took 
TJie charge, a strong emotion shook 

His frame; and, ere reply, 
They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown. 

That on the breeze did die; 
And loud the abbess shrieked in fear, 
" Saint Withold save us! — What is here? 

Look at yon city cross ! 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear. 

And blazoned banners toss!" 
XXV. 
Dun-Edin's cross,i9 a pillared, stone, 
Rose on a turret octagon; 

(But now is razed that monument, 
W hence royal edict rang, 

An^J voice of Scotland's law was sent 
In glorious trumpet clang. 
O ! be his tomb as lead to lead. 
Upon its dull destroyer's head!— 
A minstrel's malison* is said. — ) 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing nature's law. 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen; 
Figures that seemed to I'ise and die. 
Gibber and sign, advance and fly. 
While nought confirmed could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and pursuivants prepare. 
With trumpet sound, and blazoned fair, 

A summons to proclaim; 
But indistinct the pageant proud. 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud. 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 

A wavering tiiige of flame; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud. 
From midmost of the spectre crowd. 

This awful summons came:20 
XXVL 
" Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 

Whose names I now sh.ill call, 
Scottish, or foreigner, give ear! 
Subjects of him who sent me here. 
At his tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all: 
1 cite you by each deadly sin, 
That e'er hath soiled your hearts within; 
I cite you by each brutal lust. 
That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear. 
By each o'er-mastering passion's tone. 
By the dark grave, and dying groan ! 
\Vhen forty days are past and gone, 
I cite you, at j'our monarch's throne, 

To answer and appear." — 
Then thundered forth a roll of names: 
The first was thine, unhappy James! 

Then all thy nobles came; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Arg)'le, 
Itoss, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle,— 
Why should I tell their separate style? 

Each chief of birth and fame, 

* i. e. Curse. 



MARMION. 



8T 



Of lowland, highland, border, isle. 
Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile, 

Was cited there by name; 
And Marmion, lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbay, 
De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
The self-same thundering voice did say, — 

But then another spoke: 
" Thy fatal summons I deny, 
And thine infernal lord defy. 
Appealing me to Him on high, 

Who burst the sinner's yoke." 
At that dread accent, with a scream, 
Farted the pageant like a dream. 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the abbess fell. 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 

And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene aghast. 
What time, or how, the palmer passed. 

XX^Tl. 

Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move, 

Dun-Edin's streets are empty now, 
Save when, for weal of those they love. 

To pray llie prayer, and vow the vow, 
The tottering child, the anxious fair, 
The gra3'-haired sire, with pious care, 
To chapels and to shrines repair. — 
Where is the i)almer now? and where 
The abbess, Marmion, and Clare I— 
Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge: 
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, 
The palmer still was with the band; 
Angus, like Lindesay, did command. 

That none should roam at large. 
But in that palmer's altered mien 
A wonderous change might now be seen; 

Freely he spoke of war. 
Of marvels wrought by single hand, 
When lifted for a native land; 
And still looked high, as if he planned 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and stroke, 
And, tucking up his sable frock, 
Would first his metal bold provoke. 

Then sooth or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

XXVIH. 

Some half-hour's march behind, there came. 
By Eustace governed fair, 

A troop escorting Hilda's dame, 
With all her nuns, and Clare. 

No audience had lord Marmion sought; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate; 

And safer 'twas, he tliought. 

To wait till, from the nuns removed. 
The influence of kinsmen loved. 
And suit by Henry's self approved. 

Her slow consent had wrought. 

His was no flickering flame, that dies 
Unless when fanned by looks and sighs. 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes; 
He longed to .stretch his wide command 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land: 
8 



Besides, when Wilton with him vied, 

Although the pang of humbled pride 

The place of jealousy supplied, 

Yet conquest, by that meanness won. 

He almost lothed to think upon. 

Led him, at times, to hate the cause 

Which made him burst through honour's laws. 

If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone. 

Who died within that vault of stone. 

XXIX. 

And now, when close at hand they saw 
North-Berwick's town, and lofty Law, 
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile 
Before a venerable pile,''^' 

Whose turrets viewed afar 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable dame. 
And prayed saint Hilda's abbess rest 
With her, a loved and honoured guest. 
Till Douglas should a bark prepare. 
To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the abbess, you may guess. 
And thanked the Scottish prioress: 
And tedious 'twere to tell, I ween. 
The courteous speech tliat passed between. 

O'erjoyed the nuns tlieir palfreys leave; 
But when fair Clara did intend, 
Like them, from horseback to descend, 

Fitz-Eustace said, — "I grieve. 

Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, 

Such gentle company to part; — 
Think not discourtesy. 

But lords' commands must be obeyed; 

And Marmion and the Douglas said. 
That you must wend witli me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad. 
Which to the Scottish earl he showed. 
Commanding, that beneatli his care, 
Without delay, you shall repair 
To your good kinsman, lord Fitz-Clare." 

XXX. 

The startled abbess loud exclaimed; 
But she, at whom the blow was aimed. 
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead; — 
She deemed she heard her death-doom read 
"Cheer thee, my child!" the abbess said, 
"They dare not tare thee from my hand, 
To ride alone with armed band." — 

"Nay, holy mother, nay," 
Fitz-Eustace said, "the lovely Clare 
Will be in lady Angus' care. 

In Scotland while we stay; 
And, when we move, an easy ride 
Will bring us to the English side, 
Female attendants to provide 

Befitting Gloster's lieir; 
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord. 
By slightest look, or act, or word, 

To harass lady Clare; 
Her faithful guardian lie will be. 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 

That even to stranger falls. 
Till he shall place her, safe and free. 

Within her kinsman's halls." 
He spoke, and bluslied with earnest grace; 
His faith was painted on his face. 

And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The lady abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 



88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Entreated, threatened, grieved,' 
To martyr, saint, and propliet prayed. 
Against lord Marraion inveighed, 
And called the prioress to aid. 
To curse willi candle, bell, and book.— 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook: 
"The Douglas and the king," she said, 
•'In their commands will be obeyed; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in Tantallon hall." 

XXXI. 

The abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again, — 

For much of state she had, — 
Composed her veil, and raised her head. 
And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said, 

" Thy master, bold and bad. 
The records of his house turn o'er. 

And, wlien he there shall written see. 

That one of his own ancestry 

Drove the monks forth of Coventry,22 
Bid him his fate explore! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust. 

His charger hurled him to the dust. 

And, by a base plebeian thurst. 
He died his band before. 

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me; 
He is a chief of high degree. 
And 1 a poor recluse; 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 
Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise: 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
Tiie mighty in his sin. 

And Jael thus, and Deborah," — 
Here hasty Blount bi-oke in: 
" Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band; 
St. Anton' fire thee! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand, 

To hear the lady preach? • 
By this good light! if thus we stay. 
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay. 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don tliy cap, and mount thy horse; 
The dame must patience take perforce." — 

XXXll. 

" Submit we then to force," said Clare; 
" But let this barbarous lord despair 

His purposed aim to win; 
Let him take living, land, and life; 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin: 
And if it be the king's decree. 
That I must find no sanctuary. 
Where even a homicide might come, 

And safely rest his head. 
Though at its open portals stood, 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood, 

The kinsman of the dead, — 
Yet one asylum is my own. 

Against the dreaded hour; 
A lo\v, a silent, and a lone. 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare!"— 
Loud weeps' the abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one; 
Weeping and wailing loud arose 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple nun. 



His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 

And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. 

Then took the squire her rein. 
And gently led away her steed. 
And, by each courteous word and deed, 

To cheer her strove in vain. 

XXXIU. 

But scant three miles the band had rode, 

When o'er a height they passed. 
And, sudden, close before them showed 

His towers, Tantallon vast; 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, • 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And roiuid three sides the ocean flows; 
The fourth ihd battled walls enclose, 

And double mound and fosse. 
By narrow draw-bridge, outworks strong, 
Through studded gates, an entrance long 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately square: 
Around were lodgings fit and fair. 

And towers of various form. 
Which on the court projected far, 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keej), there turret high, 
Or pinnacle that sought the sky, 
Whence oft the warder should descry 

The gathering ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 

Hepe did they rest. — The princely care 
O^Dbuglas, why should I declare, 
Or say they met reception fair? 

Or why the tiding say. 
Which, varying, to Tantallon came, 
By hurrying posts or fleeter fame. 

With every varying day? 
And, first, they heard king James had won 

Etal, and VVark, and Ford; and then. 

That Norham castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion; — 
And Douglas hoped his monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland: 

But whispered news there came. 
That, wliile his host inactive lay. 
And melted by degrees away. 
King James was dallying oft' the day 

With Heron's wily dame. 
Sucli acts to chronicles I yield; 

Go seek them there, and see: 
Mine is a tale of Floddeu field. 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their post. 

Which frowns o'er Millfield plain; 
And that brave Surrey many a band. 
Had gathered in the southern land, 
And marched into Nortimmberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
That hears, without, tlie trumpet-call^ 

Began to chafe and swear: 
" A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle like a fearful maid. 

When such a field is near! 
Needs must I see this battle-day: 
Death to my fame, if such a fray 
Wei-e fought, and Mai-mion away! 

The Douglas too, I wot not wliy. 

Hath 'bated of his courtesy: 
No longer in his halls I'll stav." — 



MARMION. 



89 



Then bade liis band they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO VI. 

TO RICHARD HEBER, Esa. 

J\[ertowi-Hoiise, Christmas. 
Heap on more wood! — the wind is chill; 
But, let it whistle as it will, 
We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
Each age has deemed the new-born year 
The fittest lime for festal cheer: 
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 
At lol' more deep tlie mead did drain; 
High on the beach his galleys drew. 
Anil feasted all his pirate crew; 
Then in his low and pine-built hall. 
Where shields and axes decked the wall, 
They gorged upon the half-dressed steer; 
Caroused in seas of sable beer; 
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 
The half-gnawed rib, and marrow-bone; 
Or listened all, in grim delight. 
While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie, 
While wildly loose their red locks fly, 
And, dancing round the blazing pile. 
They make such barbarous mirth the while, 
As best might to the mind recal 
The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had rolled. 
And brought blith Christmas back again. 
With all his hospitable train. 
Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honour to the holy night: 
On Christmas eve the bells were rung; 
On Christmas eve the mass was sung:^ 
That only night, in all the year. 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; 
The hall was dressed with holy green; 
Forth to the wood did mei-ry-men go. 
To gather in the misletoe. 
Then opened wide the baron's' hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; 
PoM'er laid his rod of rule aside, 
And ceremony 'doffed her pride. 
The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
That night might village partner choose; 
The lord, underogating, share 
The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
All hailed, with uncontrolled delight, 
And general voice, the happy night. 
That to the cottage, as the crown. 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
Went roiiring up the chimney wide; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face. 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the stpiire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
By old blue-coated serving-man; 
Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high. 
Crested with bays and rosemary. 
Well can the green-garbed ranger tell. 
How, when, and where, the monster fell; 
What dogs before his death he tore. 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
The wassel round, in good brown bowls, 
Garnished with ribbons, blithly trowls. 



There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by 

Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; 

Nor failed old Scotland to produce, 

At such higli-tide, her savoury goose. 

Then came the merry masquers in, 

And carols roared with blilhsome din; 

If unmelodious was the song, 

It was a hearty note, and strong. 

Who lists may in their mumming see 

Traces of ancient mystery ;3 

While shirts supplied the masquerade, 

And smutted cheeks the visors made; 

But, O! what mascjuers, richly (light 

Can boast of bosoms half so light! 

England was merry England, when 

Old Christmas brought his sports again. 

'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; 

'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; 

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 

The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger in our northern clime 
Some remnants of the good old time; 
And still, witiiin our valleys here 
We hold the kindred title dear. 
Even when, perchance, its far-fetched claim 
To southern ear sounds empty name; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem, 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.* 
.\nd thus my Christmas still I hold 
Where my great-grandsire came of old, 
With amber beard, and flaxen hair,'* 
And reverend, apostolic air, 
The feast and holy-tide to share. 
And mix sobriety with wine, 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine; 
Small thought was his, in after time. 
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast 
That he was loyal to his cost; 
The banished race of kings revered. 
And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
Is with fair liberty combined; 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand, 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land, 
Little we heed the tempest drear. 
While music, mirth, and social cheer. 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now. 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again. 
As loath to leave the sweet domain, 
And holds his mirror to her face. 
And clasps her with a close embrace:— 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant turns us home. 
How just, that, at this time of glee. 
My thoughts sliould, Heber, turn to thee! 
For many a merry hour we've known. 
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 
Cease, then, ray friend ! a moment cease, 
And leave these classic tomes in peace! 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Blutt" might say, 
" Were pretty tellows in their day:"t 



* " Blood is warmer th.in water,"— a proverb meant to 
vindicate our family predilections. 

t " Hannibal wiis a pretty fellow, sir— a verrj* pretty 
fellow in hi8 day."— OW Bachelor. 



90 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war. — " Profane! 
What! leave the lofty Latian strain, 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms, 
To hear the clash of rusty arms; 
In fairy laud or limbo lost. 
To jostle conjuror and ghost. 
Goblin and witch!" — Nay, Heber dear, 
Before you touch my charter, hear; 
Though Leyden aids, alas! no more 
My cause with many-languaged lore, 
This may I say: — in realms of death 
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith} 
^neas, upon Thracia's shore, 
The ghost of murdered Polydore; 
For omens, we in Livy cross, 
At every turn, locutus bos. 
As grave and truly speaks that ox, 
As if he told the price of stocks; 
Or held, in Rome republican, 
Tlie place of common-councilman. 

All nations have their omens drear, 
Their legends wild of wo and fear. 
To Cambria look — the peasant see, 
Bethink him of Glendowcrd}', 
And shun "the spirit's blasted tree."'^ 
The highlander, whose red claymore 
The battle turned on Maida's shore, 
Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 
If asked to tell a fairy tale;8 
He fears the vengeful elfin king, 
Who leaves that day his grassy ring: 
Invisible to human ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Didst e'er, dear Ileber, pass along 
Beneath the towers of Franchemont,'' 
Which, like an eagle's nest in air. 
Hangs o'er the stream and hamlet fair?— 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
A mighty treasure bvu-ied lay. 
Amassed, through rapine and through wrong. 
By the last lord of Franchemont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A huntsman sits, its constant guard; 
Around his neck his hovn is hung. 
His hanger in his belt is slung; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds lie: 
An 'twere not for his gloomy eye, 
Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look. 
As bugle e'er in brake did sound. 
Or ever hoUoo'd to a hound. 
To chase the fiend, and win the prize, 
In that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged Necromantic priest; 
Jt is an hundred years, at least. 
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, 
And neither yet has lost or won. 
And oft the conjuror's words will make 
The stubborn demon groan and quake; 
And oft the bands of iron break. 
Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 
Fast as 'tis opened, shuts again. 
That mtigic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom. 
Unless the adept shall learn to tell 
The very word that clenched the spell. 
When Francli'mont locked the treasure-cell. 
An hundred years are past and gone. 
And scarce tliree letters has he won. 



Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say; 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from heaven, 
That warned, in Lilhgow, Scotland's klug, 
Nor less the infernal summoning; 
May pass the monk of Durham's tale, 
Whose demon fought in Gothic mail; 
May pardon plead for Fordon grave. 
Who told of Giftbrd's goblin-cave. 
But wliy such instances to you. 
Who, in an instant, can review 
Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
And furnish twenty thousand more.' 
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest; 
While gripple owners still refuse 
To others what they cannot use,^ 
Give them the priest's wliole century. 
They shall not spell you letters three; 
Their pleasure in the books the same 
The magpie takes iu pilfered gem. 
Thy volumes, open as thy lieart. 
Delight, amusement, science, art, 
To every ear and eye impart; 
Yet who, of all who thus employ them. 
Can, like the owner's self, enjoy them?— 
But, hark! I hear the distant (h-um: 
The day of Flodden field is come. — 
Adieu, dear Heber! life and health. 
And store of literary wealth. 



THE BATTLE, 
I. 

While gi-eat events were on the gale, 

And each hour brought a varying tale. 

And the demeanor, changed and cold. 

Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold. 

And, like the impatient steed of war. 

He snuffed the battle from afar; 

And hopes were none, that back again 

Herald should come from Terouenne, 

Where England's king in leaguer lay. 

Before decisive batlle-day;— • 

While these things were, the mournful Clare 

Did in the dame's devotions share: 

For the good countess ceaseless prayed. 

To heaven and saints, her sons to aid, 

And, with short interval, did pass 

From prayer to book, from book to mass. 

And all iu high baronial pride, — ■ 

A life both dull and dignified; — 

Yet as lord Marmion nothing pressed 

Upon her intervals of rest, 

Dejected Clara well could bear 

The formal state, the lengthened prayer. 

Though dearest to her wounded heart 

The hours that she might spend apart. 

n. 

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 

Hung o'er tlie margin of the deep. 

Many a rude tower and rampart there 

Repelled the insult of the air, 

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky, 

Half breeze, half spray, came wiiistling by. 

Above the rest, a turret square 

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 

Of sculpture rude, a stony shield; 

Tlie Bloody Heart was in llie field. 



MARMION. 



91 



And in the chief three mullets stood, 

The cognizance of Douglas hlood. 

The turret held a narrow stair, 

Which, mounted, gave you access wliere 

A parapet's embattled row 

Did seaward round the castle go. 

Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 

Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, 

Sometimes in platform broad extending. 

Its varyingtsircle did combine 

Bulwark, and bartizan, and line. 

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign; 

Above the booming ocean leant 

The far-projecting battlement; 

The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, 

Upon tire precipice below. 

Where'er Tantallon faced the land. 

Gate-works, and walls, were strongly manned; 

No need upon the sea-girt side; 

The steepy rock and frantic tide, 

Approach of human step denied; 

And thus these lines and ramparts rude, 

Were left in deepest solitude. 

III. 

And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements repair, 
And muse upon her sorrows there, 

And list the sea-bird's cry; 
Or, slow like noonlitle ghost, would glide 
Along the dark-gray bulwark's side, 
And ever on the heaving tide 

Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, 
Recal the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — 
A home she ne'er might see again: 

For she had laid adown, 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 
And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown: 
It were unseemly sight he said, 
A novice cut of convent shade. — 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow, 
Again adorned her brow of snow; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders, i-ound, 
A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In golden foldings sought the ground; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remained a cross of I'uby stone; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she boi'e, 
With velvet bound, and broidered o'er 

Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, so grim. 
At dawning pale, or twilight dim. 

It fearful would have been, 
To meet a form so richly dressed. 
With book in hand and cross on breast. 

And such a woful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 
To practice on the gull and crow. 
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow, 

And did by Mary swear, — 
Some love-lorn lay she might have heen. 
Or, in romance, some spell-bound queen; 
For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 

A form so witching fair. 

IV. 

Once walking thus, at evening tide. 

It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 

And, sighing, thought — " The abbess there, 

Perchance, does to her home repair; 



Her peaceful rule, where duty, free, 

Walks hand in Iiand with charity; 

Where oft devotion's tranced glow 

Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow. 

That the enraptured sisters see 

High vision, and deep mystery; 

The very form of Hilda fair, 

Hovering upon the sunny air,^ 

And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 

O! wherefore, to ray duller eye, 

Did still the saint her foi-m deny! 

Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn, 

My heart could neither melt nor burn? 

Or lie my warm affections low 

With him, that taught them first to glow? 

Yet, gentle abbess, well I knew. 

To pay thy kindness grateful due. 

And well could brook the mild command, 

That rule tliy simple maiden hand. — 

How diflercnt now ! condemned to bide 

Mj' doom from this dark tyrant's pride. 

But Marmion has to learn, ere long. 

That constant mind, and hate of wrong, 

Descended to a feeble girl 

From red De Clare, stout Gloster's earl: 

Of such astern a sapling weak. 

He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 

V. 

" But see! — what makes this armour here?" 

For in her path tliere lay 
Targe, corslet, helm; — she viewed them near. — ■ 
" The breast-plate pierced I — Ay, much 1 fear. 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
That hath made fatal entrance here. 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton! — Oh! not corslet's ward, 
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard 

On yon disastrous day!" — 
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
WiLTox himself before her stood! 
It might have seemed his passing ghost. 
For everj' youthful grace was lost; 
And joy unwonted, and surprise. 
Gave their strange wildncss to his eyes. 
Expect not, noble dame? and lords. 
That I can tell such scene in words: 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint the rainbow's varying hues. 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip his brush in dies of heaven? 

Far less can my weak line declare 
Each changing passion's shade; 

Brightening to rapture from despair, 

Sorrow, surprise, and pity there. 

And joy, witii iier angelic air. 

And hope, that paints the future fair, 
Their varying hues displayed: 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, 
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said. 
By many a tender word delayed. 
And modest blush, and bursting sigh, 
And question kind, and fond reply. 
VI. 

DE WILTON 'S HISTORT. 

" Forget we that disastrous da}". 
When senseless in the lists I lay. 
Thence dragged, — but how I cannot know. 



92 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



For sense and recollection fled, 

I found me on a pallet low, 

Within my ancient beadsman's shed. 

Austin, — remember'st thou, my Clare, 
How thou didst blush, when the old man, 
When first our infant love began. 

Said we would make a matchless pair? 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
He, only, held my burning head, 
And tended me for man)' a day; 
While wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was his care, 
When sense returned, to wake despair; 
For I did tear the closing wound. 
And dash me frantic on tlie ground. 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 

At length, to calmer reason brought, 

Much by his kind attendance wrought. 
With him I left my native strand. 

And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed. 

My hated name and form to shade, 
I journeyed many a land; 

No more a lord of rank and birth. 

But mingled with the dregs of earth. 

Oft Austin for my reason feared, , 

When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood. 

Or wild mad schemqs upreared. 

My friend at length fell sick, and said, 

God would remove him soon; 
And, while upon his dying bed. 

He begged of me a boon — 
If ere my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquered lie, 
Even then my mercy should awake, 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 

VII. 
" Still restless as a second Cain, 
To Scotland next my route was ta'en. 

Full well the paths I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various sound. 
That death in pilgrimage I found, 
That I had perished of my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true: 
And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his palmer's dress: 

For, now that sable slough is shed. 

And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, 

I scarcely know me in the glass.. 

A chance most wondrous did provide. 

That 1 should be that baron's guide — 
I will not name his name! — 

Vengeance to God alone belongs; 

But, when 1 think on all my wrongs, 
My blood is liquid dame! 
And ne'er the time shall I forget, 
When, in a Scottish hostel set. 

Dark looks we did exchange; 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell; 
But in my bosom mustered hell 

Its plans of dark revenge. 
VIII. 
" A word of vulgar augury, 
That broke from me, 1 scarce knew why, 

Brought on a village tale; 
Which wrought upon his moody sprite, 
And sent him armed forth by night. 

I bon-owed steed, and mail. 
And weapons, from his sleeping band; 

And, passing from a postern door, 



We met, and 'countered, hand to hand, — 

He fell on GifFord moor. 
J'or the death stroke my brand I drew, 
(O then my helmed head he knew, 

The palmer's cowl was gone,) 
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin staid 

I left him there alone. — 
O, good old man ! even from the grave. 
Thy spirit could thy master save: 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
Had Whitby's abbess, in her fear. 
Given to my hand this packet dear, 
Of power to clear my injured fame. 
And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of hell, 

'I'hat broke our secret speech — 
It rose from the infernal shade. 
Or featly was some juggle plaj'ed, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to heaven I judged was best, 
When my name came among the I'est. 

IX. 

" Now here, within Tantallon hold, 

To Douglas late my tale I told. 

To whom my house was known of old. 

Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 

This eve anew shall dub me knight. 

These were tlie arms that once did turn 

The tide of fight on Olterburne, 

And Harry Hotspur forced to yield. 

When the dead Douglas won the field. 

These Angus gave — liis armourer's care, 

Ere morn,' shall every breach repair; 

For nought, he said, was in his halls. 

But ancient armour on the walls. 

And aged chargers in the stalls. 

And women, priests, and gray-haired men; 

The rest were all in Twisel glen.* 

And now I watch my armour here. 

By law of arms, till midnight's near; 

Then, once again a belted knight, 

Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 

X. 

"There soon again we meet, my Clare! 
This baron means to guide thee there: 
Douglas reveres his king's command. 
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too. 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now meeter far for martial broil, 
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil. 

Once more" " O, Wilton! must we then 

Risk new-found happiness again. 

Trust fate of arms once more? 

And is there not an humble glen, 

Where we, content and poor, 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A shepherd thou, and I £o aid 

Thy task on dale and moor? — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I know. 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow. 

While falsehood stains thy name: 
Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go! 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 
And weep a warrior's shame; 



• Where James encamped before taking po.« at Flodden. 



MARMION. 



93 



Can red earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 

Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 

And belt thee with thy brand ot steel, 
And send thee forth to lame ! — 
XI. 
That ni?ht, upon the rocks and hay, 
The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay. 
And poured its silver light, and pure. 
Through loop hole, and through embrazure, 

Upon Tantallon tower and hall; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride. 

The sober glances fall. , -.u . 

Much was there need; though, seamed with scars. 
Two veterans of tlie Douglas' wars. 

Though two gray priests were there, 
And each a blazing torch held high. 
You could not by their blaze descry 

The chapel's carving fair. 
Amid that dim and smoky light. 
Chequering the silvery moonshine briglit, 

A bishop by the altar stood,9 

A noble lord of Douglas' blood, 
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. 
Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 
But little pride of prelacy; 
More pleased that, in a barbarous age, 
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page, 
Than that beneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood 
Doffed his furred gown, and sable hooa; 
O'er his huge form, and visage pale, 
■■ He wore a cap and shirt of mail; 

And leaned his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand 

■ Which wont, of yore, in battle-tray. 
His foemen's limbs to shred away. 

As wood-knife lops the sapling spray, lo 
He seemed, as from the tombs around, 

Rising at judgment-day, 
Some giant Douglas may be tound 

In all his old array; 
So pale his face, so huge his limb, 

■ ■,Mq old his arms, his look so grim. 

XII. 
Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels; 
And think what next he must have felt. 
At buckling of the falchion belt. 

And judge how Clara changed her hue. 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried. 

He once had found untrue ! 

■ Then Douglas struck him with his blade: 
« Saint Michael and saint Andrew aid, 

I dub thee knight. _ 

' Arise, sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir! 
For king, for church, for lady fair, 

See that thou fight."— 
\nd bishop Gawain, as he rose, 
Said—" Wilton! grieve not for thy woes. 

Disgrace, and trouble; 
For he, who honour best bestows, 
Vlay'give thee double."— 
■• ■ De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must— 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 
That Douglas is my brother!" 
•' <'Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go, 
Thy wrongs no longer smother. 



I have two sons in yonder field; 
And, if thou meet'st them under shield, 
Upon them bravely— do thy worst; 
And foul tall him that blenches first. 

XIII. 

Not far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his U-oop aiTay 

To Surrey's camp to ride; 
He had safe-conduct for his band, 
Beneath the royal seal and hand. 

And Douglas gave a guide: 
The ancient earl, with stately grace, 
Would Clara on her palfrey place. 
And whispered, in an under tone, ^^ 

" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown. 
The train from out the castle drew. 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:— 

"Though something I might plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
Sent hither bv your king's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I staid; 

Part we in friendship from your land. 

And, noble earl, receive my hand." 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:— 

" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 

Be open, at my sovereign's will. 

To each one whom he lists, howe er 

Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 

My castles are my king's alone. 

From turret to foundation stone— 

The hand of Douglas is his own; 

And never shall in friendly grasp 

The hand of such as Marmion clasp. 

XIV. 

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 

And— "This to me!" he said,— 
« An 'twere not for thy hoary beard. 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, 1 tell thee, haughty peer. 
He who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state. 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
And, Douglas, more 1 tell thee here, 

E'en in thy pitch of pride. 
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
(Nav, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

1 tell thee, thou'rt defied! 
And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland heue, 
Lowland or highland, far or n(?ar. 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied! 
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue ot age: 
Fierce he broke forth: " And darest thou then 
To beard the lion in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall? 
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go' 
No, by St. Bride of Both well, no!— 
Up drawbridge, grooms— what, warder, ho. 

Let the portcullis fall.'"! 
Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need, 
And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
Like arrow through the arch-way sprung. 
The ponderous gate behind him rung: 
To pass there was such scanty room. 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 



94, 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XV. 

The steed nloiig the'dniwbridgc fties, 

Just US it. tr(>inl)l<'(l on the rise; 

Not lighter does tiie swiillow skim 

Along llie snioolli lake's level brim: 

And wiien lord AlMrniion readied his band, 

He halls, and turns with clenched hand, 

And shout ol' loud di'I'iance jiours, 

And shook his {gauntlet at the towers. 

" Morsi-! hoi-se!'"the Doujjlascried, "and chase!' 

But soon he reined ids fury's pace; 

" A royal niesseuf^er he came, 

Thouj^li most unworthy of the name. — 

A letter Ibrj^eil ! St. Jude to speed! 

Did ever kni-^ht so t"oid(a deed?'^ 

At first ill heart it liked me ill, 

\\ hen the king praised his clerkly skill. 

Thanks to St. liothan, son of mine, 

Save (Juwain, ne'er could pen a line: 

So swon^ 1, and I swear it still. 

Let my boy-bishop fret his lill. — 

St. Mary mend my hery mood ! 

Old age ne'er cools the Douglas' bloovl, 

1 thought to slay hinx viiere he stood, — 

''I'is pity of him, too,'' he cried; 

" Hold can he speak, and fairly ride: 

I warrant him a warrior tried."— 

Witli tiiis his mandate he recals. 

And slowly seeks his castle's halls. 

XVI. 

The day in Marmion's journey wore; 

Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er, 

They crossed the heights of Slanrig-moor. 

His troop more closely tliere he scann'd, 

And missed tiie palmer from the liand. 

" Palmer or not," young Hlount did say, 

" He iiarted at the peep of tlay; 

Good sooth it was in strange arr:xy."— 

" In what array?" said Alarmion, quick. 

" My lord, 1 ill can spell (he trick; 

Put all night long, with clink and bang. 

Close to my conch did hammers clang; 

At tlawn the lalling drawbridge rang, 

And, from a loop-hole while 1 p<'ep. 

Old Hell-t he-cat came from the keep, 

\Vrai)ped in a gown of sables fair. 

As fearful of the morning air; 

Penealh, when that was blow n aside, 

A rusty shirt of mail 1 spied. 

By Archibald won in bloody work, 

Against tiie Saracen and 'I'nrk: 

Last night it hung not in the hall; 

1 thought some marvel would iiefal. 

And next I saw them saddled lead 

Old Cheviot forth, the earl's best steed; 

A matchless horse, though something old, 

Prompt to his paces, cool and bold. 

I heard tiie slierilf Sbolto say. 

The earl did mucii the master* pray 

To use him on the battle day; 

But he preferred" — " Nay, Henry, cease! 

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 

Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — IJpraj', 

What did Blount see at break of day?" 

XVll. 

" In brief, my lord, v e both ilescried 
(For 1 then stood by Henry's side) 
I'he palmer mount, and outward ride, 
Upon the earl's own I'avourite steed; 



• His eldest sou, the master or Angus. 



All sheathed he was in armour bright, 
And much resembled that same knight, 
Sulidued by you in Cotswold fight: 

Lord Angus wislu'd him speed."— 
The instant that Pit/.-Euslace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke; — 
" Ah! dastard fool, to reason lost!" 
He muttered; " 'I'was not lay nor ghost, 
1 met upon llie moonlight wold. 
But living man of eartiily mould. — 

O dotage blind and gross! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid l)e \V ilton in the dust. 

My path no more to cross. — 
How st;uid we now? — he tolil his tale 
'I'o Douglas; and with some avail; 

' Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow. — 
Will Surrey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain? 

Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must 1 shun; 
Must separate Constance from the nun — 

wiiat a tangled web we weave, 
When first we practise to deceive! — 
A palmer too! — no wonder why 

1 felt rebuked beneath his eye: 

1 migiit have known there was but one 
Whose look could quell lord Marmion." 

XVIH. 

Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed, 
Whei-e Lennel's convent closed their march.'^ 
(Tiiere now is h'fi but one frail arch. 

Yet mourn thou not its cells; 
Our time a fair exchange has made; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
Well worth the wiiole Bernardinc brood. 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
Yet did saint Bernard's :»bbot there 
(;ive Marmion entertainment fair, 
And lodging for his train, and Clare. 
Next morn the baron climbed the tower. 
To view afar the Scottish power, 

Encamped on Flodden »'dge: 
The while pavilions made a show, 
Like remnants of the winter snow. 

Along till- dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion looked: — at length his eye 
Ihiusual movement might descry, 

Amid the shifting lines: 
The Scottish host drawn out appears, 
For, Hashing on the hedge of spears 

The eastern sunbeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending, 
Their Hank inclining, v heeling, bending. 
Now drawing back, and now descending, 
The skilful Marmion well could know 
They watched the motion of some foe. 
Who traversed on the plain below. 

XIX. 

Even so it was; — From Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 
Leave Harmore-wood, their evening post, 
And heedful watched them as thev crossed 

The Till by T«isel briilge." 

High sight it is, and baughtv, while 

They dive into the deep detile; 

Beneath the caverned cliif they fall. 

Beneath the castle's airy wall. 



MARMION, 



95 



By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, 
Troop after troop are (lisajipearing; 
Troop alU-r troop tlu-ir banners rearing 

Uptni the easl(!rn bank you see. 
Still pouring <lown the rotky den, 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising Irom ibe dim wood glen, 
Standards on standards, men on men, 

In slow succession still. 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 

To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet-clang, 
Twisel! thy rock's deep echo rang; 

And many a chief of birth and rank. 

Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank. 

Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 

In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 

Had then from many an axe its doom. 

To give the marching columns room. 

XX. 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow, 
Since England gains the pass the while, 
And struggles tlu-ough the deep defile? 
What checks the fiery soul of James? 
Why sits that champion ot" the dames 

Inactive on his steed. 
And sees, between him and his land. 
Between him ai^l Tweed's southern strand. 

His host lord Surrey lead? 
What vails the vain knight-errant's brand!— 
O, Douglas, for thy leading wand! 

Fierce liandolph, for thy speed! 
O for one hour of Wallace wight. 
Or well-skilled ISruce, to rule the fight, 
And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right!" 
Another sight had seen tlial morn, 
From fate's dark book a leaf been torn. 
And Flodden had been Biinnock-bourne! — 
The precious hour has passed in vain. 
And England's host has gained the plain; 
Wheeling their march, and circling still. 
Around the base of Flodden-hill. 

XXt. 
Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, — 
" Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum! 
And see, ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hill. 
Foot, horse, and cannon: — hap what hap, 
My basnet to a 'prentice cap. 

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till! — 
Yet more! yet more! — bow fair arrayed 
They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
With all their banners bravely spread. 

And all their armour Hashing high. 
Saint George might waken h'om iIk^ dead. 

To see fair England's standards lly." — 
" Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount, " thou' 

best. 
And listen to our lord's behest." — 
With kindling brow lord Marmion said^ 
*' This instant be our band arrayed; 
The river must be quickly crossed. 
That we may join lord Surrey's host. 
If fight king James — as well 1 trust. 
That fight be will, and fight he must, — 
The lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." 



dst 



XXII. 

Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
Scarce to the abbot bade adieu. 

Far less would listen to bis ])rayer. 

To leave behind the belijless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed bis band he drew. 
And muttered, as the flood they view, 
" The pheasant in the falcon's claw. 
He scarce will yield to please a daw: 
Lord Angus may the abbot awe. 

So Clare shall l)ide with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep, 

He ventured desperately: 
And not a moment will he bide, 
Till squire, or groom, befi)re him ride; 
Headmost of all he stems the tide. 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse. 

Old Hubert led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's course, 
And, though far downward driven per force. 

The southern bank they gain; 
Behind them, straggling, came to shore, 

As best they miglit, the train: 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain; 
Deep need that day that every string. 
By wet unharmed sliould sharply ring. 
A moment then lord Marmion staid. 
And bieallied liis steed, his men arrayed, 

Then forward moved bis band. 
Until, lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 
He halted I)y a cross of stone, 
That, on a hillock standing lone, 

Did all the field command. 

XXIH. 

Hence might they sec the full array 

Of either host, for deadly fray;i5 

Their marshalled line stretched east and west, 

And frontetl north and south, 
And distant salutation past 

From the loud cannon mouth: 
Not in the close successive rattle, 
That breathes the voice of modern battle. 

But slow and far between.— 
The hillock gained, lord Marmion staid: 
" Here, by Ibis cross," he gently said, 

" You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare: 
() think of Marmion in thy prayer! 
Thou wilt not! — well, — no less my care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal ju'epare. — 
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 

Witli ten picked archers of my train; 
With F.ngland if the day go hard, 

To Berwick speed amain. — 
But, if we conquer, cruel maid ! 
My spoils shall at your feet be laid. 

When here we meet again." — 
He waited not for answer there; 
And would not mark the maid's despair. 

Nor heed the discontented look 
From either squire; but spurred amain. 
And, dashing through the battle plain. 

His way to Surrey took. 
XXIV. 
" The good lord Marmion, by my life! 

Welcome to danger's hour! — 
Short greeting serves in time of strife: — 

Thus have I ranged my power: 



96 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Myself will rule this central host, 
Stout Stanley fronts their right, 

My sons command the va'ward post, 

With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight;!^ 
Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light. 
Shall be in rearward of the fight, . 

And succour those that need it most. 
Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, 
Would gladly to the vanguard go; 
Edmund, the admiral, Tunstall there. 
With thee their charge will blithly share; 
There fight thine own retainers too. 
Beneath De Burgh, thy steward true." — 
"Thanks, noble Surrey!" Marmion said, 
Nor further greeting there he paid; 
But, parting like a thunderbolt. 
First in the vanguard made a halt, 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of" Marmion! Marmion!" that the cry 
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 
Startled the Scottish foes. 

XXV. 

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
With lady Clare upon the hill; 
On which (for far the day was spent) 
The western sunbeams now were bent; 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
Could plain their distant comrades view; 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
" Unworthy office here to stay. 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But, see! look up — on Flodden bent, 
The Scottish foe has fired his tent." 

And sudden, as he spoke, 
From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sjible smoke; 
Volumed and vast, auTT rolling far. 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 

As down the hill they broke; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, 
Announcfed their march; their tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet blown, 

At time's a stilled hum, 
Told England, from his mountain throne 

King .lames did rushing come. — ■ 
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes. 
Until at weapon point they close. — , 
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust. 
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust; 

And such a yell was there. 
Of sudden and portentous birth. 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And fiends in upper air; 
O! life and death were in the shout, 
Recoil and rally, charge and rout. 

And triumph and despair. 
Long looketl the anxious"squires; their eye 
Ct)uld in the darkness nought descry. 

XXVI. 
At length the freshening western blast 
Aside the shroud of battle cast; 
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
Above the brightening cloud appears; 
And in the smoke the pennons iiew, 
As in the stoi'm the white sea-mew. 
Then marked they, dashing broad and far, 
The broken billows of the war. 
And plumed crest of chieftains brave, 
Floating like foam upon the wave, 
But nought diuinct they see: 



Wide raged the battle on the plain; 
Spears sliook, and falchions flashed amain; 
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They- saw lord Marmion's falcon fly: 
And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 
And Edmund Howard's linn bright. 
Still bear them bravely in the fight; 

Although against them come. 
Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
And many a stubborn highlandman, 
And many a rugged border clan, 

AVith Huntley, and with Home. 

XXVIL 

Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle; 
Though there the western mountaineer 
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, 
And flung the feeble targe aside, 
And with both hands the broad sword plied: 
'Twas vain: — But fortune, on the right, 
Willi fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner white, — 

The Howard's lion fell; y 
Yet still lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle yell. 
The border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry;* 
Loud were the clanging blows; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high. 

The pennon sunk and rose; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale. 
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, 

It wavered 'mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the sight could bear: — 
"By heaven, and all its saints, 1 swear, 

I will not see it lost! 
Fitz-Eustace, you with lady Clare 
May bid your beads, and patter prayer, — 

I gallop to the host." 
And to the fray he rode amain, 
Followed by all the archer train. 
The fiery youth, with desperate charge. 
Made, for a space, an opening large, — 

The rescued banner rose, — 
But darkly closed the war around. 
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground. 

It sunk among the foes. 
Then Eustace mounted too; — yet staid. 
As loth to leave the helpless maid, 

When, fast as shaft can fly. 
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread. 
The loose i-ein dangling from his head. 
Housing and saddle bloody red, 

■ Lord Marmion's steed rushed by; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
A look and sign to Clara cast, 
To mark he would return in haste, 
Then plunged into the fight. 

xxyiii. 

Ask me not what the maiden feels, 
Left in that dreadful hour alone: 

Perchance her reason stoops,' or reels; 
Perchance a courage, not her own. 
Braces her mind to desperate tone. 

The scattered van of England wheels; — 
She only said, as loud in air 
The tumult roared, "Is Wilton tlierei"' 



MARMION. 



97 



They fly, or, maddened by despair, 

Fight but to die,—" Is Wilton there?" 
With that, straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen drcnclied with gore, 
And in their arms, a jielpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hantt still strained the broken brand; 
His arms were smeared with blood and sand: 
Dragged from among tbe horses' feet, 
With dinted shield, and helmet beat, 
The falcon crest and plumage gone, 
Can that be haughty Marmion ! — 
Young Blount bis armour did unlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face. 

Said — " By saint George, he's gone! 
That spear-wound has our master sped, 
And see the deep cut on his head! 

Good niglit to Marmion." 
"Unnurtured Blount! thy brawling cease: 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace; "peace!" 

XXIX. 

When, dofted his casque, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare: 
" Wbere's Harr)' Blount? Fitz-Eustace where? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare? 
Redeem my pemion, — charge again ! 
Cry — 'Marmion to' the rescue!' — Vain! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
Yet my last thought is JjUgland's: — fly, 
To Dacre bear my signet-ring: 
Tell him his squadrons up to bring:-;- 
P'itz-Eustace, to lord Surrey hie; ' 
Tunstall lies dead upon the field, 
His life-blood stains the spotless shield: 
Edmund is down: — my life is reft; — 
The admiral alone isjeft. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
Pull upon Scotland's central host. 
Or victory and England's lost. — 
Must I bid twice? — hence, varlets, fly! 
Leave Marmion here alone*-to die." — 
They parted, and alone he lay; 
Clare drew her froni the sight away, 
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan. 
And half he murmured, — "Is there none. 

Of all my halls have nurst. 
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water from the spring, 
To slake my dying tliirst!" — 

XXX. 

O, woman! in our hours of ease. 

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 

And variable as the shade 

By the light quivering aspen made, — 

When pain and anguish wring the brow, 

A ministering angel thou! — 

Scarce were the piteous accents said. 

When, with the baron's casque, the maid 

To the nigh streamlet ran: 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears. 
The ])lainlive voice alone she hears. 

Sees but tbe dying man. 
She stooped her by the runnel's side. 

But in abhorrence backward drew; 
For, oozing from the mountain's side. 
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn ' — behold her mark 

A little fountain cell, 



Where water, clear as diamond-spark. 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above some half-worn letters say. 
Drink, -veai\if pilg-rim, drink and pray 
For the kind soul of Sybil Gret/, 

IVIin built t/iis cross and -well. 
She filled tlie helm, and bacKshe hied. 
And with surprise aiu! joy espied 

A monk supporting Marmion's head; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. . 

XXXI. 

Deep drank lord Marmion of the wave, 
And as she stooped his brow to lave — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
"Or injured Constance, bathes my head?" 
, Then, as remembrance rose, — 
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer! 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words are mine, to spare: 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clai-e!" — 

" Al*i!" she. said, "the while, — 
O think of your immortal weal! > 

In vain for Constance is your zeal; 

She died at Holj' Isle." 

Lord Marmion started'from tlie ground, 
As light as if he felt no wound; 
,Tiiough in tlie action burst the tide, 
In torrents, from his wounded side. 
" Then it was truth!" — he said — " I knew 
Tliat the daric presage' must be true. — 

1 would the fiend, to whom belongs 

The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 
"Woidd spare me but a day! 

For wasting fire, and dying groan. 

And priests slain on the altar stone. 
Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be! — this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
And doubly cursed my fJAiling brand! 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." 
Then, fainting, down on earth he sr.nk. 
Supported by tlie trembling monk. 

XXXII. 

With fruitless labour, Clara hound, 
And strove to stanch, the gushing wound: 
The monk, with unavailing cares. 
Exhausted all the churcji's prayers. 
Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
A lady's voice was on his ear. 
And that the priest he could not heai-. 

For that she ever sung, 
" In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
Wliere mingles war's rattle with groans of the dy- 
ing!" 

So the notes rung: — 
"Avoid thee, fiend! — with cruel hand. 
Shake not the dying sitmer's sand! 
O look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine; 

O think on faitii and bliss! — 
By many a death-bed I have been. 
And many a sinner's parting seen. 

But never aught like this." — 
The war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale. 

And— Stanlej'! was the crj'; 
A light on Marmiorv's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye: 
With dying hand, above his head, 



98 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted "Victory! — 
Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" — 
Were the last words of Marniion. 

XXXIII. 
By this, though deep the evening fell, 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
For still the Scots, around their king. 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where's now their victor va'ward wing, 

Where Huntley, and where Home? — 
O for a blast of that dread horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne. 

That to king Chai-les did come, 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer. 

On Roncesvallcs died I 
Such blast might warn them, not in vain. 
To quit the plunder of the slain. 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

While )'et on Flodden side. 
Afar the roj'al standard flies, 
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies. 

Our Caledonian pride! 
In vain the wish — for, far away. 
While spoil and havoc mark their way. 
Near Sybil's cross the plunderers stray. — 
" O, lady," cried the monk, " away!" — 

And placed her on her steed. 
And led her to the chapel fair 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer, 
And, at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman, lord Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 

But as they left the dark'ning heath. 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The English shafts in volleys hailed. 
In headlong charge their horse assailed; 
Front, flank, and rear, the sqnadrons sweep, 
To break the Scottish circle deep. 

That fought around their king. 
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, 
Though charging kniglits like whirlwinds go. 
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, 

Unbroken was the ring; 
The stubborn spearmen still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each stepping wliere his comrade stood. 

The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight; — 
Linked in the serried phalanx tight, 
Gi'oom fought like noble, squire like knight. 

As fearlessly and well; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shattered bands; 

And from tiie charge they drew. 
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands. 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foeman knovi'; 
Their king, their lords, their mightiest, low, 
They melted from the field as snow, 
When streams are swoln and south winds blow, 

Dissolves in silent deiv. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 

While many a broken band. 
Disordered, through her currents dash. 

To gain the Scottish land; 
To town and tower, to down ami dale. 



To tell red Flodden's dismal tale. 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 
Shall many an age that wail prolong; 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of tlie stern strife and carnage drear 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear. 

And broken was her shield ! 

XXXV. 

Day dawns upon the mountain's side: — 
There, Scotland! lay thy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one, 
The sad survivors all are gone. — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled though it be; 
Nor to yon border castle high 
Look northward with upbraiding' eye;i7 

Nor cherish hope in vain. 
That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
Tiie royal pilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plain: 
And well in death liis trusty brand, 
P'irm clenched within his manly hand. 

Beseemed the monarch slain. 
But, O! how changed since yon blith night! — 
tiladly I turn me from the sight. 

Unto my tale again. 

XXXVI. 
Short is my tale: — Fitz-Eustace' care 
A pierced and mangled body bare 
To moated Lichfield's lofty ])ile; 
And there, beneath the southern aisle, 
A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. 
Did long lord Marmion's image bear. 
(Now vainly for its site you look; 
'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook 
Tlie fair cathedral stormed and took;'^ 
But, thanks to heaven, and good saint Chad, 
A guei'don meet the spoiler had!) 
There erst was martial Marniion found. 
His feet upon a couchant hound. 

His liands to heaven upraised; 
And all around, on scutclieon rich. 
And tablet carved, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair. 
And priests for Marmion breathed the prayer 
The last lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain 
Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — 
One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " wede away." 
Sore wounded, Sybil's cross he spied. 
Anil dragged hirn to its foot and died, 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain. 
And thus their corpses were mista'en; 
And thus, in the proud baron's tomb. 
The lowly woodsman took the room. 

XXXVII. 
Less easy task it were, to show 
Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low. 

They dug his grave e'en where he lay. 
But every mark is gone; 

Time's wasting hand has done away 

The simple cross of Sybil Grey, 
And broke her font of stone* 



MARMION. 



99 



But yet from out the little hill 
Oozes the slenclei- springlet still. 

Oft halls the stranger there, 
For thence may best his curious eye 
The memorable field descry; 
And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-llag and rush, 
And rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their garlands fair; 
Nor dream they sit u[)on the grave 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 

"When thou shalt find the little hill, 

With th)^ heart commune, and be still. 

If ever, in temptation strong. 

Thou left'st the right j)ath for the wrong: 

If every devious step, thus trod, 

Still lead thee further from the road; 

Dread tliou to speak presumptuous doom 

On noble Marmion's lowly tomb; 

But say, " He died a gallant knight,. 

With sword in hand, for England's right." 

xxxviir. 

I do not rhyme to that dull elf. 

Who cannot image to himself, 

That all through Flodden's dismal night, 

AVilton was foremost in the fight; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'Twas Wilton mounted him again; 

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hewed, 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood, — 

Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall, 

He was the living sojjl of all; 

That, after fight, his faith made plain, 

He won his rank and lands again; 

And charged his old paternal shield 

With bearings won on Flodden field.— 

Nor sing I to that simple maid. 

To whom it must in terms be said, 

That king and kinsmen did agree 

To bless fair Clara's constancy^; 

W^ho cannot, unless 1 relate, 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 

More, Sands, and Dcnnv, passed the joke; 

That bluff king Hal the curtain drew. 

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw: 

And afterwards, for many a day. 

That it was held enough to say, 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they like \\'ilton and like Clare!" 

l'envoy to the keader. 
Why, then, a final note prolong, 
Or lengthen out a closing song. 
Unless to bid the gentles speed, 
"\\'ho long have listed to my rede?*— 
To statesman grave, if such may deign 
To read the minstrel's idle strain, 
Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit. 
And patriotic heart — as Pitt I 
A garland for the hero's crest. 
And twined by her he loves the best; 
To every lovely lady briglit. 
What can I wish but faithful knight? 
To every failliful lover too. 
What can I wish but lady true? 
And knowledge to the studious sage. 
And pillow to the head of age. 
To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay 
Has cheated of thy hour of play. 
Light task and merry holiday! 



* Used generally for tale, or discourse. 



To all, to each, a fair good night. 

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light! 



NOTES TO CANTO I. 

J. As when the champion of the lake 
Enters Moi-gana's tated hoBse, 
Oi- in tlie Chapel Ptrilous, 
Despising spells and demons' foi-ce, 
Holds converse with the uuburied coi-se.— P. 55. 

The Romance of the Morte Arthur contains a 
sort of abridgement of the most celebrated adven- 
tures of the Round Table; and, being written in 
comparatively modern language, gives the general 
reader an excellent idea of what romances of chi- 
valry actually were. It has also the merit of being 
written in piu'e old English; and many of the wild 
adventures which it contains are told with a sim- 
plicity bordering upon the sublime. Several of 
these are referred to in the text; and I would have 
illustrated them by more full extracts, but as this 
curious work is about to be published, I confine 
myself to the tale of the Chapel Perilous, and of 
the quest of sir Lanncelot after the Sangreal. 

" Right so sir Launcelot departed; and when he 
came to the Chapell Perilous, he alighted downe, 
and tied his horse to a little gate. And as soon as 
he was within the church-yard, he saw, on the 
front of the chapell, many faire rich shields turned 
upside downe, and many of the shields sir Launce- 
lot had scene knights have before; with that he 
saw stand by him thirtie great knights; more, by 
a yard, than any man that ever he had seene, and 
all those grinned and gnashed at sir Launcelot: 
and when he saw their countenance, hee dread 
them sore, and so put his shield afore him, and 
tooke his sword in his hand, ready to doe battaile; 
and they were all armed in black harneis, ready, 
with their shields and swords drawn. And when 
sir Launcelot would have gone through them, they 
scattered on every side of him, and gave him the 
way ; and therewith he w axed all bold, and enter- 
ed into the chapell, and then hee saw no light but 
a dimme lampe burning, and then was hee ware ot 
a corps covered with a cloath of silke; then sir 
Launcelot stoo^jed downe, and cut a piece of that 
cloath away, and then it fared under him as if the 
earth had quaked a little, whereof he was afeared, 
and then he saw a faire sword lye by the dead 
knight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied him 
out of the chapell. As soon as he was in the chap- 
pell-yerd, all the knights spoke to him with a 
grimly voice, and said, ' knight sir Launcelot, lay 
that sword from thee, or else thou shalt die.' 
' Whether I live or die,' said sir Launcelot, ' with 
no great words get yee it againe, therefore fight 
for it and yee list.' Therewith he passed through 
them; and, beyond the chappell-yerd, there met 
him a fair damosel, and said, ' Sir Launcelot, leave 
that sword behind thee, or thou wilt die for it.' 
'I will not leave it,' said sir Launcelot, 'for no 
threats.' 'No!' said she, 'and ye did leave that 
sword, queene Guenever should ye never see.' 
' Then were I a foole and I would leave tliis sword,' 
said sir Launcelot. 'Now, gentle knight,' said 
the damosel, '1 require thee to kisse me once.' 
'Nay,' said sir Launcelot, 'that, God forbid!' 
'Well, sir,' said she, 'and thou haddest kissed 
me, thy life dayes had been done; but now, alas!' 
said she, ' I have lost all my labour; for I ordained 
this chappell for thy sake, and for sir Gawaine: 
and once 1 had sir Gawaine within it; and at that 



100 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



time he fought with that knight which thare lieth 
dead in yonder chappell, sir Gilbert the bastard, 
and at that time hee smote off sir Gilbert the bas- 
tard's left hand. And so, sir Launcelot, now I tell 
thee, that 1 have loved thee this seaven yeare; but 
there may no woman have thy love but queene 
Guenever'; but sitheu [ may not rejoyce to have thy 
body alive, I had kept no more joy in this world 
but to have had thy dead body; and I would have 
balmed it and served, and so have kept it my life 
dales and daily I should have clipped thee, and 
kissed thee in the despite of queene Guenever. ' 
' Yee say well,' said sir Launcelot, ' Jesuspreserve 
me from your subtill craft!' And therewith he 
took his horse, and departed from her." 
2. A sinful raan, and uneonfess'd. 
He took the Sangi-eal's holy quest. 
And, slumbei-ing, saw the vision liigh, 
He might not viiw with waking; eye. — P. S5. 
One day, when Arthur was holding a high feast 
■with his knights of the round table, the Sangreal, 
or vessel out of which the last passover was eaten, 
a precious relic, which had long remained con- 
cealed from human eyes, because of the sins of the 
land, suddenly appeared to him and all his ciii- 
valry. The consequence of this vision was, that 
all the knights took on them a solemn vow to seek 
the Sangreal. But, alas! it could only be revealed 
to a knight at once accomplished in earthly chi- 
valry, and pure and guiltless of evil conversation. 
All sir Launcelot's noble accomplishments were 
therefore rendered vain by his guilty intrigue with 
queen Guenever, or Ganore; and in this holy quest 
he encountered only such disgraceful disasters, as 
that which follows: 

" But sir Launcelot rode ovcrthwart and endlong 
in a wild forest, and held no path, but as wild ad- 
venture led him; and at the last, -he came unto a 
stone crosse, wliich departed two wayes, in wast 
land; and by the crosse, was a stone that was of 
marble; but it was so darke, that sir. Launcelot 
might not well know what it was. Then sir Laun- 
celot looked by him, and suw an old chappell, and 
there he wend to have found people. And so sir 
Launcelot tied his horse to a tree, and there hee 
put off his sliield, and hung it upon a tree, and 
then hee went unto the chappell dooi', and found 
it wasted and broken. And within he found a faire 
altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of silk, and 
there stood a faire candlesticke, which beare six 
great candles, and the candlesticke was of silver. 
And when sir Launcelot saw this light, hee had a 
great will for to enter into the chappell, but hee 
could find no place where he might enter. • Then 
he was passing heavie and dismaied. Then he re- 
turned, and came againe to his horse, and tooke 
off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture, 
and unlaced his helme, and ungirded his sword, 
and laid him downe to sleepe upon his shield be- 
fore the crosse. 

"And so he fell on sleepe, and halfe waking 
and halfe sleeping, hee saw come by him two pal- 
freys, both faire and white, the which beare a lit- 
ter therein lying a sicke knight. And when he 
was ni"li the crosse, he there abode still. All this 
sir Launcelot saw and belield, for hee slept not ve- 
rily, and hee heard him say, ' Oh sweete Lord, 
when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall 
the holy vessell come by me, where through I shall 
be blessed, for I have endured thus long for little 
trespasse.' And thus a great while complained the 
knight, and allwaies sir Launcelot heard it. With 
that, sir Launcelot saw the candlesticke, with the 



j fire tapers, come before the crosse; but he could 
see no body that brought it. Also, there came a 
1 table of silver, and the holy vessell of the Sanc- 
greall, the which sir Launcelot had seen before 
that time in king Petchour's house. And there- 
1 withall the sicke knight set him upright, and held 
up both his hands, and said, ' Faire sweete Lord, 
which is here within the holy vessell, take heede 
to mee, that I may bee hole of this great malady.' 
And therewith upon his hands, and upon his knees, 
he went so nigh, that he touched the holy vessell, 
and kissed it: And anon he was hole, and then he 
said, 'Lord God, 1 thank thee, for 1 am healed of 
this malady.' So when the holy vessell had been 
there a great while, it went into the chappell againe 
with the candlesticke and the light, so tiiat sir 
Launcelot wist not where it became, for he was 
overtaken with sinne, that hee had no power to 
arise against the holy vessell, wherefore afterward 
many men said of iiim shame. But be tooke re- 
pentance afterward. Then the sicke knight dressed 
him upright, and kissed the crosse. Then anon 
his squire brought him his armes, and asked his 
lord how he did. ' Certainly,' said hee, ' I Ihanke 
God, right heartily, for through the holy vessell I 
am healed: but I have right great mervaile of this 
sleeping knight, whica hath had neitiier grace nor 
power to awake during the time that this holy ves- 
sell hath beene here present. ' — 'I dare it right 
well say,' said the squire, 'that this same knight 
is defouled with some manner of deadly sinne, 
whereof he has never confessed.' — 'By my faith,' 
said the knight, 'whatsoever he be, he is unhap- 
pie; for, as I deeme, hee is of the fellowsldp of the 
round table, the which is entered into tiie quest of 
the Sancgreall.' — 'Sir,' said the squire, 'here I 
have brought you all your armes, save your helme 
and your sword; and therefore, by mine assent, 
now may ye take this knight's helme and his sword,' 
and so he did. And when he was cleane armed, 
he took sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better 
than hisowne,and so they departed from the crosse. 
" Then anon sir Launcelot awaked, and set him- 
selfe upright, and he thought him what hee had 
there seene, and whether it were dreames or not; 
right so he heard a voice that said, ' Sir Launce- 
lot, more harde then is the stone, and more bitter 
then is the wood, and more naked and bare than 
is the liefe of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from 
hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place;' 
and when sir Launcelot heard this, hee was pass- 
ing heavy, and wit not what to doe. And so he 
departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that 
he was borne; for then he deemed never to have 
had more worship; for the words went unto his 
heart; till that he knew wherefore that hee was so 
called- " 

3. And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the table round again. 
But tliat a ribald king and court 
Bade him toil on to make them sport; 
Demanded for their niggard pay. 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 
Licentious satire, song, and play. — P. 55. 

Dryden's melancholy account of his projected 
epic poem, blasted by the selfish and sordid par- 
simony of his patrons, is contained in an "Essay 
on Satire," addressed to the earl of Dorset, and 
prefixed to the translation of Juvenal. After men- 
tioning a plan of supplying machinery from the 
guardian angels of kingdoms, mentioned in the 
book of Daniel, he adds: 

" Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could. 



MAUMION. 



101 



given your lordsliip, and by you the workl, a rude 
draught of what 1 have been long hihouring in my 
imagination, and -wiiat I had intended to have put 
in practice, (thongii tar unable for tlie attempt ot 
such a poem,) and to have left the stage, to which 
mv genius never much inclined me, for a woric 
which would have talcen up my life in the per- 
formance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly 
for the honour of my native country, to which a 
poet is particularly obliged. Of two subjects, both 
relating to it, I was doubtful whether I should 
clioose that of king Arthur conquering the Saxons, 
whicli, being further distant in time, gives the 
greater scope to my invention; or that of Edward 
tiie black prince, in subcKiing Spain, and restoring 
it to the lawful prince, though a great tyrant, Don 
Pedro the cruel; which, for the compass of time, 
including only the expedition of one year, for the 
greatness of the action, and its answerable event, 
for the magnanimity of the Englisli hero, opposed 
to the ingratitude of the person whom he restored, 
and for the many beautiful ejiisodes which I had 
interwoven with the princi|)al design, together 
with the characters of tlie chiefest English persons, 
(wherein, after Virgil and Spencer, 1 would have 
taken occasion to represent my living friends and 
]mtrons of the noblest families, and also shadowed 
the events of future ages in the succession of our 
imperial line,) — with these helps, and those of the 
machines wliich I have mentioned, I might per- 
haps have done as well as some of my predeces- 
sors, or at least chalked out a way for others to 
amend my errors in a like design; but being en- 
couraged only with fair words by king Charles 11, 
my little salary ill paid, and no prospect of a fu- 
ture subsistence, I was then discouraged in the 
beginning of my attempt; and now age has over- 
taken me, and want, a more insufterable evil, 
through the change of the times, has wholly dis- 
abled me." 

4. Of Ascapari, and Bevis bold.— P. 55. 
The " History of Bevis of Hampton" is abridged 
by my friend Mr. George Ellis, with that liveli- 
ness which extracts amusement even out of the 
most rude and unpromising of our old tales of 
chivalry. Ascapart, a most important personage 
in the romance, is thus described in an extract: 

T)iis eeaunt was mighty and strong;, 

And uiil thirty foot was long. 

He was bristled like a sow; 

A foot he had between each brow; 

His lips were great, and hung aside; 

His eyes were noUow; his mouth was wide. 

Lothly he was to look on than. 

And liker a devil than a man. 

His staft was a young oak, 

Hard and heavy was his stroke. 

Specimens of Metrical Romances, vol. ii, p. 136. 

I am happy to say, that the memory of sir Bevis 
is still fragrant in his town of Southampton; the 
gate of whicli is sentinelled by the effigies of that 
doughty kniglit-errant, and his gigantic associate. 

5. Day set on Norham's castled steep, 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, &c.— P. 55. 

The ruinous castle of Norham, (anciently called 
Ubbandford,) is situated on the southern bank of 
the Tweed, about six miles above Berwick, and 
wliere that river is still tiie boundary between En- 
gland and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as 
well as its historical importance, shows it to have 
been a place of magnificence, as well as strength. 
Edward I resided there when he was created um- 
pire of the dispute concerning the Scottish succes- 



sion. It was repeatedly taken and retaken during 
the wars between England and Scotland; and in- 
deed scarce any happened in which it had not a 
l)rincipal share. Norham castle is situated on a 
steep bank, which overhangs tlie river. The re- 
peated sieges which the castle had sustained ren- 
dered frequent repairs necessary. In 1164 it was 
almost rebuilt by Hugh Pudsey, bishop of Durham, 
who added a huge keep, or donjon; notwithstand- 
ing which, king Henry II, in ll'74, took the castle 
from the bishop, and committed the keeping of it 
to William de Neville. After this period it seems 
to have been chiefly garrisoned by tlie king, and 
considered as a royal fortress. The Greys of Chil- 
linghame castle were frequently the castellans, or 
captains of the garrison: yet, as iiie castle was situ- 
ated in the patrimony of St. Cuthbert, the property 
was in tiie see of Durham till the Reformation. 
After that period it ])assed through various hands. 
At the union of the crowns, it was in the posses- 
sion of-sir Robert Carey (afterwards earl of Mon- 
mouth,) for his own life, and tiiat of two of his 
sons. After king James's accession, Carey sold Nor- 
liam castle to George Home, earl of Dunbar, for 
6000/. See his curious memoirs, published by Mr. 
Constable of Edinburgh. 

According to Mr. Pinkerton, there is, in the 
British Museum, Cal. B. vi, 216, a curious me- 
moir of the Dacres on the state of Norham castle in 
1522, not long after the battle of Fiodden. The in- 
ner ward, or keep, is represented as impregnable: 
" The provisions are three great vats of salt eels, 
forty -four kine, three hogsheads of salted salmon, 
forty quarters of grain, besides many cows, and four 
hundred sheep lying under the castle-wall nightly; 
but a number of the arrows wanted feathers, and a 
^ooAf etcher [i. e. maker of arrows) was required." 
— History of Scotland, vol. ii, p. 201, Note. 

The ruins of the castle are at present considera- 
ble, as well as picturesque. They consist of a 
large shattered tower, with many vaults and frag- 
ments of other edifices enclosed within an outward 
wall of great circuit. 

6. — the donjon keep. — P. 55, 

It is jicrliaps unnecessary to remind my readers, 
that the donjon, in its proper signification, means 
the strongest part of a feudal castle; a high square 
tower, with walls of tremendous thickness, situat- 
ed in the centre of the other buildings, trom which, 
however, it was usually detached. Here, in case 
of the outward deteuces being gained, the garrison 
retreated to make their last stand. 'I'he donjon 
contained the great hall, and principal rooms of 
state for solemn occasions, and also tlie prison- of 
the fortress; from which last circumstance we de- 
rive the modern and restricted use of the word 
dungeon. Ducange (t'oceDuxVjo) conjectures plau- 
sibly, that the name is derived from tliese keeps 
being usually built upon a hill, which in Celtic is 
called Dujr. Borlase supposes the word came 
from the darkness ot the apartments in these tow- 
ers, which were thence figuratively called dun- 
geons; thus deriving the ancient word from the 
modern application of it. 

7. Well was lie armed from head to heel, 
In mail and plate, of Milan steel.— P. 56. 

The artists of Milan were famous in the middle 
ages for their skill in armoury, as appears from 
the following passage, in which Froissari gives an 
account of the preparations made by Henry, earl 
of Hereford, afterwards Henry IV, and Thomas, 
duke of Norfolk, earl Mareschal, for their pro- 



102 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



posefl combat in the lists of Conventry. " These 
two lords made ample provision of all things ne- 
cessary for the combat; and the earl of Derby sent 
off messengers to Lombardy, to have armour 
from sir Galeas, duke of Milan. The duke com- 
plied with joy, and gave tlie knight, called sir 
Francis, who had brought the message, the choice 
of all his armour, for the earl of Derby. When he 
had selected what he wished for in plated and 
mail armour, the lord of Milan, out of his abun- 
dant love for the earl, ordered four of the best ar- 
mourers in Milan to accompany the knight to 
England, that the earl of Derby might be more 
completely armed." — Joknes'' Froissart, vol. iv, p. 
597. 

8. The golden leg-end bore aright, 

Who checks at me, to death is dight. — P. 56. 

The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed 
from the following story. Sir David de Lindsay, 
first earl of Crawford, was, among other gentlemen 
of quality, attended, during a visit to London, in 
1390, by sir William Dalzell, who was, according 
to my authority, Bower, not only excelling in wis- 
dom, but also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at 
court, he there saw sir Piers Courtenay, an English 
knight, famous for skill in tilting, and for the beau- 
ty of his person, parading the palace, arrayed in a 
new mantle bearing for device an embroidered fal- 
con, with this rhyme, — 

I bcare a fiilcon, fairest of flight, 

Wlio so pinches at her, his death is dight* 

In graith.t 
The Scottish knight being a wag, appeared next 
day in a dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay, 
but bearing a magpie instead of the falcon, with a 
motto ingeniously contrived to rhyme to the vaunt- 
ing inscription of sir Piers. 

I bear a pie picking at a piece, 
"Who so picks at her, I shall pick at his nese,t 
In faith. 
This affront could only be expiated by a joust 
with sharp lances. In the course, Dalzell left his 
helmet unlaced, so that it gave way at the touch 
of his antagonist's lance, and he thus avoided the 
shock of the encounter. This happened twice: — 
in the third encounter, the handsome Courtenay 
lost two of his front teeth. As the Englishman 
complained bitterlj- of Dalzell's fraud in not fast- 
ening his helmet, the Scottishman agreed to. run 
six courses more, each champion staking in the 
hand of the king two hundred pounds, to be for- 
feited, if, on entering the lists, any imequal advan- 
tage should be detected. This being agreed to, 
the wily Scot demanded that sir Piers, in addition 
to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the ex- 
tinction of one of his ej'es, he himself having lost 
an eye in the fight of Otterburn. As Courtenay 
demurred to this equalization of optical powers, 
Dalzell demanded the forfeit; which, after much 
altercation, the king appointed to be paid to him, 
saying, he surpassed the Englishman both in wit 
.nnd valour. This must appear to the reader a sin- 
gular specimen of the humour of that time. I sus- 
pect the .lockey club would have given a different 
decision from Henry IV. 

9. They hail'd lord Marmion. 
They hail'd him lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Serivelbaye, 

Of Tamwortii tower and town.— P. S7. 
Lord Marmion, the principal character of the 
present romance, is entirely a fictitious personage. 



* Prepared. 



t Armour. 



} Nose. 



In earlier times, indeed, the family of Marmion, 
lords of Fontenay in Normandy, was highly dis- 
tinguished. Robert de Marmion, lord of Fonte- 
nay, a distinguished follower of the conqueror, 
obtained a grant of the castle and town of Tam- 
worth, and also of the manor of Scrivelby, in Lin- 
colnshire. One, or both, of these noble possessions 
was held by the honourable service of being the 
royal champion, as the ancestors of Marmion had 
formerly been to the duke of Normandy. But af- 
ter the castle and demesne of Tamworth had pass- 
ed through four successive barons from Robert, 
the family became extinct in the person of Philip 
de Marmion, who died in 20lh Edward I, without 
issue male. He was succeeded in his castle of 
Tamworth by Alexander de Freville, who married 
Mazera, his grand-daughter. Baldwin de Freville, 
Alexander's descendant, in the reign of Richard 
1, by the supposed tenure of his castle of Tam- 
worth, claimed the office of royal champion, and 
to do the service appertaining; namely, on the day 
of coronation, to ride completely armed, upon a 
barbed horse, into Westminster hall, and there to 
challenge the combat against any who would gain- 
say the king's title. But this office was adjuged 
to sir John Dymocke, to whom the manor of Scri- 
velby had descended by another of the co-heiresses 
of Robert de Marmion; and it remains in that fa- 
mily, whose representative is hereditary champion 
of England at tiie present day. The family and 
possessions of Freville have merged in the earls of 
Ferrars: 1 have not, therefore, created a new fami- 
ly, but only revived the titles of an old one in an 
imaginary personage. 

It was one of the Marmion family, who, in the 
reign of Edward II, performed that chivalrous feat 
before the very castle of Norham, which bishop 
Percy has woven into his beautiful ballad, "The 
Hermit of Warkworth." The story is thus told 
by Leland: 

" The Scottes came yn to the marches of En- 
gland, and destroyed the castle of Werk and 
Herbotel, and overran much of Northumberland 
marches. 

"At this tyme Thomas Gray and his friends 
defended Norham from the Scottes. 

" It were a wonderful processe to declare, what 
mischefes cam by hungre and asseges, by the space 
of xi yeres in Northumberland; for the Scottes be- 
came so proude after they had got Berwick, that 
they nothing esteemed the Englishmen. 

" About this tyme there was a great teste made 
yn Linconshir, to which came many gentlemen 
and ladies; and amonge them one lady brought a 
heaulme for a man.of were, witli a very riche creste 
of gold, to William Marmion, knight, witii a let- 
ter of commandment of her lady, that he should 
go into the daungerest place in England, and ther 
to let the heaulme be seene and known as famous. 
So he went to Norham; whither within 4 days of 
cumming cam Philip Maubr.iy, guardian of Ber- 
wicke, having yn his bande 4U men of armes, the 
very -flour of men of the Scottish marches. 

''Thomas Gray, capitayne of Norham, sej'nge 
this, brought liis garison afore the barriers of the 
castle, behind wliom cam William, richly array- 
ed, as al glittering in gold, and wearing tlie heaulme, 
liis lady's present. 

" Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' Sir 
knight, ye be cum hither to fame your helmet: 
mount upon yowr horse, and ryde like a valiant 
man to yowr foes even here at hand, and I forsake 



MARMION. 



103 



Grod if I rescue not thy body deade or alyve, or I 
myself will dye for it.' 

" VVIiereupoii he took his cursere, and rode 
among the throng of ennemyes; the which layed 
sore stripes on hym, and pulled hyra at the last 
out of liis sadel to the grounde. 

" Then Thomas Gray, with al the hole garison, 
lette prick yn among the Scottes, and so wondid 
them and their horses, that they were overthrown; 
and iVIarmion, sore beten, was horsid agayn, and, 
with Gray, persewedthe Scottes yn chase. There 
were taken 50 horse of price: and the women of 
Norham brought them to the foote men to follow 
the chase. " 

10. Largesse, Largesse. — P. 57. 

This was the cry with which heralds and pur- 
suivants were wont to acknowledge the bounty 
received from the knights. Stewart of Lorn dis- 
tinguishes a ballad, in which he satirizes the nar- 
rowness of James V, and his courtiers, by the iro- 
nical burden — 

Lerges, lerges, lerges, hay, 
Lerges nftliis neiv year day. 
First lerges, of the king, my chief, 
Who came as quiet as a thief,' 
And in my hand slid — shillings twae!" 
To put his largeness tu the prief,t 
For lerges of this new year day. 
The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race 
allowed to have great claims upon the liberality of 
the knights, of whose feats they kept a record, 
and proclaimed them aloud, as in the text, upon 
suitable occasions. 

At Berwick, Norham, and other horder for- 
tresses of importance, pursuivants usually resided, 
whose inviolable character rendered them the only 
persons that could, with perfect assurance of safe- 
ty, be sent on necessary embassies into Scotland. 
This is alluded to in stanza XXI. 
11. Sir Hugh the Heron bold, 
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 
And captain of the hold. — P. 57. 
Were accuracy of any consequence in a fictitious 
narrative, this castellan's name ought to have been 
William; for William Heron of Ford was husband 
to the famous lady Ford, whose syren charms are 
said to have cost our .Tames IV so dear. More- 
over, the said William Heron was, at the time 
supposed, a prisoner in Scotland, being surrender- 
ed by Henry VllI, on account of his share in the 
slaughter of sir Robert Ker of Cessford. His wife, 
represented in the text as residing at the court of 
Scotland, was, in fact, living in her own castle at 
Ford. — See sir Richard Heron's curious Geiw,- 
logy of the Heron famili/. 

12. The whiles a northem harper i-ude, 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, — 
" How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all," &c. 

Page 57. 

This old Northumbrian ballad was taken down 
from the recitation of a woman eighty years of 
age, mother of one of the miners in Alston-moor, 
by an agent for the lead mines there, who commu- 
nicated it to my friend and correspondent, R. Sur- 
tees, esquire, of Mainsfort. She had not, she said, 
heard it for many years; but when she was a girl, 
it used to be sung at merrymakings, "till the 
roof rung again. " To preserve this curious, though 
rude rhyme, it is here inserted. The ludicrous 
turn given to the slaughter, marks that wild and 
disorderly state of society, in which a murder was 



'Two. 



9 



t Proof. 



not merely a casual circumstance, but, in some 
cases, an exceedingly good jest. The structure ot 
the ballad resembles the "Fray of Support,"* 
having the same irregular stanza and wild eiiorus, 
I. 
Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa', 

Ha' ye heard how the Ridleys, and Thirlwalls, and a'. 
Ha' set upon Albanyf Feathei-stonhaugh, 
And taken his life at the Deadmau's^iaugh? 
There was Willimottswiek, 
And Hardriding Dick, ■ 
And Hughie of Hawden, and Will of the Wa', 

I canno' tell a', I canno' tell a'. 
And mony a mair that the de'il may knaw. 

IL 
The auld man went down, bnt Nicol, his son. 
Ran away afore the fight was begun; 
And he run, and he run. 
And afore they were done. 
There was mony a Featherston gat sic a stun. 
As never was seen since the world begun. 
IIL 

I canno' tell a", I canno' tell a'. 

Some gat a skelp,j; and some gat a claw; 

But they gar'd the Fealherstones baud their jaw,— i 

Nicol, and Alick, and a". 
Some gat a hu rt and some gat nane. 
Some had harness, and some gat sta'en.|| 
IV. 
Ane gat a twist n' the craig;1I 
"" Ane gat a duneh** o' the wame;t+ 
Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg. 
And syne ran wallowingtJ hamc. 
V. 
Hoot, hoot, the auld man's slain outright! 
Lay him now wi' his foce down: he's a sorrowful sight. 
Janet, thou donot,J§ 
I'll lay my best bonnet. 
Thou gets a new gude-man afore it be night. 

VL 

Hoot away, lads, lioot away, 

We's a' be haiiifid if we ■ii;iy. 
Tak' up the dead man, and l;n him aliint the bigging; 

Here's the bailey o' Ha!tw!iistle,|||| 

Wi' his great bull's pizzle. 
That sup'u up the broo', and syne— in the piggin.fK 

In explanation of this ancient ditty, Mr. Surtees 
has furnished me with the following local memo- 
randum: Winimoteswick,the chief seat of the an- 
cient family of Ridley, is situated two miles above 
the confluence of the AUon and Tyne. It was a 
house of strength, as appears from one oblong tow- 
er, still in tolerable preservation.*** It has been 
long in possession of the Blacket fam!)!}'. Hardrid- 
ing Dick is not an epithet referring to horseman- 
ship, but means Richard Ridley of Hardriding,ttt 

• See Minstrelsy of the Scottish border, vol. i, p. 250. 
+ Pronounced Awbony. 

.% Skrip signifies slap, or rather is the same word which 
was originally spelled schlap. 

5 Hold tlieirjaw, a vulgar expression still in use. 

II Got stolen, or were plundered; a very likely termina- 
tion of the fray. 

UNeck. ** Punch. ttBelly. Jt Bellowing. 

§5 Sillij slut. The border bard calls her so, because 
she was weeping for her slain husband; a loss which he 
seems to think might be soon repaired. 

II II The bailiff of Haltwhistle seems to have arrived when 
the fray was over. This supporter of social order is treat- 
ed with characteristic irreverence by the moss-trooping 
poet. 

IjH An iron pot with two ears. 

»•• willimoteswick was, in prior editions, confounded 
with Ridley hall, situated two miles lower, on the»sarae 
side of the Tyne, the hereditary seatofWilliamC. Lowes, 
esq. 

Tt+ Ridley, the bishop and martyr, was, according to 
some authorities, bom at Hardriding, where a chair was 
preserved, called the bishop's chair. Others, and parti- 
cularly his biographer and namesake. Dr. Glocester Rid- 
ley, assign the honour of the martyr's birth to Willimo- 
teswick. I 



104 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the seat of iuidUht t'liuiily of that name, which, in 
the time of Ciiarles 1, was sold on account of die 
expenses incurred by liie loyalty of the proprietor, 
the immediate ancestor of sir Matthew Ridley. 
Will of the VVa' seems to be William Ridley of 
Waltown, so called from its situation on the great 
Roman wall. Thirlwall castle, whence the clan 
of Thirlwalls derived their. name, is situated on 
the sm:dl river of Tippel, near the western boim- 
dary of Northumberland. It is near the wall, and 
takes its name from the rampart having been Mrl- 
ed, i. e. pierced, or breached, in its vicinity. Fea- 
therstone castle lies south of the Tyne, towards 
Alston-moor. Albany Featherstonhaugh, the chief 
of tiiat ancient family, made a figure in the reign 
of Edward VI. A feiid did certainly exist between 
the Ridleys and Featherstones, productive of such 
consequences as the ballad narrates. 24 Oct. 2idij 
Henrici Sw. Inqmsitio capt. apud Hmitivhistle, sup. 
visum coipiis JUexandri Featherslon, Gen. apttd 
Gremii7iauq-/i. felonicc hi/erfecti, i-Z Oct. per M- 
colaiim JiiilL-ii'dc ihitluuike, Gen. Hugon Ridle, 
JVkolaum ItidU-, et alios cjusdem nominis. Nor 
were the Featherstones without their revenge; for, 
36to Henrici 8vi, we have — Utlagatio jVicolai 
Featlwrston, ac Thome JVijxsun, ect., ecL, pro 
homicidio Will Ridle de Morale. 

13. .Tamis backed llic cause of that mock pviiice, 
Warlxck, tlial FU misli coiiiitfi-ftit, 

Who oil tlir LcibI)' t paiil the eluat. 
Then dill I liiaitU with Sunty's power, 
What time we razed old Aytou tower.— P. 58. 

The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richard, duke 
of York, is well known. In 149(3, he was received 
honourably in Scotland; and James IV, after con- 
ferring upon him in marriage his own relation, 
the laily Catharine Gordon, made war on England 
in behalf of his pretensions. 'I"o retaliate an in- 
vasion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwick- 
shire at the lieatl of considerable forces, but re- 
treated after taking the inconsiderable fortress of 
Ayton. Ford, in ids Dramatic Chronicle of Per- 
kin Warbeck, makes the most of this inroad: 

Surrey. Are all our braring enemies shrunk back. 

Hid in the fogms of their distempei-'d climate, 
Not daring to behold our colours wave 
In spight of this infected ayre? Can they 
Looke on the strength of Cundrestine defac't; 
The glorie of Ileydoiihall devasted; that 
Of Edington cast downe; the pile of Fuldeu 
Overthi-owne: And this, the strongest of their 

forts. 
Old Ayton Castle, yeelded and demolished. 
And yet not peepe abroad? the Scots are bold, 
Hardie in battayle, but it seems the cause 
They undertake considered, appeares 
Unjojnitcd in the frame on't. 

14. For here be some have prick'd as far, 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 

Have drunk the monks of St. JBothan's ale, 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale; 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
And gi\en them light to set tlieir hoods. — P. 53. 
The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, 
Norham, and Berwick, were, as may be easily 
supposed, very troublesome neighbours to Scot- 
land. Sir Richard Maitland of Ledington wrote 
a poem, called " The Blind Baron's Comfort;" 
when his barony of Blythe, in Lauderdale, was 
harried by Rowland Foster, the English captain of 
Wark, with his company, to the number of 300 
men. They spoiled the poetical knight of 5000 
sheep, 200 nolt, 30 horses and mares; the whole 
furniture of his house of Blytbe, worth 100 pounds 
-Scots, (l.S: 6: 8,) and every thing else that was 



portable. "This spoil was committed the 16th 
day of May, 1570, (and the said sir Richard was 
tiu-ee-score and fourteen years of age, and grown 
blind,) in time of peace; when nane of that coun- 
try libpened (expected) such a thing." — "The 
Blind Baron's Comfort" consists in a string of puns 
on the word Blythe, the name of the lands ihus^ 
despoiled. Like John Littlewit, he had " a con- 
ceit left him in his misery, — a miserable conceit.' 
The last line of the text contains a phrase, by 
which tiie borderers jocularly intimated the burn- 
ing a house. When the Maxwells, in 1685, burn- 
ed the castle of Lochwood, they said they did so 
to give the lady Johnstone " liy;bt to set her hood." 
Nor was the phrase inapj)licable; for, in a letter, 
to which I have mislaid the reference, the earl of 
Northumberland writes to the king and council, 
that lie dressed himself, at midnight, at Wark- 
wortli, by the blaze of the neighbouring villages, 
burned by the Scottish mar;iuders. 

IS. The priest of Shoreswood.— P. S3. 

ThiB churchman seems to have been a-kin to 
Welsh the vicar of St. Thoinas of Exeter, a leader 
among the Cornish instu-gents in 1549. " This 
man," says Hollinshed, "had many good things 
in hini. lie was of no great stature, but well set, 
and mightilie compact: he was a very good wres- 
tler; shot well, both in the long-bow, and also in 
the cross-bow; he handled his hand-gun and peece 
very well; he was a very good wooilman, and a 
hardie, and such a one as would not give his head 
for the polling, or his beard for the washing. He 
was a companion in any exercise of activitie, and of 
a courteous and gentle behaviour. He descended 
of a good honest parentage, being borne at Pene- 
verin, in Cornwall;_and yet, in this i-ebellion, an 
arch-captain, and a principal dooer. " — Vol. iv, p. 
958. 4to edition. This model of clerical talents had 
the misfortune to be hanged upon the steeple of his 
own church. 

16. And of that grot where olives nod. 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From all the youth of Sicilv, 
St. Rosalie retired to God.— P. 58. 

" Sante Rosalia was of Palermo, and born of a 
very noble family, and, when very young, abhorred 
so much the vanities of this world,^ and avoided 
the converse of mankind, resolving to dedicate 
herself wholly to God Almightjr, that she, by di- 
vine inspiration, forsook her lather's house, and 
never was more heard of, till her body was found 
in that cleft of a rock, on that almost inaccessible 
moun'iain, where now the chapel is built; and they 
affirm, she was carried up there by the hands of an- 
gels; for that place was not formerly so accessible 
(as now it is) in the days of the. saint; and even 
now it is a very bad, and steepy, and break-neck 
way. In tliis frightful place, this holy woman lived 
a great many years, feeding only on what siie found 
growing on that barren mountain, and creeping 
into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a rock, which 
was always dropping wet, and was her place of 
retirement, as well as prayer; having worn out 
even the rock with her knees, in a certain place, 
which is now opened on purpose to show it to those 
who come here. This chapel is very richly 
adorned; and on the spot where the saint's dead 
body was discovered, which is just beneath the 
hole in the rock, which is opened on purpose, as 
I said, there is a very fine statue of marble, re- 
presenting her in a lying posture, railed in all 



MARMION. 



105 



about with fine iron and brass work; and the al 
tar, on vhich they say mass, is built just over it." 
— roifaze to Sicily and JMalta, by Mr. John Dry 
den, (son to the poet,) p. 107. 

17. Himself still sleeps before his beads 

Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds. — P. 59. 

Friar John understood the soporific virtue of 
his heads- and breviary, as well as his namesake 
in Rabelais. " But Gargantua could not sleep by 
any means, on which side soever lie turned him- 
self. Whereupon the monk said to him, I never 
sleep soundly but when I am at sermon or prayers. 
Let us tiiereibre begin, you and I, the seven peni- 
tential psalms, to try whether you shall not quick- 
ly fall asleep. Tlie conceit pleased Gargantua 
very well; and, beginning the first of these psalms, 
as soon as they came to beati quorum, they fell 
asleep, both the one and the other." 

18. The summoned palmer came in place; 

In his black mantle was he clad. 
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red. 
On his broad shoulders wrought.*— P. 59. 

A jbaZmer. Opposed to a/)//g-r/m, was one who made 
It his sole business to visit different holy shrines; 
travelling incessantly, and subsisting by charity: 
■whereas the pilgrim retired to his usual home and 
occupations, when he had paid Iiis devotions at 
the particular spot which was the object of his pil- 
grimage. The palmer seems to have been the 
Qiixstionarii of the ancient Scottish canons 1242 
and 1296. There is, in the Bannatyne MS., a 
burlesque account of two such persons, entitled 
" Simmy and his Brother." Their accoutrements 
are thus ludicrously described (I discard the an- 
cient spelling.) 

Syne shaped them up to loup on leas, 

Two tabards of the tartan; 
They counted nought what their clouts were 

When sew'd them on, in certain. 
Syne Clam pit up St. Peter's keys, 

Made of an old red gartane: 
St. James's shells, on t'other side, shows 
As pretty as a partane 
Toe, 
On Symmye and his brotlier. 

19. To fair St. Andrews bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
Where g-ooci St. Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 
Sung to the billows' sound.— P. 59. 

St. Regulus, {Scottice, St. Rule,) a monk of Pa- 
trije, in Achaia, warned by a vision, is said, A.D. 
370,_to have sailed westward until he landed at 
St. Andrews, in Scotland, where he founded a cha- 
pel and tower. The latter is still standing; and, 
though we may doubt the precise date of its foun- 
dation, is certainly one of the most ancient edifices 
in Scotland. A cave, nearly fronting the ruinous 
castle of the archbishops of St. Andrews, bears 
the name of this religious person. It is difficult 
of access; and the rock in which it is hewed is 
washed by the German ocean. It is nearly round, 
about ten feet in diameter, and the same in height. 
On one side is a sort of stone altar; on the other an 
aperture into an inner den, where the miserable 
ascetic, who inhabited tliis dwelling, probably 
slept. At full tide egress and regress are hardly 
practicable. As RegiJus first colonised the me- 
tropolitan see of Scotland, and converted the inha- 
bitants in the vicinity, he has some reason to com- 
plain, that the ancient name of Killrule, ( Celli Re- 
gitli,) should have been superseded, even in favour 
of the tutelar saint of Scotland. The reason of the 



change was, that St. Rule is said to have brought 
to Scotland the reliques of St. Andrew. 
20. Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well. 

Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 
And the crazed brain restore.— P. 59. 
St. Fillan was a Scottish sainf of some reputation. 
Although popery is, with us, matter of abomina- 
tion, yet the common people still retain some of 
the superstitions connected with it. There are, in 
Perthshire, several wells »m\ springs dedicated to 
St. Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and 
offerings, even among the protestanls. They are 
held powerful in cases of madness; and, in some 
of very late occurrence, lunatics have been left all 
night bound to the holy slotie, in confidence that 
the saint would cure and unloose them bcfoic 
morning. 

NOTES TO CVSTO 11. 
1. The scenes are desert now, and bare. 
Where flourish'd once a forest fair.- P. CO. 
Ettrick Forest, now a range ot mountainoug 
sheep-walks, was anciently reserved for the plea- 
sure of the royal chase. Since it was disparked, 
the wood has been, by degress, almost totally de- 
stroyed, although, wherever protected from the 
sheep, copses soon arise without any planting. 
When the king hunted there, he often summoned 
the array of the country to meet and assist his 
sport. Thus, in 1528, James V " made procla- 
mation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, landward- 
men, and freeholders, that they should compear 
at Edinburgh, with a month's victuals, to pass with 
the king where he pleased, to danton the thieves 
of Teviotdale, Annandale, Liddesdale, and other 
parts of that country; and also warned all gentle- 
men that had good dogs, to bring them, that he 
might hunt in the said country, as he pleased: The 
whilk the earl of Argyle, the earl of Huntley, the 
earl of Athole, and so all the rest of the gentlemen 
of the highlands, did, and brought their hounds 
with them in like manner to hunt with the king, 
as he ])leased. 

" The second day of June the king passed out 
of Edinburgh to the hunting, with many of the 
nobles and gentlemen of Scotland with him, to the 
number of twelve thousand men; and then past to 
Meggitland, and hounded and hawked all the coun- 
try and bounds: that is to say, Crammat, Pappert- 
law, St. Marylaws, Carlavirick, Chapel, Ewin- 
doores, and Longhope. I heard say, he slew, in these 
bounds, eighteen score of harts. "* 

These huntings had, of course, a military cha- 
racter, and attendance upon them was a part of the 
duty of a vassal. The act for abolishing ward, or 
military tenures, in Scotland, enumerates the ser- 
vices of hunting, hosting, watching, and warding, 
as those which were in future to be illegal. 

Taylor, the water-poet, has given an account of 
the mode in which these huntings were conducted 
in the highlands of Scotland, in the seventeenth 
century, having been present at Brsemar upon such 
an occasion: 

" There did I find the truly noble and right 
honourable lords, John Erskine, earl of Mar; 
James Stuart, earl of MiuTay; George Gordon, 
earl of Engye, son and heir to the marquis of Hunt-, 
ley; James Erskine, earl of Buchan; and John, lord 
Erskine, son and heir to the earl of Mar, and their 
countesses, with my much honoured, and my last 
assured and approved friend, sir William Murray, 



• Pitscottie's History of Scotland, folio edition, p. 143.' 



Jl^ 



106 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



knight of Abercaniey, and hundred of others, 

knights, esquires, and their followers; all and 

every man, in general, in one habit, as if Lycurgus 

had been there, and made luws of equality : for once 

in the year, which is the whole montlj of August, 

and sometimes part of September, many of the 

nobility and gentry of tlie kingdom (for their plea- 
sure) do come into these highland countries to 

hunt: where they do conform themselves to the 

habit of the highland-men, who, for the most part, 

speak nothing but Irish; and, in former time, were 

those people which were called the Redshanks. 

Their habit is — shoes, with but one sole a-piece: 

stockings, (which they call short hose,) made of a 

■warm stuff of diverse colours, which they call tar- 
tan: as for breeches, many of them, nor tlieir fore- 
fatlicrs, never wore any, but a jerkin of the same 

stuff that their hose is of; their garters being bands 
or wreaths of hay, or straw; with a plaid about their 
shoulders; which is a mantle of diverse colours, 
much finer and lighter stuff than their hose; with 
blue flat caps on their heads; a handkerchief, knit 
■with two knots, about their necks: and tlius tiie}' 
are attired. Now their weapons are — long bowes 
and forked arrows, swords, and targets; harque- 
busses, muskets, durks, and Lociiaber a\es. With 
these arms I found many of tiiem armed for the 
hunting. As for their attire, any man, of what 
degree soever, that comes amongst them, must not 
disdain to wear it; for if they do, tiien they will dis- 
dain to hunt, or willingly to bring in their dogs; 
but if men be kind unto them, and be in their habit, 
then are they conquered with kindness, and the 
sport will be plentiful. This \»as the reason that 
1 found so many noblemen and gentlemen in those 
shapes. But to proceed to the hunting: 

" My good lord of Mar having put me into 
that shape, I rode with him from his house, where 
I saw the ruins of an old castle, called the castle 
of Kindroghit. It was built by king Malcolm 
Canmore, (for a hunting house,) who reigned in 
Scotland, when Edward the confessor, Harold, and 
Norman William reigned in England. I speak 
of it, because it was the last house I saw in tliose 
parts; for I was the space of twelve days after, 
before I saw either house, cornfield, or habitation 
for any creature, but deer, wild horses, wolves, 
and such like creatures — which made me doubt 
that I should never ha\e seen a house again. 

" Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, 
vhere there were small cottages, built on purpose 
to lodge in, which they call Loncjuhards. I thank 
my good lord Erskine, he commanded that I should 
always be lodged in his lodging: the kitchen being 
always on tiie side of a bank: many kettles and pots 
boiling, and many spits turning and winding, with 
great variety of cheer, — as venison baked; sodden, 
rost, and stewed beef; mutton, goats, kid, hares, 
fresh salmon, pigeons, hens, capons, chickens, 
pai-tridge, muir-coots, heathoocks, caperkellies, 
andterniagants; good ale, sacke, white and claret, 
tent, (or allegant,) with most potent aquavitaj. 

" All these, and more than tiiese, we had con- 
tinually in superfluous abundance, caught by fal- 
coners, fowlers, fisher3, and brought by my lord's 
tenants and purveyors to victual our camps, which 

consisteth of fourteen or fifteen hundred men and ' to which it gives name. It was injured by the clan 
horses. The manner of the hunting is this: Five , of Scott, in a feud with the Cranstouns; but Con- 
or six hundred men do rise early in the morning, tinned to be a place of worship ihu-ing the seven- 
and they do disperse themselves divers ways, and, teenth century. The vestiges of the building can 
seven, eight, or ten miles' compass they do bring, now scarcely be traced: but the burial ground is 
or chase in the deer, in many herds, (two, three, still used as a cemetery. A funeral, in a spot so 



or four hundred in a herd,) to such or such a place 
as the noblemen shall appoint them; that, when day 
is come, the lords and gentlemen of their compa- 
nies do ride or go to tlie said places, sometimes 
wading up to the middles, throiigh burns and rivers; 
and then, they being come to the place, do lie 
down on the ground, till those aforesaid scouts, 
which are called the Tinkhell, do bring down the 
deer; but as the proverb says of a bad cook, so these 
tinkhellmen do lick tiicir own fingers; for, besides 
their bows and arrows, which tliey carry witli them, 
we can iiear, now and then, a harquebnss or a mus- 
ket go off", which they do seldom discharge in vain. 
TliGn, after we had staid there three hours, or 
thereabouts, v/e might perceive the deer appear 
on the hills round about us, (their heads making 
a show like a wood,) which, being followed close 
by the tinkhell, are chased down into the valley 
where we lay; then all the valley, on each side, 
being way-laiil witli a hundred couple of strong 
Irish greyhounds, tliey are all let loose, as occa- 
sion serves, upon the herd of deer, that, witli dogs, 
guns, arrows, dirks, jmd daggers, in the space of 
two hours, fourscore fat deer were slain; which 
after are disposed of, some one way, and some an- 
other, twenty and thirty miles, and more than 
enough left for us to make merry withal, at. our 
rendezvous." 

2. I Yarrow^ 

Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow.— P. 60. 
The tale of the outlaw Murray, who held out 
Newark Castle and Ettrick Forest against the king, 
may be found in the " Border Minstrelsy," vol. i. 
In the Macfarlane MS., among other causes of 
James the Fifth's charter to the burgh, is men- 
tioned, that the citizens assisted him to suppress 
tills dangeious outlaw. 

3. —lone St. Mary's silent lake.— P. 61, 
This beautiful sheet of water forms the reser- 
voir from which the Yarrow takes its source. It 
is connected with a smaller lake, called the Loch 
of the Lowes, and surrounded by mountains. In 
the winter, it is still frequented by flights of wild 
swans; hence my ft-iend Mr. Wordsworth's lines: 
Tfie swans on sweet St. Mary's lake 
Float double, swan and sliadow. 
Near the lower extremity of the lake, are the 
ruins of Dryhope tower, the birth-place of Mary 
Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and 
famous by the traditional name of the Flower of 
Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of 
Harden, no less renowned for his depredations, 
than his bride for her beauty. Her romantic ap- 
pellation was, in latter days, with equal justice, 
conferred on miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of 
tlie elder branch of the Harden family. The authoi* 
well remembers the talent and spirit of the latter 
Flower of Yarrow, though age had then injured 
the charms which procured her the name. The 
words usually sung to the air of " Tweeds ide," 
beginning " Wliat beauties does Flora di sclose," 
were composed in her honour. 

4. For thoiijjh, in feudal strife, a foe 

Hath laid Our Lady's eliapel low.— P. 61. 

The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes, [de laai- 
bus) was situated on the eastern side of the lake, 



MARMION. 



lor 



very retired, has an uncommonly striking efl'ect. j surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves 
The vestiges of the chaplain's house are yet visi- the sands dry between it and the opposite coast 
ble. Being in a high situation, it commanded a of Nortluimberland, from which it is about three 
full view of the lake, with the opposite mountain miles distant. 



8, Then Whitby's nuns exulting told 
How to their house three barons bold 
Must menial service do.— P. 63. 

The popular account of this curious service, 
which was probably considerably exaggerated, is 
thus given in "A true Account," printed and cir- 
culated at Whitby : "In the fifth year of the reign 
of Henry II, after the conquest of England by Wil- 



of Bourhope, belonging, witli tiie lake itself, to 
lord Napier. On the left hand is the tower of Dry- 
hope, mentioned in the preceding note. 

5. the wizard's grave; 

That wizard priest's, wliose bones are tlirust 
From company of holy dust. — P. 61. 
At one corner of the burial ground of the demo- 
lished chapel, but without its precincts is a snlall 

mound, called Bi/iram's corse, where tradition de- j liam, duke of Normandy, the lord of Uglebarnby, 
posits the remains of a necromantic priest, the for- then called William De Bruce: the lord of Smea- 
mer tenant of the chaplainry. His story much re- ton, called Ralph de Percy; with a gentleman and 
semblestiiatofAmbrosio in the "Monk, "and has I freeholder called Allatson, did, on the sixteenth 
been made the tlieme of a ballad, by my friend j of October, 1159, appoint to meet and hunt the 
Mr. James Hogg, more poetically designated the I wild boar, in a certain wood, or desert place, be- 
Ettrick Shepherd. To his volume, entitled the j longing to the abbot of Whitby; the place's name 
" Mountain Bard," which contains this, and many was Eskdale-side, and the abbot's name was Sed- 
other legendary stories and ballads of great merit, I man. Then, these young gentlemen being met, 

with their hounds and boar staves, in the place be- 
fore mentioned, and there having found a great 
wild boar, the hounds ran him well near about the 
chapel and hermitage of Eskdale-side, where was 
a monk of Whitby, who was a hermit. I'he boar, 
being very sorely pursued, and dead-run, took in 
at the chapel door, there laid liim down, and pre- 
sently died. The hermit shut tlie hounds out of 
the chapel, and kept himself within at his medita- 
tions and prayers, the hounds standing at bay with- 
out. The gentlemen, in the thick of the wood, be- 
ing just behind their game, followed the cry of 
their hounds, and so came to the hermitage, call- 
ing on the hermit, who opened the door, and came 
forth; and within they found the boar lying dead; 
for which, the gentlemen, in a very great fury, be- 
cause the hounds were put from their game, did 
most violently and cruelly run at the hermit with 
their boar-staves, whereby he soon after died. 
Thereupon the gentlemen, perceiving and knowing 
that they were in peril of death, took sanctuary at 
Scarborough; but at that time the abbot being in 
ver}^ great favour with the king, removed them 
out of the sancluar}'; whereby they came in danger 
of the law, and not to be privileged, but likely 
to have the severity of the law, which was death 
for death. But the hermit being a holy and devout 
man, and at the point of death, sent for tiie abbot, 
and desired him to send for the gentlemen who 
had wounded him. The abbot so doing, the gen- 
tlemen came; and the hermit, being ver}' sick and 
weak, said unto tiiem, ' I am sure to die of tiiose 
wounds you have given me.' The abbot answered, 
' They siiall as surely die for the same.' But the 
hermit answered, ' Not so, for 1 will freely forgive 
them my death, if they will be content to be en- 
joined the penance 1 shall lay on them for the safe- 
guard of their souls.' The gentlemen, being pre- 
sent, bade him save tlieir lives. 'I'lien said the 
hermit, ' You and yours shall hold your glands of 
tiie abbot of Whitby and his successors* in this 
manner: That, upon Ascension-day, you, or some 
of you, sliall come to the wood of the Stray-heads, 
which is in Eskdale-side, the same day at sun-ris- 
ing, and tiiere, shall the abbot's oiKcer blow his 
horn, to the intent that j'ou may know where to 
find him; and he shall deliver unto you, William 
de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven strout stowers, and 
eleven yethers, to be cut by you, or some of you, 
with a knife of one penny price; and you, Ralph 
de Percy, shall take twenty -one of each sort, to 



I refer the curious reader 

fi. —dark Lochskene.— P. 61. 
A mountain lake, of considerable size, at the 
head of Mottat-water. The character of the sce- 
nery is uncommonly savage; and the earn, or Scot- 
tish eagle, has, for many agej, built its nest year- 
ly upon an islet in tiie lake. Lochskene dis- 
charges itself into a brook, which, after a short and 
precipitate course, falls from a cataract of immense 
height and gloomy grandeur, called, from its ap- 
pearance, the " Gray Mare's Tail." The " Giant's 
Grave," afterwards mentioned, is a sort of trench, 
which bears that name, a little way from the foot 
of the cataract. It has the appearance of a battery 
designed to command the p*ss. 

7. Where, froni high Whitby's cloistered pile, 
Bound to St. Cuthbert's Holy Isle.— P. 62. 

The abbey of Whitb}^, in the Archdeaconry of 
Cleaveland, on the coast of Yorkshire, was found- 
ed A.D. 657, in consequence of a vow of Oswy, 
king of Northuniber^ul. It contained both monks 
and nuns of the BenWictine order; but, contrary 
to what was usual in such establishments, the ab- 
bess was superior to the abbot. Tiie monastery 
was afterwards ruined by the Danes, and rebuild- 
ed by William Percy in the reign of the conqueror. 
Tliere were no nuns there in Henry the Eiglith's 
time, nor long before it. The ruins of Whitby ab- 
bey are very magnificent. 

Lindisfarn, an isle on the coast of Northumber- 
land, was called Holy Island, from the sanctity of 
its ancient monastery, and from its having been the 
episcopal seat of the see of Durham during the 
early ages of British Christianity. A succession 
of holy men held that office: but their merits were 
swallowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, 
who was sixth bishop of Durham, and who bestow- 
ed the name of his "patrimony" upon llie exten- 
sive property of the see. The ruins of liie monas- 
tery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. 
Tiie arches are, in general, strictly Saxon; and the 
pillars whiclt support them, short, strong, and 
massy. In some places, however, there are point- 
ed windows, which indicate that the building has 
been repaired at a period long subsequent to the 
original foundation. The exterior ornaments of the 
building being of a light sandy stone, have been 
wasted, as described in the text. Lindisfarn is 
not properly an island, but rather, as tiie vene- 
rable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle: for, although 



108 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



De cut in the same manner; and you, Allatson, 
shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid; 
and to be taken on your hacks, and carried to the 
town of Whitby, and to be there before nine of 
the clock the same day before mentioned. At the 
same hour of nine of the clock, if it be full sea, 
your labour and service shall cease; and, if low 
water, each of you shall set your stakes to the brim, 
each stake one yard from the other, and soyether 
them on each side with your yethers; and so stake 
on each side with your strout stowers, that they 
may stand three tides, without removing by the 
force thereof. Each of you shall do, make, and 
execute the said service, at that very hour, every 
year, except it be full sea at that hour: but when 
it shall so fall out, this service shall cease. You 
shall faithfully do this in remembrance that you 
did most cruelly slay me; and that you may the 
better call to Gotl for mercy, repent unfeignedly 
of your sins, and do good works. The officer of 
Eskdale-side shall blow. Out on you! Out on you! 
Out on you! for this heinous crime. If you, or 
your successors, shall refuse this service, so long 
as it shall not be full sea at the aforesaid hour, 
you, or yours, shall forfeit your lands to the abbot 
of Whitby, or his successors. This 1 entreat, and 
earnestly beg, that you may have lives and goods 
preserved for this service; and I i-equest ot you to 
promise, by your parts in heaven, that it shall be 
done by you, and your successors, as is aforesaid; 
and 1 will confirm it by the faith of an honest man. ' 
Tiien the hermit said, ' My soul longeth for tlie 
Lord: and I do as freely forgive these men my 
death, as Christ forgave the thieves on the cross.' 
And, in the presence of the abbot and the rest he 
said moreover these words, "-In manus tuas. Do- 
mine, commendo spiritum nieum, a ■vincuUs enim 
mortis redemisti me, Domine vei'itatis. Atnen. ' — 
So he yielded up the ghost the eighth day ot De- 
cember, Anno Domini 1169, whose soul God have 
mercy upon. Amen. 

"This ser\ice," it is added, " still continues to 
be performed with the prescribed ceremonies, 
though not by the proprietors in person. Part of 
the lands charged therewith are now held by a 
gentleman of the name of Herbert. " 

9. The lovely Edelfled.— P. 63. 

She was the daughter of king Oswy, who, in 
gratitude to heaven for the great victory which he 
won in 655, against Penda, the pagan king of Mer- 
cia, dedicated Edelfleda, then but a year old, to 
the service of God in the monastery of Whitby, 
of which St. Hilda was then abbess. She after- 
wards adorned the place of her education with 
great magnificence. 

-of thous.md snakes, each one 



Was changed into a coil of stone. 
When holy Hilda pray'd. — 



—————how sea-fowls' pinions fail. 

As over Whitby's towers they sail.— P. 63. 

These two miracles are much insisted upon b}'^ all 
the ancient writers, who have occasion to mention 
either Whitby, or St. Hilda. The relics of the 
snakes which infested the precincts of the convent, 
and were, at the abbess' prayer, not only behead- 
ed, but petrified, are still found about the rocks, 
and are termed by protestant fossilists ammomtx. 

The other miracle is thus mentioned by Cam- 
den: " It is also ascribed to the power of her sanc- 
tity, that these wild geese, which, in the winter, 
ily in great flocks to the lakes and rivers unfrozen 



in the southern parts, to the great amazement of 
every one, fall down suddenly upon the ground, 
when they are in their fliglit over certain neigh- . 
bouring fields hereabouts: a relation I. should not 1 
have made, if 1 had not received it from several ( 
credible men. But those who are less inclined to 
heed superstition, attribute it to some occult qua- 
lity in the ground, and to somewhat of anti^jalhy 
between it and the geese, such as tliey say is be- 
twixt wolves and scylla-roots: for, that such- hid- 
den tendencies and aversions, as we call sympa- 
thies, and antipathies, are implanted in many things 
by provident nature for the preservation of them, 
is a thing so evident, that every body grants it." 
The geese, it is almost unnecessary to add, have 
now forgot their obeisance to St. Hilda, or their 
antipathy to the soil, and fly over Whitby with as 
little difficulty as any where else. 

11. His body's resting-place, of old. 

How oft their patron changed, they told. — P. 63. 

St. Cuthbert was, .in the choice of his sepulture, 
one of the most mutable and unreasonable saints 
in the calendar. He died A.D. 686, in a hermit- 
age upon the Fame Islands, having resigned the 
bishopric of Lindisfarn, or Holy Island, about 
two years before. His body was brought to Lindis- 
farn, where itremained until a descent of the Danes, 
about 763, when the monastery was nearly destroy- 
ed. The monks fled to Scotland, with what they 
deemed their chief treasure, the relics of St. Cuth- 
bert. The saint was, however, a most capricious fel- 
low traveller; which was the more intolerable, as, 
like Sinbad's old man of the sea, hejourneyed upon 
the shoulders of his companions. They paraded 
him through Scotland for several years, and came 
as far west as Whithern, in Galloway, whence 
they attempted to sail for Ireland, but were dri- 
ven back by tempests. He at length made a halt 
at Norham; from thence he went to Melrose, wliere 
he remained stationary for a short time, and then 
caused himself to be lanched upon the Tweed in 
a stone coffin, which landed him at Tilmouth, in 
Northumberl.and. This bo0 is finely shaped, ten 
feet long, tliree feet and a half in diameter, and 
only four inches thick; so that, with very little as- 
sistance, it might certainly have swam. It still 
lies, or at least did so a few years ago, in two 
pieces, beside the ruined chapel of Tilmouth. 
From Tilmouth, Cuthbert wandered into York- 
shire; and at length made a long stay at Chester- 
le-street, to whicii the bishop's see was transfer- 
red. At length, the Danes continuing to infest 
the countrj', the monks removed to Rippon for a 
season; and it was in return from thence to Ches- 
ter-le-street, that, passing through a forest called 
Dunholme, the saint and his carriage became im- 
movable at a place named Wardlaw, or Wardilaw. 
Here the saint chose his placeof residence; and 
all who have seen Durham must admit, that, if dif- 
ficult in his choice, he evinced taste in at length 
fixing it. It is said, that the Northumbrian catho- 
lics still keep secret the precise spot of the saint's 
supulture, which is only intrusted to three persons 
at a time. When one dies, the survivors associate 
to them, in his room, a person judged fit to be the 
depositary of so valuable a secret. 

12. Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, &c. 

Before his standard fled.— P. 64. 

Every one has heard, that when David I, with 
his son Henry, invaded Northumberlaud in 1136, 



MAHMION. 



109 



the English host marched ag;ainst them under the 
holy banner of St. Cuthbert, to the efficacy of 
which vas imputed the great victory which they 
obtained in the hloody battle of Nortliallerlon, or 
Cutou-moor. ■ The conquerors were at least as 
much indebted to the jealousy and intractability 
of the different tribes who composed David's ar- 
my; afnong whom, as mentioned in tlie text, were 
the Galwegians, tiie Britons of Strath-Clyde, the 
men of Teviotdale and Lotiiian, >vith many Nor- 
man and (lerman warriors, who asserted the cause 
of the empress Maud. See Chahner\ Caledonia, 
p. 622; a most laborious, curious, and interesting 
publication, from which considerable defects of 
style and manner ought not to turn aside the Scot- 
tish antiquary. 

13. 'Twas lie, to vindicate his veipfn, 

Edjjed Alfred's faleliioii' on the Dane, 

And turned the conqueror back ag;ain. — P. 64. 

Cuthbert, we have seen, had no great reason to 
spare the Danes, when opportmiity offered. Ac- 
cordingly, I find in Simeon of Durham, tliat the 
saint appeared in a vision to Alfred, when lurking 
m the marshes of Glastonbury, and promised him 
assistance and victorj' over his heathen enemies: 
a consolation fthich, as was reasonable, Alfred, 
after the victory of Ashendovvii, rewarded by a 
royal offering at the shrii* of the saint. As to 
William the conqueror, the terror sjircad before 
liis army, when he marched to punish the revolt 
of tiie Northumbrians, in 1090, had forced the 
monks to fly once more to Holy Island with the 
body of the saint. It was, however, I'eplaced be- 
fore William left the north: and, to balance ac- 
counts, the conqueror having intimated an indis- 
creet curiosity to view the saint's body, he was, 
while in the act of commanding the shrine to be 
opened, seized with heat and sickness, accompa- 
nied with such a panic terror, that, notwithstand- 
ing there was a sumptuous dinner prepai-ed for 
him, he fled without eating a morsel, (which tiie 
monkish historian seems to have thouglit no small 
part both of the miracle and the penance,) and 
never drew his brlMle till he got to the river Tees. 
14. St. Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 

The sea-born beads that bear his name.— P. 64. 

Although we do not learn that Cuthbert was, 
during his life, sucli an artificer as Dunstan, his 
brother in sanctity, yet, since his death, he has 
acquired the reputation of forging those entrochix 
which are found among the rocks of Holy Island, 
and pass there by the name ofSt. Culhbert's beads. 
While at this task he is supposed to sit during the 
niglit ui)on a certain rock, and use another as his 
anvil. This story was perhaps credited in former 
days; at least the saint's legend contains some not 
more probable. 

15. Old Colwulf.— P. 64. 

Ceolwolf, or Colwulf, king of Noi-thumberland, 
flourished in the eighth century. He was a man of 
some learning: for the venerable Bede dedicates 
lo him his " Ecclesiastical History." He abdicated 
the throne about 738, and retired to Holy Island, 
where he died in the odour of sanctity. Saint as 
Colwulf was, however, I fear the foundation of the 
penance-vault does not correspond with his cha- 
racter; for it is recorded among his memorabilia, 
that, finding the air of the island raw and cold, he 
indulged the monks, whose rule had hitherto con- 
fined tiiem to milk or water, with the comfortable 
privilege of using wine or ale. If any rigid anti- 
quary insists on this objection, he is welcome to 



suppose the penance-vault was intended, by the 
founder, for the more genial purposes of a cellar. 

These penitential vaults were t.\ie ffeissel-gcivfilbe 
of German convents. In the earlier and more rigid 
times of monastic discipline, they were sometimes 
used as a cemetery lor the lay benefactors of the 
convent, whose unsanctified corpses were then sel- 
dom permitted to pollute the choir. They also 
served as places of meeting for the chapter, when 
measures of uncommon severity were to be adopt- 
ed. Brit their more frequent use, as implied by the 
name, was as places for performing penances, or 
undergoing punishment. * 

16. Tynemouth's haughty prioress.— P. 64. 

That there was an ancient priory at Tynemouth 
is certain. Its ruins are situated on a high rocky 
point; and, doubtless, many a vow was made at the 
shritie by the distressed mariners, who drove to- 
wards the iron-bound coast of Northumberland in 
stormy weather. It was anciently a nunnery; for 
Virea, abbess of Tynemouth, presented St. Cuth- 
bert (yet alive) with a rare winding-sheet, in emu- 
lation of a holy lady called Tuda, wlio had sent 
him a coffin: But, as in the case of Whitby, and 
of Holy Island, the introduction of nuns at Tyne- 
moutli, in the reign of Henry VIII, is an anachro- 
nism. The uunneiy at Holy Island is altogether 
fictitious. Indeed, St. Cuthbert was uidikely to per- 
mit such an establishment; for, notwitiistanding his 
accepting the mortuary gifts above mentioned, and 
his carrying on a visiting acquaintance witli the 
abbess of Coldingham, he certainly hated the whole 
female sex; and, in revenge of a sli[)pery trick 
played on him by an Irish princess, he, after death, 
inflicted severe penances on such as presumed to 
approacjh within a certain distance of liis shrine. 

17. On those the wall Was to enclose. 
Alive, within the tomb.— P. 65. 

It is well known, that the religious, who broke 
their vows of chastity, were subjected to the same 
penalty as the Roman vestals in a similar case. A 
small niche, sufficient to enclose their bodies, was 
made in the massive wall of the convent; a slender 
pittance of food and water was deposited in it, and 
the awful words, Vade in pace, were the signal 
for immuring the criminal. It is not likely that, 
in latter times, this punishment was often resorted 
to; but, among the ruins of the abbey of Colding- 
ham, were some years ago discovered the remains 
of a female skeleton, which, from the shape of the 
niche, and position of the figure, seemed to be that 
of an immured nun. 

NOTES TO CANTO III. 
1. The villag^e inn.- P. 68. 
The accommodations of a Scottish hostelrie, or 
inn, in the 16th century, may be collected from 
Dunbar's admirable tale of " The Friars of Ber- 
wick." Simon Lawder, "the gay ostleir," seems 
(o have lived very comfortably; and his wife deco- 
rated her person with a scarlet kirtle, and a belt 
of silk and silver, and rings upon her fingers; and 
feasted iier paramour with rabbits, capons, par- 
tridges, and Bourdeaux wine. At least, if the Scot- 
tish inns were not good, it was not for want of en- 
couragement from the legislature; who, so early as 
the reign of James I, not only enacted, that in all 
boroughs and fairs there be hostellaries, having 
stables and chambers, and provisions for man and 
horse, but, by another statute, ordained that no 
man, travelling on horse or foot, should presume 



110 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



to lodge any where except in these hostellaries; 
and tliat no person, save inn-keepers, should receive 
sucli travellers, under the penalty of forty shillings 
for exercising such hospitality.* But, in spite of 
these provident enactments, the Scottish hostels 
are but indifferent, and strangers continue to find 
reception in the houses of individuals. 

2. The death of a dear friend.— P. 70. 
Among other omens to which faithful credit is 
given among the Scottish peasantry, is what is 
called the "dead-bell," explained by my friend 
James Hogg, to*be that tinkling in the ears which 
the country people regard as the secret intelligence 
of some friend's decease. He tells a story to the 
purpose in the "Mountain Bard," p. 26. 

3. the goblin hall.— P. 70. 

A vaulted hall under the ancient castle of Gif- 
ford, or Yester, (for it bears either name indiftei'- 
ently,) the construction of which has, from a very 
remote period, been ascribed to magic. The Sta- 
tistical Accouiit of the Parish of Carvald and Baro 
gives the following account of the present state of 
this castle and apartment: " Upon a peninsula, 
formed by the water of Hopes on the east, and a 
large rivulet on the west, stands the ancient castle 
of Yester. Sir David Dalrymple, in his annals, 
relates, that ' Hugh Gifford de Yester died in 1267; 
that in his castle tliere was a capacious cavern form- 
ed by magical art; and called in the countrj'. Bo- 
hall, i. e. Hobgoblin hall.' A stair of twenty-four 
steps led down to this apartment: which is a large 
and spacious hall, with an arclied roof; and though 
it hath stood for so many centuries, and been ex- 
posed to the external air for a period of fifty or 
sixty years, it is still as firm and entire as if it had 
only stood a few years. From the floor of this hall, 
another stair of thirty-six steps leads down to a 
pit which hath a communication with Hopes- 
water. A great part of the walls of this large and 
ancient castle are still standing. There is a tradi- 
tion, that the castle of Yester was the last fortifi' 
cation in this country that surrendered to Gene- 
ral Gray, sent into Scotland by protector Somer- 
set." Statistical Accovnt, vol. xiii. 1 have only 
to add, that, in 1737, the goblin hall was tenant- 
ed by the marquis of Tweeddale's falconer, as 1 
learn from a poem by Boyse, entitled " Retire- 
ment," written upon visiting Yester. It is now ren- 
dered inaccessible by the fall of the stair. 

Sir David Dalrymple's authority for tlie anecdote 
is Fordun, whose words are, — " A. D. mcclxvii, 
Hugo Giffard de Yester morilnr; aijiis castnim, 
■vel saltern caveam et dong-ionem, arte dxmonica 
aiitiqum relationes ferunt fabrifacta: nam ibidem 
habetur mirabilis specus siibtevraneiis, opere miri- 
Jico constructus, magna terrarian spatioprotelutus, 
qui C07nmuniter BO-HALL appellal us est." Lib. x, 
cap. 21. — Sir David conjectures, that Hugh de 
Gifibrd must either have been a very wise man, or 
a great oppressor. 

4. There floated Haco's banner trim. 
Above Norweyan warriors grim.— P. 71. 

In 1263, Haco, king of Norway, came into the 
Firth of Clyde with a powerful armament, and 
made a descent at Largs, in Ayrshire. Here he 
was encountered and defeated, on the 2d October, 
by Alexander HI. Haco returned to Orkney, where 
he died soon after this disgrace to his arms. There 
are still existing, near tlie place of battle, many 



• James I, parliament i, cap. 24; parliament iii, cap. 56. 



barrows, some of which, having been opened, were 
found, as usual, to contain bones and urns. 

5. his wizard habit strange.— P. 71. 

" Magicians, as is well known, were very curi- 
ous in the choice and form of their vestments. 
Their, caps are oval, or like pyramids, with lap- 
pets on each side, and fur within. Their gowns are 
long, and furred with fox-skins, under which they 
have a linen garment, reaching to the knee. Their 
girdles are three inches broad, and have many ca- 
balistical names, with crosses, trines, and circles 
inscribed on them. Tlieir shoes should be of new 
russet leather, with a cross cut upon them. Their 
knives are dagger fashion; and their swords have 
neither guards nor scabbards." See these, and many 
other particulars, in the discourse concerning de- 
vils and spirits, annexed to Reginald Scott's Dis- 
covert/ of Witchcraft, edition 1665. 

0. Upon his breast a pentacle. — P. 71. 
" A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with 
five corners, according to the five senses, and suit- 
ably inscribed with cliaracters. Tliis the magician 
extends towards the spirits which he evokes, when 
they are stubborn and rebellious, and refuse to 
be conformable unto the ceremonies and rites 
of magic." See the discourse, &ic. above mention- 
ed, p. 66. ^ 

7. As born upon tha' blessed night, 

Wlien yawning graves, and dying groan. 
Proclaimed hell's empire overthiown.— P. 71. 
It is a popular article of faith, tliat those who 
are born on Christmas, or good Friday, have the 
power of seeing spirits, and even of commanding 
them. The Spaniards imputed the haggard and 
downcast looks of their Philip II, to the disagree- 
able visions to which this privilege subjected him. 
8, Yet still the mighty spear and shield, 
The elfin warrior dolii wield. 

Upon the brown hill's breast. — P. '72. 

The following extract from the essay upon the 
fairy superstitions, in "The Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Bordei'," vol. ii, will show whence many 
of the particulars of the combahiietween Alexander 
III and the goblin knight are "erived: 

" Gervase of Tilbury { Otia Imperial, ap. Script, 
rer. Bninstuic. vol. i, p. TiT) relates tlie follow- 
ing popular story concerning a fairy knight: ' Os- 
bert, a bold and powerful baron, visited a noble 
family in the vicinity of Wandlebury, in the bisho- 
prick of Ely. Among otlier stories related in the 
social circle of his friends, who, according to cus- 
tom, amused each otlier by repeating ancient tales 
and traditions, he was informed, that if any knight, 
unattended, entered an adjacent jilain by moon- 
light, and challenged an adversary to appear, he 
would be immediately encountered by a spii-it in 
the form of a knight. Osbert resolved to make the 
experiment, and set out attended by a single squire, 
whom he ordered to remain without the limits of 
the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient en- 
trenchment. On repeating the challenge, he was 
instantly assailed by an adversary, whom he quick- 
ly unhorsed, and seized the reins of his steed. 
During this operation, his ghostly opponent sprung 
up, and darting his spear, like a javelin, atOsbeit, 
wounded him in tlie thigh. Osbert returned in 
triumph with the horse, which he committed to 
the care of his servants. The horse was of a sable 
colour, as well as his whole accoutrements, and 
apparently of great beauty and vigour. He re- 
mained with his keeper till cock-crowing, when, 
with eyes flashing fire, he reared, spurned the 



MARMION. 



Ill 



ground, and vanished. On disarming himself, Os- 
bert perceived that he was wounded, and that one 
of his steel-boots was full of blood. Gervase adds, 
that, as long as he lived, the scar of his wound 
opened afresh on the anniversary of the eve on 
whicli he encountered the spirit.' — Less fortunate 
was the £;allant Bohemian knight, who, travelling 
by night with a single companion, came in sight 
of a fairy host, arrajed under displayed banners. 
Despising the remonstrances of his friend, the 
knight pricked forward to break a larice with a 
champion, who advanced from the ranks, appa- 
rently in defiance. His companion beheld the J3o- 
hemian overthrown, horse and man, by his aerial 
adversary; and returning to the spot next morning, 
he found the mangled corpses of the knight and 
his steed." — Hierarchy of JSleSsed Angels, p. 554. 

Besides the instances of elfin chivalry above 
quoted, many others might be alleged in support 
of employing fairy machinery in this manner. Tlie 
forest of Glenmore, in the north highlands, is be- 
lieved to be haunted by a spirit called Lham-dearg, 
in the array of an ancient warrior, having a bloody 
hand, from which he takes his name. He insists 
upon those with whom he meets doing battle with 
him: and the clergyman, who makes up an account 
of the district, extant in the Macfarlane MS., in 
the Advocates' library, gravely assures us, that, 
in his time, Lham-dearg fought with three bro- 
thers whom he met in his walk, none of whom long 
survived the ghostly conflict. Barclay, in his"Eu- 
phormion," gives a singular account of an officer, 
who had ventured, witli his servant, rather to in- 
trude upon a haunted house, in a town in Flanders, 
than to put up with worse quarters elsewhere. 
After taking the usual precautions of providing 
fires, lights, and arms, they watched till midnight, 
when, behold! the severed arm of a man dropped 
from the ceiling; tliis was followed by the legs, the 
other arm, the trunk, and the head of the body, 
all separately. The members rolled together, uni- 
ted themselves in the presence of the astonished 
soldiers, and formed a gigantic warrior, who de- 
fied them both to combat. Their blows, allliough 
they penetrated the body, and amputated the limbs 
of their strange antagonist, had, as the reader may 
easily believe, little effect on an enemy who pos- 
sessed such powers of self-union; nor did his ef- 
forts make a more eftectual impression upon them. 
How the combat terminated I do not exactly re- 
member, and have not the book by me; but I think 
the spirit made to the intruders on his mansion 
the usual proposal, that they should renounce their 
redemption: which being declined, he was obliged 
to retreat. 

The most singular tale of the kind is contained 
in an extract communicated to me by my friend 
Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth, in the bishopric, who 
copied it from a MS. note in a copy of Biu-thogge 
" On the nature of Spirits," 8vo. 1694, wliicii had 
been the property of the late Mr. Gill, attorney- 
general of Egerton, bishop of Durham. "It was 
not," sa3's my obliging correspondent, "in Mr. 
Gill's own hand, but probably an hundred years 
older, and was said to be, E libra convent. Ditnelm. 
per T. C. extract, whom I believe to have been 
Thomas Cradocke, esq. barrister, who lield seve- 
ral offices under the see of Durham an hundred 
years ago. Mr. Gill was possessed of most of his 
manuscripts." Tlie extract which, in fact, sug- 
gested the introduction of the tale into the present 
poem, runs thus: 



" Rem miram hujusmodi qu« nostris tempori- 
bus evenit, teste viro nobili ac fide dignissimo, 
enarrare baud pigebit. Radulphus Bulmer, cum 
e eastris quse tunc temporis prope Norham posita 
erant, oblectationis causa exiisset, ac in ulteriore 
Tuedae ripa prajdam cum canibus leporariis inse- 
queretur, forte cum Scoto quodam nobili, sibi an- 
tehac ut videbatur familiariter cognito, congressus 
est; ac ut fas erat inter inimicos, flagrante bello, 
brevissima interrogationis mora interposita, alle- 
rutros invicem incitato cursu infestis animis pe- 
tiere. Noster, primo ocoarso, equo prse acerrimo 
hostis impetu, labante, in terram eversus, pectore 
et capite Iseso, sanguinem mortuo similis evomebat. 
Quem ut se segre habcntem comiter allocutos est 
alter, pollicitusque niodo auxilium non abnegaret, 
monitisque obtemperans .ab omni rerum sacrarura 
cogitatione abstineret, nee Deo, Deiparse Yirgini, 
Sanctove ullo preces aut vota efFeret, vel inter 
sese conciperet, se brevi eum sanum validumque 
restiturum esse. FrM angore oblata conditio 
accepta est; ac veterator ille, nescio quid obscceni 
murmuris insusurrans, prehensa manu, dictociti«s 
in pedes sanum ut antea sublevavit. Noster aute'm, 
maxima pras rei inaudita novitate formidine per- 
culsus, Mi Jesu! exclamat, vel quid simile; ae 
subito respiciens, nee hostem nee ullum alium 
conspicit, equum solum gravissimo nuper casii 
afflictum, per summam pacem in rivo fluvii pas- 
centem. Ad castra itaque mirabundus revertens, 
fidei dubius, i-em pi-imu occultavit, dein confecto 
bello, confessori siio tolam asseruit. Delusoria 
procul dubio res tota, ac mala veteratoris illins 
aperitur fraus, qua hominem cliristianum ad veti- 
tura tale auxilium pelliceret. Noiuen atcunque 
illius (nobilis alias ac clari) rectendum ducto, cam 
baud dubium sit quin Diabolus, Deo permittente, 
forraani quam libuerit, immo angeli lucis, sacre 
oculo Dei teste, posset assumere. " The MS. 
Chronicle, from which Mr. Cradocke took this 
curious extract, cannot now be found in the chap- 
ter library of Durham, or at least, has hitlierto 
escaped the researches of my friendly correspon- 
dent. 

Lindesay is made to allude to this adventure of 
Ralph Bulmer, as a well known story, in the 4th 
canto, stanza XXII. 

The northern champions of old were accustomed 
peculiarly to search for, and delight in, encounters 
with such military spectres. See a whole chapter 
on the subject in BarthoUnus de Causis contempts 
Mortis a Danis, p. 253. 

NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
1. Close to the liut, no more his own, 
Close to the aid lie sought in vain. 
The morn may timl the stiffened swain. — P. 73. 
I cannot help here mentioning, that, on the night 
in which these lines were written, suggested, as 
they were, by a sudden fall of snow, lieginning af- 
ter sunset, an unfortunate man perished exactly in 
the manner here described, and his body was next 
morning found clo.se to his own house. The acci- 
dent happened within five miles of the farm of 
Ashestiel. 

2. Scarce had lamented Forbes paid, &c. — P. 74. 
Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, baronet, une- 
qualled, perhaps, in the degree of individual afiec- 
tion entertained for him by iiis friends, as well as 
in the general respect and esteem of Scotland at 
large. His " Life of Beattie," whom he befriended 
and patronized in life, as well as celebrated after 



112 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



his decease, was not long published, before the be- 
nevolent and affectionate biographer was called to 
follow tlie subject of his narrative. This me- 
lancholy event very shortly succeeded the marri- 
age of the friend, to whom tliis introduction is ad- 
dressed, with one of sir William's daughters. 
3. —friar Rush.— P. 74. 

This personage is a strolling demon, or esprit 
follct, who, once upon a time, got admittance into 
a monastery as a scullion, and played the monks 
many pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Good- 
fellow, and Jack o' Liftitern. It is in allusion 
to this mischievous demon that Milton's clown 
speaks, — 

She was pinched and pulled, she said, 
And he hy friar's lantern led. 

" The History of Friar Rush" is of extreme ra- 
rity, and, for some time, even the existence of such 
a book was doubted, although it is expressly allud- 
ed to by Reginald Scott, in his " Discovery of 
Witciicraft. "I have perused a copy in the valuable 
library of my friend Mr. Heber; and I observe, 
from Mr. Beloe's "Anecdotes of Literature," that 
there is one in the excellent collection of the mar- 
quis of Stafford. 

4. Sii- David Lindesay of the mount. 
Lord lion-kiug-at-arnis.— P. 75. 
The late elaborate edition of sir David Lindesay 's 
works, by Mr. George Chalmers, has probably in- 
troduced him to many of my readers. It is perhaps 
to be regretted, that the learned editor has not be- 
stowed more pains in elucichiting his author, even 
although he should have omitted, or at least re- 
served, his disquisitions on the origin of the lan- 
guage used by the poet:* but, witli all its faults, 
his work is an acceptable present to Scottish anti- 
quaries. Sir David Lindesay was well known for 
his early efforts in favour of tlie reformed doctrines; 
and, indeed, his play, coarse as it now seems, 
must have had a powerful effect upon the people 
of his age. I am uncertain if I abuse poetical li- 
cense, by introducing sir David Lindesay in tlie 
character of lion-herald sixteen 3'ears before he 
obtained that office. At any rate, I am not the first 
who has been guilty of the anachronism; for the 
p.uthor of "Flodden Field" despatches Dallamoitnt, 
■which can mean nobody but sir David de la Mont, 
to France, on the message of defiance from James 
IV to Henry YUl. It was often an office imposed 
on the lion-king- at-arms, to receive foreign am- 
bassadors; and Lindesay liimself did this honour 
to sir Ralph Sadler in 1539-40. Indeed, the oath 



* I beg leave to quote a single instance from a very in- 
teresting- passage. Sir David, recounting his attention to 
king Jaiues V ui his infancy, is made, by the learned edi- 
tor's punctuation, to say, — 

'I'he first sillabis that thou did mute. 
Was pa, da, lyn, upon the lute; 
Then played I twfuty springis perqueir, 
QuhilU was great plesour for to liear. 

Vol. i, p. 7, 257. 
Mr. Chalmers does not infonii us by note or glossary, 
what is meant by the king " muting pa, da, lijn, upon the 
'lite;'" but any old woman iu Scotland will bear witness, 
that pa, da, lyn, are the first efforts of a child to say, 
IVhere's David Lindesay- and that the subsequent words 
begin another sentence, — 

upon the lute 

Then played I twenty springis perqueir, &c. 

In another place, "justing lumis," i. e. looms, or imple- 
ments of tilting, is facetiously interpreted " playful limbs." 
Many such minute errors could be pointed out; but these 
are only mentioned incidentally, and not as diminishing 
the i-eal merit of the edition. 



of the lion, in its first article, bears reference to 
his frequent employment upon royal messages aiid 
embassies. 

The office of heralds, in feudal times, being held 
of the utmost importance, the inauguration of the 
kings-at-arms, who presided over their colleges, 
was proportionally solemn. In fact, it was the 
mimicry of a royal coronation, except that the unc- 
tion was made with wine instead of oil. In Scot- 
land, a namesake and kinsman of sir David Lin- 
desay, inaugurated in 1592, " was crowned by king 
James with the ancient crown of Scotland, which 
was used before the Scottish kings assumed a close 
crown;" and, on occasion of the same solemnity, 
dined at the king's table, wearing the crown. It 
is probable that the coronation of his predecessor 
was not less solemn. So sacred was the herald's 
office, that, in 1515, lord Drummond was by par- 
liament declared guilty of treason, and his lands 
forfeited, because he had struck, vvyth his fist, the 
lion-king-at-arms, when he reproved him for his 
follies.* Nor was he restored, but at the lion's 
earnest solicitation. 

5. — Crichtoun castle. — P. 76. 

A large ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, 
about seven miles from Edinburgh. As indicated 
in the text, it was built at different times and with 
a very different regard to splendour and accommo- 
dation. The oldest part of the building is a nar- 
row keep, or tower, such as formed the mansion 
of a lesser Scottish baron; but so many additions 
have been made to it, that there is now a large 
court-yard, surrounded by buildings of different 
ages. The eastern front of the court is raised 
above a portico, and decorated with entablatures, 
bearing anchors. All the stones of this front are 
cut into diamond facets, the angular projections of 
wliidi have an uncommonly rich appearance. The 
inside of this part of the building appears to have 
contained a gallery of great length, and uncommon 
elegance. Access was given to it by a magnificent 
staircase, now quite destroyed. The soffits are or- 
namented with twining cordage and rosettes; and 
the whole seems to have been far more splendid 
than was usual in Scottish castles. The castle be- 
longed originally to the chancellor, sir William 
Crichton, and probably owed to him its first en- 
largement, as well as its being taken by the earl 
of Douglas, who imputed to Crichton 's counsels tiie 
death of his predecessor earl William, beheaded 
in Edinburgh castle, with his brother, in 1440. It 
is said to have been totally demolished on that oc- 
casion; but the present state of tiie ruins shows the 
contrary. In 148.3, it was garrisoned by lord 
Crichton, then its proprietor, against king James 
III, whose displeasure he had incurred iiy seduc- 
ing his sister Margaret, in revenge, it is said, for 
the monarch having dishonoured his bed. From 
the Crichton family the castle passed to that of tiic 
Hepburns, earls Bothwell; and when the forfei- 
tures of Stewart, the last earl Bothwell, were divid- 
ed, the barony and castle of Crichton fell to the 
share of the earl of Buccleucli. They were after- 
wards the property of the Pringles of Clifton, and 
are now that of sir John Callander, har(niet. It 
were to be wishetl the proprietor would take a lit- 
tle pains to preserve those splendid remains of an- 

* The record expresses, or rather is said to have ex- 
pressed, the cause of forfeiture to be,— £0 quvd Lconem 
urmorum Regem piigno violassef, diim earn de ineptiit 
suis adtnotmit."' See Nisbet's Heraldry, Part iv, chap. 
16; and Leslaei Hisloria, ad jlnnum 1515. 



MARMION. 



113 



tiquily, which are at present used as a fold for 
sheep, and wintering cattle; although, perhaps, 
there are very few ruins in Scotland, wliich display 
so well the style and beauty of ancient castle-ar- 
chitecture. The castle of Criciiton lias a dungeon 
vault, called lUe ^Massif J\foi-e. The epithet, which 
is not uncommonly applied to the prisons of other 
old castles in Scotland, is of Saracenic origin. It 
occurs twice in the " Epistolas Itinerarix" of Tol- 
lius: " Career subterraneus,sive, ut JMaw'i appel- 
lant, Mazmorras," p. 147; and again, " C'ojfuntur 
omnes capthd sub ncctem in erg-astiila subterranea, 
qnx Turcx Algerezani vacant Mazmorras," p. 
243. The same word applies to the dungeons of 
the ancient Moorish castles in Spain, and serves 
to show from what nation the Gothic style of cas- 
tle-building was originally derived. 

6. Earl Adam Hepburn.— P. 76. 
He was the second earl of Bothwell, and fell in 
the field of Flodden, where, according to an an- 
cient pjnglish poet, he distinguislied himself by a 
furious attempt to retrieve the day: — 

Then on the Scottish part, right proud, 

The earl of Bothwell then out brast, , 
And stepping forth, with stomach good, 

Into the enemies' throng he thi-ast; 
And Bot/iwell! Bothivell: cried bold. 

To cause his souldiers to ensue. 
But there he caught a wellcome cold. 

The Englishmen straight down him threw. 

Flodden Field. 

Adam was grandfather to James, earl of Bothwell, 
too well known in the history of queen Mary. 

7. For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 
Against the English war.— P. 76. 

This story is told by Pitscottie with character- 
istic simplicity: "The king, seeing that France 
could get no support of him for that time, made a 
proclamation, full hastily, through all the realm 
of Scotland, both east and west, south and north, 
as well in the isles as in the firm land, to all man- 
ner of men betwixt sixty and sixteen years, that 
they should be ready, within twenty days, to pass 
with him, with forty days' victual, and to meet at 
the Burrow-muir of Edinburgh, and there to pass 
forward where he pleased. His proclamations were 
hastily obeyed, contrary to the council ot Scotland's 
will; but every man loved his prince so well, tiiat 
they would on no ways disobey him; but every 
man caused make his proclamation so hastily, 
conform to the charge of the king's proclamation. 
" The king came to Lithgow, where he happen- 
ed to be for the time at the council, very sad and 
dolorous, making his devotion to tJod, to send him 
good chance and fortune in his voyage. In this 
mean time, there came a man, clad in a blue gown, 
in at the kirk-door, and belted about him in a roll 
of linen cloth: a pair of brotikings* on his feet, to 
the great of his legs; with all other hose and clothes 
contorm thereto; but he had nothing on his head, 
but sydet red yellow hair behind, and on hishaf- 
fets,|: which wan down to his shoulders; but his 
forehead was bald and bare. He seemed to be a 
man of two-and-fiftj' years, with a great pike-staff 
in his hand, and came first forward among the 
lords, crying and speiring§ for the king, saying, 
he desired to speak with him. While, at the last, 
he came where the king was sitting in the desk at 
his prayers; but when he saw the king, he made 
him little reverence or salutation, but leaned down 



groffling on the desk before him, and said to him 
in this manner, as after follows: ' Sir king, my 
mother hath sent me to you, desiring you not to 
pass, at this time, where thou art purposed; for if 
thou does, thou wilt not fare well in thy journey, 
nor none that passeth with thee. Further, she bade 
thee mell* with no woman, nor use their counsel, 
nor let them touch thy body, nor thou theirs; for, 
if thou do it, thou wilt be co-founded and brought 
to shame.' 

" By this man had spoken thir words unto the 
king's grace, the evening song was near done, and 
the king paused on thir words, studying to give 
him an answer; but, in the mean time, before the 
king's eyes, and in the presence of all the lords 
that were about him for the time, this man vanish- 
ed away, and could no ways be seen nor compre- 
hended, but vanished away as he had been a blink 
of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwind, and could 
no more be seen. I heard say, sir David Lindesay, 
lyon-herauld, and John Inglis the marshal, who 
were, at that time, young men, and special servants 
to the king's grace,' were standing presently beside 
the king, who thought to have laid hands on this 
man, that they might have speired further tidings 
at him: but all for nought; they could not touch 
him; for he vanished away betwixt them, and was 
no more seen." 

Buchanan, in more elegant, though not more 
impressive language, tells the sanie story, and 
quotes the personal information of our sir David 
Lindesay: " In iis (i. e. qiii propius astiterant) 
fidt David Lindedus, Mmitunus, homo spectatas 
Jidei et probitatis, nee a literanun studiis alienus, 
et cujus totius znise tenor longissime a mentiendo 
aberat; a quo nisi ego hxc, uti tradidi, pro certis 
accepissem, ut vulgatam vaitis rumoribus fabulam 
omissurus eram."—L.ih. xiii. The king's throne 
in St. Catherine's aisle, which he had constructed 
for himself, with twelve stalls for the knights com- 
panions of the order of the thistle, is still shown 
as the place where the apparition was seen. I 
know not by what means St. Andrew got the cre- 
dit of having been the celebrated monitor of James 
IV; for tlie expression in Lindesay 's narrative, 
" My mother has sent me," could only be used 
by St. John, the adopted son of the virgin Mary. 
The whole story is so well attested, that we have 
only the choice between a miracle or an imposture. 
Mr. Pinkerton plausibly argues, from the caution 
against incontinence, that the queen was privy to 
the scheme of those who had recourse to this ex- 
pedient to deter king James from his impolitic 
w arfare. 

8. The wild buck bells.— P. 76. 

I am glad of an opportunity to describe the cry 
of the deer Ity another word llian braying, although 
the latter has been sanctified by the use of the 
Scottish metrical translation of the psalms. Bell 
seems to be an abbreviation of bellow. Tiiis syl- 
van sound conveyed great delight to our ancestors, 
cliiefly, I suppose, from association. A gentle 
knight in the reign of Henry Vlll, sir Thomas 
Wortley, built Wanlley Lodge, in WanclifFe Fo- 
rest, for the pleasure "(as an ancient inscription 
testifies) of " listening to the hart's bell." 

9. June saw his father's overthrow.— P. 76. 
The rebellion against James HI was signalized 
by the cruel circumstance of his son's presence in 



' Buskins. f Long. \ Cheeks. § Asking. 



' Meddle. 



114 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the hostile army. When the king saw his own ban 
ner displayed against him, and his son in the faC' 
tion of his'enemies, he lost the little courage he 
ever possessed, fled out of the field, fell from his 
horse as it started at a woman and water-pitcher, 
and was slain, it is jiot well understood by whom. 
James IV, after tlie battle, passed to Stirling, and 
hearing the monks of the chapel-royal deploring 
the death of his falljer, their founder, he ^<'as seiz- 
ed with deep remorse, which manifested itself in 
severe penances. See note 10, on canto V. The 
battle of Sauchie-burn, in which James III fell, 
was fought 1 8th June, 1488. 

10. Spread all the Borough-moor below, &c.— P. 78. 

The borough, or common moor of Edinburgh, 
■was of very great extent, reaching from the south- 
ern walls of the city to the bottom of Braid Hills. 
It was anciently a forest; and, in that state, was so 
great a nuisance, tiial the inhabitants of Edinburgh 
had permission granted to them of buihling wooden 
galleries, projecting over the street, in order to 
encourage them to consume the timber; which 
they seem to have done very, effectually. When 
•Tames IV mustered the array of the kingdom tiiere, 
in 1513, tlie Borougli-moor was, acconling to 
llawthornden, "afield spacious, and delightful by 
the shade of many stately and aged oaks." Uiwn 
tiiat, and similar occasions, the royal standard is 
traditionally said to have been displayed from the 
hare stane, a higii stone, now built into the wall, 
on the left hand of the highway leading towards 
Braid, not far from the liead of Bruntsfield-links. 
Tlie iiare stane probably derives its name from 
the British word hur, signifying an army. 
11. O'er the pavilions flew. — P. 78. 

I do not exactly know the Scottish mode of en- 
campment in 1513, but Patten gives a curious de- 
scription of that which he saw after the battle of 
Pinkie, in 1547: — " Here now to say somewhat 
of the manner of their camp: As they had no pa- 
vilions, or round houses, of any commendable com- 
pas, so wear there few other tentes with posts, as 
the used manner of making is; and of these few 
also, none of above twenty foot length, but most 
far under: for the most part all very sumptuously 
beset, (after their fashion,) for the love of France, 
with fleur-de-lys, some of blue buckram, some 
of black, and some of some otlier colours. These 
white ridges, as I call them, that, as we stooil on 
Fauxsyde Bray, did make so great muster towards 
us, whicli 1 did take then to be a number of tentes, 
when we came, we found it a linen drapery, of the 
coarser cambryk in dede, for it was all of canvas 
sheets, and wear the tenticles, or gather cabyns, 
and couches of their soldiers; the which (much al- 
ter the common building of their country beside) 
had they framed of four sticks, about an ell long a 
piece, whearof two fastened together at one end 
aloft, and the two endes beneath stuck in tlie 
ground, an ell asunder, standing in fashion like 
the bowes of a sowes yoke; over two such bowes 
(one, as it were, at their head, the other at their 
feet) they stretched a sheet down on both sides, 
■whereby their cabin became roofed like a ridge, 
but skant shut at both ends, and not very close 
beneath on the sides, unless their sticks were the 
shorter, or their wives the. more liberal to lend 
them larger napery; howbeit, when they had lined 
them, and stuffed them so thick with straw, with 
the weather as it was not very cold, when they 
wear ones couched, they were as warm as they had 



been wrapt in horses' dung." — Patten's Account 
of Somersefs Expedition. 

12. —in proud Scotland's royal shield. 
The ruddy lion ramped in gold. — P. 78. 
The Well-known arms of Scotland. If you ■will 
believe Boethius and Buchanan, the double tres- 
sure round the shield, mentioned p. 75, counter 
Jleur-de-lised, or, lingued and armed azure, was 
first assumed by Achaius, king of Scotland, con- 
teniporar)' of Charlemagne, and founder of the ce- 
lebrated league with France; but later antiquaries 
make poor Eochy, or Achy, little better than a sort 
of king of Brentford, whom old Grig (who has also 
swelled into Gregorius Magnus) associated with 
himself in the important duly of governing some 
part of the north-eastern coast of Scotland. 

NOTES TO CANTO V. 

1. Caledonia's queen is changed. — P. 80. 

The old town of Edinburgh was secured on the 
north side by a lake, now drained, and on the south 
by a wall, which there was some attempt to make 
defensible even so late as 1745. Tlie gates, and 
the greater part of the wall, have been pulled down, 
in the course Of the late extensive and beautiful 
enlargement of the city. Mr. Thomas Campbell 
proposed to celebrate Edinburgh under the epithet 
here borrowed. But the " queen of the north" 
has not been so fortunate as to receive, from so 
eminent a pen, the proposed distinction. 

2. Flinging thy white arms to the sea. — P. 80. ' 
Since writing this line, I find I have inadver- 
tently borrowed it almost verbatim, though with 
somewhat a different meaning, from a chorus io 
" Caractacus:" 

Britain heard the descant hold. 

She flung her white arms o'er the sea. 

Proud in her leafy bosom to unfold 
The frtight of harmony. 

3. Since first, when conquering York arose. 
To Henry meek she gave repose.— P. 80. 

Henry VI, with his queen, his heir, and the 
chiefs of his family, fled to Scotland after the 
fatal battle of Towton. In this note a doubt was 
formerly expressed, whether Henry VI came to 
Edinburgh, though his queen certainly did; Mr 
Fiiikerton inclining to believe that he remained 
at Kirkcudbright. "But my noble friend, lord Na- 
pier, has pointed out to me a grant by Henry, of 
an annuity of forty merks to his lordship's ances- 
tor, John Napier, subscribed by the king himself 
at Edinburgh, the 28th day of August, in the thirty- 
ninth year of his reign, whicli corresponds to the 
vear of God 1461. Tliis grant, Douglas, with his 
usual neglect of accuracy, d-ates in 1368. But tiiis 
error being corrected from the copy in Macfarlane's 
MSS. p. 119, 120, removes all scepticism on the 
subject of Henry VI being really at Edinburgh. 
John Napier was son and heir ot sir Alexander 
Napier, and about tiiis time was provost ot E(hn- 
bur-'ii. The hospitable receiition of the distressed 
monarch and his family called forth on Scotland 
the encomium of Molinet, a contemporary poet. 
The English people, he says,— 

Ung nouveau roy creerent, 
Par despiteux vouloir, 

Le vieil en debouterent, 
Kl son legitime lioir. 

Qui faytyf alia prendre 
D'Kscosse le garand, 

Ue tous siecles le mendre, 
El le plus lollerant. 

Jiccolkrtion des Aven'uret. 



MARMION. 



115 



4. the romantic strain, 

Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear.— P. 80, 

Mr. Ellis, in his valuable introduction to the 
"Specimens of Romance," has ])rove(l, by the 
concurring testimony of La Ravaillere, Tressan, 
but especially the abbe de la Rue, that the courts 
of our Anglo-Norman kings, rather than those of 
the French monarclis, produced the birth of ro- 
mance literature. Marie, soon after mentioned, 
compiled from Armorican originals, and translated 
into Norman-French, or romance language, the 
twelve curious lays, of which Mr. Ellis has given 
us a precis in the appendix to his introduction. 
The story of Blondel, the famous and faithful min- 
strel of Richard I, needs no commentary. 
5. The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail. — P. 81. 
This is no poetical exaggeration. In some of 
the counties of England, distinguished for archery, 
shafts of this extraordinary length were actually 
used. Thus, at the battle of Blackheath, between 
the troops of Henry Vll and the Cornish insur- 
gents, in I49f), the bridge of Dartford was defended 
by a picked band of archers from the rebel army, 
"whose arrows," says HoUinshed, " were in length 
a full cloth-yard." The Scottish, according to 
Ascham, had a proverb, that every English archer 
carried under his belt twenty-four Scots, in allu- 
sion to his bundle of unerring shafts. 

6. To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
Ami hi.ifh curvett, that not in vain 
The sworil-sway might descend amain 
Ou foeiuau's casque below.— P. 81. 

" The most useful air, as the Frenchmen term 
it, is territerr; the courbettes, cabrioles, or un pas 
et un satdt, being fitter for horses of parade and 
triumph than for soldiers: yet 1 cannot deny but a 
demivolie with courbettes, so that thej' be not too 
high, may be useful in a fight or vieslee, for, as La- 
broue hath it, in his Book of Horsemanship, mon- 
sieur de Montmorency having a horse that was 
excellent in performing the demii'olte, did, with 
his sword, strike down two adversaries from their 
horses in a tourney, where divers of the prime 
gallants of France did meet; for, taking his time, 
■when the horse was in the height of his courhette, 
and discharging a blow then, his sword fell with 
such weight and force upon the two cavaliers, one 
after the other, that he struck them from their 
horses to the ground. " — Lord Herbert of Cherbu- 
ry's Life, p. 48. 

7. He saw the hardy burghers there 

March armed, on foot, with faces bare. — P. 8 1. 

The Scottish burgesses were, like yeomen, ap- 
pointed to be armed with bows and sheaves, sword, 
buckler, knife, spear, or a good axe instead of a 
bow, if worth £100: their armour to be of white 
or bright harness. They wore 7vldte hats, i. e. 
bright steel caps without crest or visor. By an 
act of James IV, their -weapon- shatvings are ap- 
pointed to be held four times a-year, under the al- 
dermen or bailiffs. 



8. On foot the yeomen too.— P. 81. 
Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to 
the peasantry of Scotland, by repeated statutes: 
spears and axes seem universally to have been used 
instead of them. Their defensive armour was the 
plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine: and their mis- 
sile weapons, cross-bows and culverins. All wore 
swords of excellent temper, according to Patten; 



"not for cold, but for cutting." The mace also 
was much used in the Scottish army. The old poem, 
on the battle of Flodden, mentions a band — 

Who manfully did meet their foes. 
With leaden mauls, and lances long. 

When the feud.al array of the kingdom wns 
called forth, each man was obliged to appear with 
forty days' provision. When this was expended, 
which took place before the battle of Flodden, 
the army melted away of course. Almost all 
the Scottish forces, except a few knights, men-at- 
arms, and the border prickers, who formed excel- 
lent light cavalry, acted upon foot. 

9. A banquet rich, and costly wines.— P. 82. 
Tu all transactions of grtat or petty importance, 
and among whomsoever taking place, it would 
seem that a present of wine was an uniform and 
indispensable preliminary. It was not to sir John 
FalstafF alone that such an introductory preface 
was necessary, however well judged and accept- 
able on the part of Mr. Brook; for sir Ralph Sad- 
ler, while on embassy to Scotland, in 1539-40, 
mentions with com[)lacency," the same night c.ime 
Rothesay (the herald so called) to me again, and 
brought me wine from the king, both white and 
red." — Clifford's edition, p. 39. 

10. his iron belt. 

That bound his breast in penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain.— P. 83. 
Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, 
to the weight of which James added certain ounces 
every year that he lived. Pitscottie founds hisbe« 
lief, that James was not slain in the battle of Flod- 
den, because the English never had this token 
of the iron-belt to show to any Scotsman. The 
person and character of James are delineated ac- 
cording to our best historians. His romantic dis- 
position, which led him highly to relish gayety, 
approachingtolicense,was, at the same time, tinged 
with enthusiastic devotion. These propensities 
sometimes formed a strange contrast. He was 
wont, during his fits of devotion, to assume the 
dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of 
Franciscans: and when he had thus done penance 
for some time in Stirling, to plunge again into the 
tide of pleasure. Probably, too, with no unusual 
inconsistency, he sometimes laughed at the super- 
stitious observances to which he, at other times, 
subjected himself. There is a very singular poem 
by Dunbar, seemingly addressed to James IV on 
one ot these occasions of monastic seclusion. It 
is a most daring and ])rofane parody on the ser- 
vices of the church of Rome, entitled, 

Dunhar''s dirge to the king, 
Bydiiig orver tang in Striviling. 

We that are here, in heaven's glory, 

To you, that are in purgatory. 

Commend us on our hearty wise; 

I mean we folks in paradise. 

In Edinburgh, with all merriness, 

To you in Stirling, with distress. 

Where neither pleasure nor delight is, 

For pity this epistle wrytis, &c. 
See the whole in Sibbald's collection, vol. i, p. 234. 
11. Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway.— P. 83. 
It has been already noticed, that king James' 
acquaintance with lady Heron of Ford did not 
commence until he marched into England. Our 
historians impute to the king's infatuated passion . 
the delays which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. 
The author of " The Genealog)' of the Heron Fa- 



and a voluminous handkerchief round their neck, | mily" endeavours, with laudable anxiety, to clear 



116 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the lady Ford from tliis scandal: that she came and 
went, however, hetween the armies of James and 
Surrej', is certain. See PiNKEnroN's History, and 
the authorities he refers to, vol. ii, p. 99. Heron 
of Ford had been, in 1511, in some sort accessory 
to the slaughter of sir Robert Ker of Cessford, 
warden of the Middle Marches. It was committed 
by his brotlier the bastard, Lilburn, and Starked, 
three borderers. Lilburn, and Heron of Ford, 
were delivered up by Henry to James, and were 
imprisoned in the fortress of Fastcastle, where the 
former died. Part of the pi-etence of lady Ford's 
negociations with James was the liberty of her 
Imsband. 

12. For the fair queen of France 
Sent him a turquois rinu;, and e;love. 
And cliarged him, as lier knight and love, 
For her to brealv a lance.— JP. 83. 

" Also the queen of France wrote a love-letter 
to the king of Scotland, calling him her love, show- 
ing him that she had suffered much rebuke in 
France for the defending of his honour. She be- 
lieved surely that he would recompense her again 
with some of his kingly support in her necessity: 
that is to say, that he would raise her an army, 
and come three toot of ground on English ground, 
for her sake. To that effect she sent him a ring 
off her finger, with fourteen thousand Frencli 
crowns to pay his expenses." Pitscottie, p. 
110. — A turquois ring; — probably this fatal gift is, 
with James's sword and dagger, preserved in the 
college of heralds, London. 

13. —Archibald Bell-thc-cat.— P. 84. 

Archibald Douglas, earl of Angus, a man re- 
markable for strength of body and mind, acquired 
the popular name of Bell-the-cat, upon the follow- 
ing remarkable occasion: James the third, of whoni 
Pitscottie complains, that he delighted more in 
music, and "policies of building," than in hunt- 
ing, hawking, and other noble exercises, was so 
ill advised, as to make favourites of his architects 
and musicians, whom the same historian irreve- 
rently terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, 
who did not sympathize in the king's respect for 
the fine arts, were extremely incensed at the ho- 
nours conferred on those persons, particularly on 
Cochran, a mason, who had been created earl of 
Mar. And seizing the opportunity, when, in 148'i, 
the king had convoked the whole arraj- of the 
country to march against the English, they held a 
midnight council in the church of Lauder, for the 
purpose of forcibly removing these minions from 
the king's person. When all had agreed on the 
propriety of the measure, lord Gray told the as- 
sembly the apologue of the mice, who had formed 
a resolution, that it would be higlily advantageous 
to their community to tie a bell round the cat's 
neck, that they might hear her approach at a dis- 
tance: but which public measure unfortunately 
miscarried, from no mouse being willing to un- 
dertake the task of fastening the bell. " I under- 
stand the moral," said Angus, "and, that what 
we propose may not lack execution, I will bell the 
cat.'" The rest of the strange scene is thus told 
by Pitscottie;— 

" By this was advised and spoken by their lords 
aforesaid, Cochran, the earl of Mar, came from the 
king to the council, (which council was holden in 
the kirk of Lauder for the time,) who was well 
accompanied with a band of men of war, to the 
number of three hundred light axes, all clad in 
white livery, and black bends thereon, that they 



might be known for Cochran earl of Mar's men. 
Himself was clad in a riding-pie of black velvet, 
with a great chain of gold about his neck, to the 
value of five hundred crowns, and four blowing 
[ horns, with both the ends of gold and silk, set with 
a precious stone, called a berrjl, hanging in the 
midst. Tliis Cochran had his heumont borne be- 
fore him, overgilt with gold; and so were all the 
rest of his horns, and all liis pallions were of fine 
canvas of silk, and the cords thereof fine twined 
silk, and the chains upon his pallions were double 
overgilt with gold. 

" This Cochran was so proud in his conceit, 
that he counted no lords to be marrows to him; 
therefore he rushed rudely at the kirk door. The 
council inquired who it was that perturbed them 
at that time. Sir Robert Douglas, laird of Lochle- 
ven, was keeper of the kirk door at that time, who 
inquired who that was that knocked so rudely? 
And Cochran answered, ' This is I, the earl of 
Mar.' The which news pleased well the lords, 
because they were ready boun to cause take him, 
as is afore rehearsed. Then the earl of Angus past 
hastily to the door, and with him sir Robert Dou- 
glas of Lochleven, to receive in the earl of Mar, and 
so man}' of his accomplices who were there, as they 
thought good. And the earl of Angus met with the 
e.wl of Mar, ashe came in at Uie door,and pulled the 
golden chain from his craig, and said to him, a tow* 
would set him better. Sir Robert Douglas syne 
pulled the blowing-horn from him in like manner, 
and said, ' He had been the hunter of mischief 
over long.' This Cochran asked, ' my lords, is 
it mows,t or earnest?' They answered, and said, 
' It is good earnest, and so thou shalt find: fur thou 
and thy complices have abused our prince this long 
time; of whom thou shalt have no more credence, 
but shall have thy reward according to thy good 
service, as thou hast deserved in times by past; 
right so the rest of thy followers.' 

" Notwithstanding, the lords held them quiet till 
they caused certain armed men to pass into the 
king's pallion, and two or three wise men to pass 
with them, and give the king f\iir pleasant words, 
till they laid hands on all the kings servants, and 
took them and hanged them before his eyes over 
the bridge of Lawder. Incontinent they brought 
forth Cochran, and his hands bound with a tow, 
who desired them to take one of his own pallion 
tows and bind his hands, for he thought shame to 
have his hands bound with such a tow of hemp, 
like a thief. The lords answered, he was a traitor, 
he deserved no better; and, for despight, they took 
a hair tether,!: and hanged him over the bridge of 
Lawder, above the rest of his complices." — Pitscot- 
tie, p. 78, folio edit. 

14. Against the war had Angus stood, 

And chafed his royal lord. — P. 84. 
Angus was an old man when the war against En- 
gland was resolved upon. He earnestly spoke 
against that measure from its commencement; and, 
on the eve of the battle of Flodden, remonstrated 
so freely on the impolicy of fighting, that the king 
said to him, with scorn and indignation, " If he 
was afraid, he might go home. " The earl burst into 
tears at this insupportable insult, and retired ac- 
cordingly, leaving his sons, George, master of An- 
gus, and sir William of Glenbervie, to command 
his followers. They were both slain in the battle, 
with two hundred gentleman of the name of Dou- 



Rope. 



t Jest. 



X Halter 



MARMION. 



iir 



glas. The aged earl, broken-hearted at the cala- 
mities ofhis house and country, retired into a re- 
ligious house, where he died about a year after 
theiieldofFlodden. 

15. Then rest you in Tantallon hold.— P. 84. ■ 

The ruins of Tantallon castle occupy a high 
rock protect! 12; into the German oceiin, about two 
miles east of N^orth Berwick. The building is not 
seen till a close approach, as there is rising ground 
betwixt it and the land. The circuit is of large 
extent, fenced upon three sides by the precipice 
whicli overhangs the sea, and on the fourlli by a 
double ditch and very strong outworks. Tantallon 
was a principal castle of the Douglas family, and 
when the earl of Angus was banished, in 1527, it 
continued to hold out against James V. The king 
went in person against it, and, for its reduction, 
borrowed from the castle of Dunbar, then belong- 
ing to the duke of Albany, two great cannons, 
whose names, as Pitscottie informs us with lauda- 
ble minuteness, were " Thrawn-moutii'd Mow 
and her Marrow;" also, " two great botc;u"ds, and 
two moyan, two double falcons, and four quarter 
falcons;" for tlie safe guiding and re-delivery of 
whicli, three lords were laid in pawn at Dunbar. 
Yet, notwithstanding all this apparatus, James was 
forced to raise the siege, and only afterwards ob- 
tained possession of Tantallon by treaty with the 
governor, Simeon Panango. When the earl ot An- 
gus returned from banisliment, upon the death 
of James, he again obtained possession of Tantal- 
lon, and it actually afforded refuge to an English 
ambassador, under circumstances similar to tliose 
described in tiie text. This was no other than the 
celebrated sir Ralph Sadler, who resided there 
for some time under Angus's protection, after the 
failure of liis negotiation, for matching the infant 
Mary with Edward VI. He says, that tiiough this 
place was poorly furnished, it was of such strength 
as might warrant liim against the malice of his 
enemies, and that he now thought himself out of 
danger.* 

There is a military tradition, that the old Scottish 
march was meant to express the words, 

Ding down Tantallon, 
Mak a brig to the Bass. 
Tantallon was at length "dung down" and 
ruined by the covenanters; its lord, the marquis of 
Douglas, being a favourer of the royal cause. The 
castle and barony were sold in the beginning of 
the eighteenth century to president Dalrymple of 
North Berwick, by the then marquis of Douglas. 

16. their motto on his blade. — P. 84. 

A very ancient sword, in possession of lord Dou- 
glas, bears, among a great deal of flourishing, two 
hands pointing to a heart which is placed betwixt 
them, and the date 13*29, being tiie year in wliich 
Bruce charged the good lord Douglas to carry his 
heart to the iioly land. The following lines (the 
first couplet of which is quoted by Godscroft, as a 
popular saying in his time) are inscribed around 
the emblem: 

So raony guid as of ye Douglas beinge, 

Of ane surname was ne'er in Scotland seine. 

I will ye charge, efter yat I depart. 

To holy grawe, and there bury my hart; 

Let it remaine ever hothe tytnc and howr 

To ye last day I sie my Saviour. 



• The very curious state papers of this able negotiator 
have been lately published by Mr. Clifford, with some 
aotea by the author at Marmion. 



I do protest in tyme of al my ringe, 
Te lyk subject had never ony keiiig. 

This curious and valuable relique was nearly 
lost during the civil war of 1745-6, being carried 
away from Douglas castle by some of those in arms 
for prince Charles. But great interest having been 
made by the duke of Douglas among the chief par- 
tisans of Stuart, it was at length restored. It re- 
sembles a highland claymore of the usual size, is 
of an excellent temper, and admirably poised. 

17. — Martin Swart.— P. 85. 
The name of this German general is preserved 
by that of the field of battle, which is called, after 
him. Swart-moor. — There were songs about him 
long current in England. — See dissertation prefixed 
to liitson's Ancient Songs, 1792, page Ixi. 

18. Perchance some form was unobserved: 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved. — P. 35. 

It was early necessary for those who felt them- 
selves^ obliged to believe in the divine judgment 
being enunciated in the trial by duel, to find salvos 
for the strange and obviously precarious chances 
of the combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used 
by those who took up an unrighteous quarrel, were 
su|)posed sufficient to convert it into a just' one. 
Thus, in the romance of" Amys and Amelion," 
the one brother-in-arms, fighting for the other, 
disguised in his armour, swears that he did not 
conrmit the crime of which the steward, his antago- 
nist, truly, though maliciously, accused him whom 
he represented. Brantome tells a story of an Ita- 
lian wlio entered tlie lists upon an unjust quarrel, 
but, to make his cause .good, fled from his enemy 
at the first onset. "Turn, coward!" exclaimed 
his antagonist. "Thou liest," said the Italian, 
" coward am 1 none; and in this quarrel will I 
fight to the death, but my first cause of combat was 
unjust, and I abandon it." " Je vous laisse a pen- 
ser," adds Brantome, " s'il iVij a pas de Vabus la." 
Elsewhere, he says, very sensibly, upon the con- 
fidence which those who had a righteous cause en- 
tertained of victory; " Un autre abns y avoit-il, 
que ceiix qui avoient wi juste subjet de querelle, et 
qu^on les faisoit jurer avant entrer au camp, pen- 
soieiit estre aussitosi vainqueiirs, voire s''en assuroi- 
ent-t-ils du tout, mesne que leurs confesseurs, par- 
rains, et confidants lews en respondoi'ent tout-a-fait, 
comine si Dieu lear en eust donne une patenle; et ne 
regardant point a d'autres fautes passees, et que 
Dieu en garde la punition a ce coup la pour plus 
grande, despiteuse, et exemplaire." — Discours sur 
les Duels. 

19. Duri-Edin's cross.— P. 86. 

The cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and cu- 
rious structure. The lower part was an octago- 
nal tower, sixteen feet in diameter, and about fif- 
teen feet high. At each angle there was a pillar, 
and between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. 
Above these was a projecting battlement, with a 
turret at each corner, and medallions, of rude but 
curious workmanship, between them. Above these 
rose the proper cross, a column of one stone, up- 
wards of twenty feet hi.gh, surmounted with a uni- 
corn. The pillar is preserved at the house of Drum, 
near Edinburgh. The magistrates of Edinburgh, 
in 1756, with consent of the lords of Session, [proh 
pudor!) destroyed this curious monument, under 
a wanton pretext that it incumbered the street; 
while, on the one hand, they left an ugly mass, 
called the Luckenboolhs, ard, on the other, an 



118 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



awkward, long, and low guard-house, which were 
fifty times more incumbrance than the venerable 
and inoftensive cross. 

From the tower of the cross, so long as it re- 
mained, the heralds published the acts of parlia- 
ment; and its site, marked by radii, diverging from 
a stone centre in the Uigli Street, is still the place 
where proclamations are made. 

20. Tliis awful summous came.— P. 86. 

This supernatural citation is mentioned hy all 
our Scottish historians. It was probably, like the 
apparition of Linlitiigow, an attempt, by those 
averse to the war, to impose upon tiie superstitious 
temper of James IV. The following account from 
Pitscottie is characteristically minute, and fur- 
nishes, besides, some curious particulars of the 
equipment of the army of James IV. I need oidy 
add to it, that Plotcock, or Plutock, is no other 
than Pluto. The Christians of the middle ages by 
no means disbelieved in the existence of the hea- 
then deities: they only considered them as devils;* 
and Plotcock, so far from implying any thing fabu- 
lous, was a synonyme of the grand enemy of man- 
kind. " Yet all tlieir warnings, and uncouth tid- 
ings, nor no good counsel, might stop the king, 
at this present, from his vain purpose, and wicked 
enterprise, but hasted him fast to Edinburgh, and 
there to make liis provisions and furnishing, in hav- 
ing forth of his army against the day appointed, 
tliat they should meet in tlie Burrow-muir ot Edin- 
burgh; that is to say, seven cannons that he had 
forth of the castle of Edinburgh, which were call- 
ed the Seven Sisters, casten by Robert Borthwick, 
the master-gunner, with other small artillery, bul- 
let, powder, and all manner of order, as the master- 
gunner could devise. 

" In this mean time, when they were taking 
forth their ai-tillery, and the king being in the ab- 
hey for the time, there was a cry heard at the mar- 
ket-cross of Edinburgh, at the hour of midnight, 
proclaiming as it had been a summons, which was 
named and called hy the proclaimer thereof, The 
Summons of Plotcock; which desired all men to 
compear, both earl, and lord, and baron, and all 
honest gentlemen within the town, (every man 
specitied by his own name,) to compear, within 
the space of forty (Jays, before his master, where 
it should happen him to appoint, and be for the 
time under the pain of disobedience. But whether 
this summons was proclaimed by vain persons, 
night-walkers, or drunken men, for tlieir pastime, 
or if it was a spirit, I cannot tell truly; but it was 
shown to me, that an indwelier of the town, Mr. 
Richard Lawson, being evil-disposed, ganging in 
his gallery-stair foreanent the cross, hearing this 
voice proclaiming this summons, thought marvel 
what it sliould be, cried on his servant to bring 
him his purse; and wiien he had brought him it, 
he took out a crown, and cast over tlie stair, say- 
ing, I appeal from that summons, judgment, and 
sentence thereof, and takes me all whole in the 
mercy of God, and Christ Jesus his Son. Verily, 
the author of this, tliat caused me write the man- 



* See, on tliis ciinous subject, the essay on Fairies, in 
the " Border Minstrelsy," vol. ii, under the fourth head; 
also Jackson on unbelief, p. 175. Chaucer calls Pluto the 
"king of Faerie;" and Dunbar names, him "Pluto, that 
elrich incubus." If lie was not actually -the devil, he must 
be considered as the " prince of the powfer of the air." 
The most remarkable instance of these surviving classical 
superstitions, is that of the Germans, concerning; the Hill 
of Venus, into which she attempts to entice all eallant 
knights, and detains them in a sort of Fool's Paradise. 



ner of the summons, was a landed gentleman, who 
was at that time twenty years of age, and was in 
the town the time of the said summons; and there- 
after, when the field was stricken, he swore to me, 
there was no man that escaped tliat was called in 
this summons, but tliat one man alone wliich made 
liis protestation, and appealed from the said sum- 
mons: but all the lave were perished in the field 
with the kiiig." 

21. Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile 
Before a venerable pile.— P. 87. 

The convent alluded to is a foundation of Cis- 
tertian nuns, near North Berwick, of which there 
are still some remains. It was founded by Dun- 
can, earl of Pile, in 1216. 

22. That one of his own ancestry 

Drove the monks forth of Coventry.— P. 88, 
This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert 
de Marmion, in the reign of king Stephen, whom 
William of Newbury describes with some attri- 
butes of my fictitious hero: " Homo Mticosns,fe- 
rocia, et ustulia, fere nullo siio tempoi-e impar." 
Tliis baron, having expelled tiie monks from the 
church of Coventry, was not long experiencing the 
divine judgment, as the same monks no doubt 
termed his disaster. Having waged a feudal vvar 
with the earl of Chester, Marmiou's horse fell, as 
he charged in the van of liis troop, against a body 
of the earl's followers: the rider's thigii being bro- 
ken by the fall, his head was cut oft by a common 
foot-soldier, ere he could receive any succour. The 
whole story is told by William of Newbury. 

NOTES TO CANTO VI. 

1. the savage Dane 

At lol more deep tlie inead did drain.— P. 89, 

The lol of the heathen Danes, (a woid still ap- 
plied to Christmas in Scotland,) was solemnized 
with great festivity. The humour of the Danes at 
table displayed itself in pelting each other with 
bones; and Torfreus tells a long and curious story, 
in the history of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Huttus, an 
inmate of the court of Denmark, who was so ge- 
nerally assailed with these missiles, that he con- 
structed, out of the bones with which he was over- 
whelmed, a very respectable entrenchment, against 
those who continued the raillery. The dances of 
the northern warriors round the great fires of pine- 
trees are commemorated by Olaus Magnus, who 
says, they danced with such fury, holding each 
other by the hands, that, if the grasp of any failed, 
he was pitched into the fire with the velocity 
of a sling. The sufferer, on such occasions, was 
instantly plucked out, and obliged to quaff off a 
certain measure of ale, as a penalty for " spoiling 
the king's fire." 

2. On Christmas eve the mass was sung.— P. 89. 

In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never said 
at night, excepting on christmas eve. Each of the 
frolics, with which that holiday used to be celebrat- 
ed, might admit of a long and curious note; but 
I shall content myself with the following descrip- 
tion of Christmas, and his attributes, as personified 
in one of Ben Jonson'g masques for the court. 

" Enter christmas, -zmt/i two or three oj the guard. 
He is attired in round hose, long stockings, a close 
doublet, a high-crowned hat, with a brooch, a 
long thin beard, a truncheon, little ruffs, white 
shoes, his scarfs and garters tied across, and his 
drum beaten before him. 



MARMION. 



119 



"The names of his children, with their attires. 

" Jiliss-iiile, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short 
cloak, great yellow ruff, like a reveller; his torch- 
bearer bearing a rope, a cheese, and a basket. 

" Caroll, a long tawny coat, with a red cap, and 
a tUite at his girdle; his torch-bearer carrying a 
song-book open. 

" Minced pie, like a fine cook's wife, drest neat, 
her man carrying a pie, dish, and spoons. 

" Gainboll, like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells; 
his torch-bearer armed with a cole-staff, and blind- 
ing cloth. 

^'- Post and pair, with a pair-royal of aces in his 
hat, his garment all done over with pairs and purs; 
his squire carrying a box, cards, and counters. 

" ^eiv-i/ear's-ffift, in a blue coat, serving-man 
like, witli an orange, and a sprig of rosemar'y gilt 
on. his head, his hut full of brooches, with a collar 
of gingerbread; his torch-bearer can-ying a march- 
pain, with a bottle of wine on either arm. 

" JMiimming, in a masquing pied suit, witVi a 
visor; liis torch-bearer carrying the box, and i-ing- 
ing it. 

" JVassal, like a neat serapster and songster; 
her page bearing a brown bowl, dressed with rib- 
bons, and rosemary, before her. 

" Offenng-, in a short gown, with a porter's staff 
in his hand; a wyth borne before him, and a basin, 
by his torch-bearer. 

" Baby Cocke, drest like a boy, in a fine long 
coat, biggin, bib, muckender, and a little dagger; 
his usher bearing a great cake, with a bean and a 
peqse. " 

3. Who lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystei-y. — P. 89. 

It seems certain, that the mummers of England, 
who (in Nortliumberland at least) used to go about 
in disguise to the neighbouring houses, bearing 
the then useless ploughshare; and the Guisat^ds oi 
Scotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in some 
indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, 
which were the origin of the English drama. In 
Scotland [me ipso teste) we were wont, during 
my boyhood, to take the characters of tlie apostles, 
at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot; the first 
had the keys, the second carried a sword, and the 
last the bag, in which the dole of our neighbours' 
plum-cake was deposited. One played a cham- 
pion, and recited some traditional rhymes; an- 
other was 

Alexander, king ofMacedon, 

Who conquerM all the world but Scotland alone; 

When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold, 

To see a little nation so courageous and bold. 
These, and many such verses, were repeated, but 
by rote, and unconnectedly. There was also occa- 
sionally, 1 believe, a saint George. In all, there 
was a confused resemblance of the ancient myste- 
ries, in which the characters of Scripture, the nine 
worthies, and other popular personages, were usu- 
ally exhibited. It were much to be wished, that 
the Chester mysteries were published from the 
MS. in the museum, with the annotations which 
a diligent investigator of popular antiquities might 
still supply. The late acute and valuable antiquary, 
Mr. Ritson, showed me several memoranda to- 
wards such a task, whicli are probably now dis- 
pelled or lost. See, however, his Remarks on 
S/iakspeare, 1783, p. 38. 

4. Where my great grondsire came of old. 
With amber beard, and flaxen hair.— P. 89. 

Mr. Scott, of Harden, my kind and affectionate 

10 



friend and distant relation, has the original of a 
poetical invitation, addressed from his grandfather 
to my relative, from which a few lines in the text 
are imitated. They are dated, as the epistle in the 
text, from Mertouu house, the seat of the Harden 
family. 

" With amber beard, and flaxen hair, 

And reverend apostolic air, 

Free of anxiety and care. 

Come hither, christmas-day, and dine; 

We'll mix sobriety with wine, 
■ And easy mirth with thoughts divine. 

We christians think it holiday. 

On it no sin to feast or play; 

Others, in spite, may fast or pray. 

No superstition in the use 

Our ancestors made of a goose; 

Why may not we, as well as they. 

Be innocently blith that day. 

On goose or pie, on wine or ale. 

And scorn enthusiastic zeal? — 

Pray come, and welcome, or plague rot 

Your friend and landlord, William Scott." 
Mr. Walter Scott, Lcssudilen. 

The venerable old gentleman, to whom the lines 
are addressed, was the j'ounger brother of William 
Scott of Raeburn. Being the cadet of a cadet of 
the Harden family, he had very little to lose; yet 
he contrived to lose the small property he had, by 
engaging in the civil wars and intrigues of the 
house of Stuart. His veneration for the exiled fa- 
mily was so great, that he swore he would not 
shave his beard till they were restored: a mark of 
attachment, which, I suppose, had been com- 
mon during Cromwell's usurpation; for, in Cow- 
ley's " Cutter of Coleman-street," one drunken 
cavalier upbraids another, that, when he was not 
able to afford to pay a barber, he affected to " wear 
a beard for the king." 1 sincerely hope this was 
not absolutely the original reason of my ancestor's 
beard; which, as appears from a portrait in the 
possession of sir Henry Hay Macdougal, hart, and 
another painted for the famous Dr. Pitcairn,* was 
a beard of a most dignified and venerable appear- 
ance. 

5. —the spirit's blasted tree.— P. 90. 

I am permitted to illustrate this passage, by in- 
serting " Ceubrenyr EUyll, or the Spirit's Blasted 
Tree," a legendary talc, by the reverend George 
Warrington: 

" The event on which this tale is founded, is 
preserved by tradition in the family of the Vaugh- 
ans of Henwyrt: nor is it entirely lost, even among 
the common people, who still point out this oak 
to the passenger. The enmity between the two 
Welch chieftains, Howel Sele, and Owen Glyndwr, 
was extreme, and marked by vile treachery in the 
one, and ferocious cruelty in the other.f The 
story is somewhat changed and softened, as more 
farourable to the characters of the two chiefs, and 
as better answering the purpose of poetry, by ad- 
milting the passion of pity, and a greater degree 
of sentiment in the description. Some trace of 
Howel Sele's mansion was to be seen a ^"ew years 
ago, and may perhaps be still visible, in the park 
of Nannau, now belonging to sir Robert Vaughan, 
baronet, in the wild and romantic tracts of Me- 
rionethshire. The abbey mentioned passes under 
two names, Vener and Cymmer. The former is 
retained, as more generally used." 



* The old gentleman was an intimate of this celebrated 
genius. By the favour of the late ear! of Kelly, descended 
on the matei-nal side ftom Dr. Pitcairn, my fatlier became 
possessed of the portrait in question. 

t The history of their feud may be found in Pennant's 
Tour in Wales. 



120 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



THE spirit's blasted thee. 

■ Ceitbren yr ElltjlL 

Through Nannau's chase as Howel pass'd, 
A clntf esteeiu'd both brave and kind. 

Far distant borne, the stag-hound's cry 
Came murmuring on the hollow wind. 

Starting, he bent an eager ear, — 
How should the sounds return again? 

His hounds lay wearied from the eliase, 
And all at home his hunter train. 

Then sudden auger flash'd his eye, 
And deep reyenge he vow'd to take, 

On that bold man who dared to force 
His red deer from the forest brake. 

Unhappy cliief ! would nought avail, 
No signs impress thy heart with fear, 

Thy lady's dark mysterious dreajn, 
Thy warning from the hoary seer? 

Tliree ravens gave the note of death, 

As through mid air they wing'd their way; 

Then o'er his head, in rapid flight. 
They croak,— they scent their destined prey. 

lU-omen'd bird! as legends say, 
Who hast the wond'rous power to know, 

While health fills high tlie throbbing veins, 
The fated hour when blood must flow. 

Blinded by rage, alone he pass'd, 
Nor sought his ready vassals' aid; 

But what his fate lay long unknown, 
For many an anxious year delay'd. 

A peasant mark'd his angry eye. 
He saw him reach tlie lake's dark bourne. 

He saw him near a blasted oak, 
But never from that hour return. 

Three days pass'd o'er, no tidings came; — 
Where should the chief his steps delay? 

With wild alarm the servants ran, 

Yet knew not where to point their way. 

His vassals ranged the mountain's height, 
The covert close, the wide spread plain; 

But all in vain their eager search. 
They ne'er must see their lord again. 

Yet fancy, in a thousand shapes, 

Bore to his home the chief once more: 

Some saw him on high Moel's top, 
Some saw him on the winding shore. 

With wonder fraught, the tale went round, 
Amazement chain'd the hearer's tongue; 

Each peasant felt his own sad loss. 
Yet fondly o'er the story hung. 

Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light, 
His aged nurse, and steward gray, 

Would lean to tateh the storied sounds. 
Or mark the flitting spirit stray. 

Pale lights on Cader's rocks were seen, 
And midnight voices heard to moan; 

'T was even said the blasted oak, 
Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan 

And, to this day, the peasant still, 
With cautious fear avoids the ground; 

In each wild branch a spectre sees. 
And trembles at each rising sound. 

Ten annual suns had held their course, 
In summer's smile, or winter's storm; 

The lady shed the widow'd tear, 
As oft she traced his manly form. 

Yet still to hope her heart would cling. 

As o'er the mind illusions play, — 
Of travel fond, perhaps her lord 

To distant lands had steered his way. 
'Twas now November's cheerless hour. 

Which drenching rains and cloud's deface; 
Dreary bleak Robell's track appeared, 

And dull and dank each valley's space. 

Loud o'er the wier the hoarse flood fell, 
And dashed the foaming spray on high; 

The west wind bent the forest tops. 
And angry frowned the evLimig sky. 



A stranger pass'd Llanelltid's bourne, 
His dark gray steed with sweat besprent. 

Which, wearied with the lengthen'd way, 
Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent. 

The portal reach'd— the iron bell 

Loud sounded round the outward wall; 
Quick sprung the warder to the eate, 

'l"o know what meant the clam'rous call. 
" O! lead me to your lady soon; 
Say,— it is my sad lot to tell, 
To clear the fate of that brave knight. 

She long has prov'd she lov'd so well." 
Then, as he cross'd the spacious hall, 
The menials look surprise and fear; 
Still o'er his harp old Modred hung, 

And touch'd the notes for grief's worn ear. 
The lady sat amidst her train; 

A mellow"d sorrow mark'd her look: 
Then, asking- what this mission meant, 

The graceful stranger sigh'd and spoke:— 
" O could I spread one ray of hope. 

One moment raise thy soul Irom wo. 
Gladly my tongue would tell its tale. 

My words at ease unfetter'd flow! 
" Now, lady, give attention due. 

The story claims thy full belief: 
E'en in the worst events of life. 
Suspense remov'd is some relief. 

" Though worn by care, see Madoc here, 
Great Glyndwr's friend, thy kindred's foe; 

Ah, let his name no anger raise, 
For now that mighty chief lies low! 

" E'en from the day, when, chain'd by fate, 
By wizard's dream, or potent spell, 

Lingering from sad Salopia's field, 
'Reft oihis aii the Percy fell;— 

" E'en from that day misfortune still. 

As if for violated faith. 
Pursued him with unwearied step. 

Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. 

" Vanquish'd at length, the Glyiidwr fled. 

Where winds the Wye her devious flood; 
To find a casual shelter ther?. 

In some lone cot, or desert wood. 
" Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise, 

He gain'd by ton his scanty bread; 
He who had Cambria's sceptre borne, 

And her brave sons to glory led! 
" To penury extreme, and grief, 

The chieftain fell a lingering prey; 
I heard his last few faltering ^^■ords, 

Such as with pain I now convey. 
" ' To Sele's sad widow bear the tale, 

' Nor let our horrid secret rest; 
' Give but his corse to sacred earth, 

' Then may my parting soul be blest.'— 

" Dim wax'd the eye that fiercely shone, 
And faint the tongue that proudly spoke, 

And weak that arm, still raised to me, 
Which oft had dealt the mortal stroke. 

" How could I then his mandate bear? 

. Or how his last behest obey? 

A rebel deem'd, with him I fled; 
With him I shunn'd the light of day. 

" Proscribed by Heme's hostile rage. 
My country lost, despoil'il my land. 

Desperate, I fled my native soil, 
And fought on Syria's distant strand. 

" O, had thy long-lamented lord 
The holy cross and banner view'd. 

Died in the sacred cause! who fell 
Sad victbn of a private feud! 

" Led by the ardour of the chase. 
Far distant from his own domain; 

From where Garthraaelan spreads her shades 
The Glyndwr sought the opening plain. 

" With head aloft and antlers wide, 
A red buck roused then cross'd in view; 

Stung with the sight, and vild with rage, 
Swift from the wood fierce Hosvel liew. 



MAHMION. 



121 



" With bitter taunt, and keen reproach, 
He, all impetuous, pour'd his rage; 

Reviled the chief as weak in arms, 
And bade liim loud the battle wage. 

"Glyndwr for once restrained his sword, 
And, still averse, the tight delays; 

But soften'd words, like oil to tire, 
Made anger more intensely blaze. 

" They fought; and doubtful long the fray! 

The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound! — 
Still mournful must my tale proceed, 

And its last act all dreadful sound. 

" How could we hope for wish'd retreat. 
His eager vassals ranging wide? 

His bloodhounds' keen sagacious-scent, 
O'er many a trackless mountain tried? 

" I mark'd a broad and blasted oak, 
Scorcli'd by the lightning's livid glare; 

Hollow its stem from branch to root. 
And all its shrivell'd arms were bare. 

" Be this, I cried, his jproper gravel — 
(The thought in me was deadly sin,) 

Aloft we raised the hapless chief. 
And dropp'd his bleeding corpse within." 

A shriek fiom all the damsels burst. 
That pierced tlie vaulted roofs below; 

While horror-struck the lady stood, 
A living form of sculptured wo. 

With stupid stare, and vacant gaze. 
Full on his face her eyes were cast, 

Absorb'd!— she lost her present grief. 
And faintly thought of things long past. 

Like wild-fire o'er a mossy heath. 
The rumour through the hamlet ran; 

The peasants crowd at morning dawn, 
To hear the tale,— behold the man. 

He lead them near the blasted oak. 

Then, conscious, from the scene withdrew, 
The peasants work with trembling haste. 

And lay the whiten'd bones to view!— 
Back they recoil'd— the right hand still, 

Contracted, grasp'd the rusty sword; 
Which erst in many a battle gleam'd. 

And proudly deck'd their slaughter'd lord. 

They bore the corse to Vener's shrine. 
With holy rites and prayers address'd; 

Nine white^robed monks the last dirge sang. 
And gave the angry spirit rest. 



6. The highlander- 



Will, on a Friday mom, look pale, 
If ask'd to tell a fiiiry tale.— P. 90. 

The Daohie shP, or men of peace, of the Scot- 
tish highlanders, rather resemble the Scandina- 
vian duerg-ar than the English fait-ies. Notwith- 
standini^ their name, they are, if not absDlutel)' 
malevolent, at least peevish, discontented, and apt 
to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief 
of their existence is deeply impressed on the high- 
landers, who think they are particularly offended 
witli mortals, who talk of them, 'kvho wear their 
favourite colour, green, or in any respect interfere 
with their affairs. This is especially to be avoid- 
ed on Friday, when, whether as dedicated to Ve- 
nus, with whom, in Germany, this subterraneous 
people are held nearly connected, or for a more 
solemn i-eason, they are more active, and possess- 
ed of greater power. Some curious particulars 
concerning the popular superstitions of the high- 
landers, may be found in Dr. Graham's Pictur- 
esque Sketches of Pertlishire. 

7. the towers of Franchemont.— P. 90. 

The joni'nal of the triend to whom the fourth 
canto of the poem is inscribed, furnished me with 
the fo'lowing account of a striking superstition. 

".'assed the prclty little village of Franchemont, 



(near Spaw,) with the romantic ruins of the o. d 
castle of the counts of that name. The road leads 
through many delightful vales, on a rising ground; 
at the extremity of one of them, stands the ancient 
castle, now the subject of many superstitious le- 
gends. It is firmly believed by the neighbouring 
peasantry, tliat the last baron of Franchemont de- 
posited, in one of the vaults of the castle, a pon- 
derous chest, containing an immense treasure in 
gold and -silver, which, by some magic spell, wa" 
intrusted to the care of the devil, who is constant- 
ly found sitting on the chest in the shape of a hunts- 
man. Any one adventurous enougli to touch the 
chest is instantly seized with the palsy. Upon one 
occasion, a priest of noted piety was brought to 
the vault: he used all the arts of exorcism to per- 
suade his infernal majesty to vacate his seat, but 
in vain; the huntsman remained immovable. At 
last, moved by the earnestness of the priest, he 
told him, that he would agree to resign the chest, 
if the exorciser would sign his name with blood. 
But the priest understood his meaning, and refus- 
ed, as by that act he would have delivered over 
his soul to the devil. Yet if any body can discover 
the mystic words used by the person who deposit- 
ed the treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend 
must instantly decamp. I had many stories of a 
similar nature from a peasant, who had himseli 
seen the devil, in the shape of a great cat. " 

8. The very form of Hilda fair. 

Hovering upon the sunny air.— P. 91. 

" I shall only produce one instance more of the 
great veneration paid to lady Hilda, which still 
prevails even in tliese our days; and that is, tlie 
constant opinion that she rendered, and still ren- 
ders, herself visible, on some occasions in the ab- 
bey of Streanshalh, or Whitby, where she so long 
resided. At a particular time of the year (viz. in 
the summer months,) at ten or eleven in the fore- 
noon, the sun-beams fall in the inside of the north- 
ern part of the choir; and 'tis then that the spec- 
tators, who stand on the west side of Whitby 
church-yard, so as just to see the most northerly 
part of the abbey past the north end of Whitby 
church, imagine they perceive, in one of the high- 
est windows there, the resemblance of a woman 
arrayed in a shroud. Though we are certain tliis 
is only a reflection, caused by the splendour of the 
sun-beams, yet fame reports it, and it is constant- 
ly believed among the vulgar, to be an appearance 
of lady Hilda in her shroud, or rather in a glori- 
fied state; before which, I make no doubt, the pa- 
pists, even in these' our days, offer up their pray- 
ers with as much zeal and devotion, as before any 
other image of their most glorified saint." — Charl- 
ton's History of Whitby, p. 33. 

9. A bishop by the altar stood. — P. 93. 

The well known Gawain Douglas, bishop of Dun- 
keld, son of Ai'chibald Bell-the-cat, earl of Angus. 
He was author of a Scottish metrical version of the 
iEneid, and of many other poetical pieces of great 
merit. He had not at this period attained the milre. 

10. the huge and sweeping brand 

Which wont, of yore, in battle-fray. 

His foemen's limbs to shred away. 

As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.— P. 93. 

Angus had strength and personal activity cor- 
responding to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a 
favourite of James IV, having spoken of him light- 
ly, the earl met him while hawking, and, compel- 
ling him to single combat, at one blow cut asun- 



122 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



der his thigh bone, and killed him on the spot. 
But ere lie could obtiiin James's pardon for this 
slaughter, Angus was obliged to yield his castle 
of Hermitage, in exchange for that of Bothwell, 
■which was some diminution to the family great- 
ness. The sword, with which he struck so remark- 
able a blow, was presented by his descendant, 
James, earl of Morton, afterwards regent of Scot- 
land, to lord Lindesay of the Byres, when he de- 
fied Bothwell to single combat on Carberry-hill. — 
See Introduction to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
JBorder, p. 9. 

11. And hopest thou hence iinscathed to go? — 
No, by St. Hride of Botlnvell, no! 
Up d raw \) ridge, grooms,— what, warder, ho! 
Let.the portcullis fall.— P. 93. 

This ebullition of violence in the potent earl of 
Angus is not without its example in the real his- 
tory of the house of Douglas, whose chieftains>pos- 
sessed the ferocity, with the heroic virtues, of a 
savage state. The most curious instance occurred 
in the case of Maclellan, tutor of Boraby, wlio, 
having refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence 
claimed by Douglas over the gentlemen and barons 
of Galloway, was seized and imprisoned by the 
earl in his castle of the Thrieve, on the borders 
of Kirkcudbright-shire. Sir Patrick Gray, com- 
mander of king James the second's guard, was 
uncle to the tutor of Bomby, and, obtained from 
the king a " sweet letter of supplication," praying 
the earl to deliver his prisoner into Gray's hand. 
When sir Patrick arrived at the castle, he was 
received with all the honour due to a favourite 
servant of tlie king's household; but wliile he was 
at dinner, the earl, who suspected his errand, 
caused his prisoner to be led forth and beheaded. 
After dinner, sir Patrick presented the king's let- 
ter to the earl, who received it with great aftecta- 
tion of reverence; " and took him by the hand, 
and led him forth to the green, where the gentle- 
man was lying dead, and showed him tlie manner, 
and said, ' Sir Patrick, you are come a little too 
late; yonder is 3'our sister's son lying, but he wants 
the head: take his body and do with it what you 
■will.' Sir Patrick answered again with a sore 
heart, and said. My lord, if.ye have taken from 
him his head, dispone upon the body as ye please: 
and with that called for his horse, and leaped there- 
on; and when be was on horseback, he said to the 
earl on this manner. My lord, if I live, you shall 
be rewarded for your labours, that you haVe used 
at this time, according to your demerits. 

"At this saying the earl was highly offended, 
and cried for horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the earl's 
fury, spurred his horse, but he was chased near 
Edinburgh ere they left him; and had it not been 
his led horse was so tried and good, he had been 
taken." — Pitscottie''s History, p. 39. 

12. A letter forijed! St. Jiide to speed! 
Did ever kmght so foul a deed?— P. 94. 

Lest the reader should partake of the earl's as- 
tonishment, and consider the crime as inconsistent 
■with the manners of the period, 1 have to remind 
him of the numerous forgeries (partly executed by 
a female assistant) devised by llobert of Artois, I 
to forward his suit against the countess Matilda; i 
which, being detected, occasioned his flight into; 
England, and proved the remote cause of Edward; 
the third's memorable wars in France. John Hard- 
ing, also, was expressly hired by Edward IV, to 
forge such documents as might appear to establish 1 



the claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the 
English monarch s. 
13. ■ ■Where Lennel's convent closed their march. — P. 94. 

This was aCistertian house of religion, now al- 
most entirely demolished. Lennel house is no-vf 
the residence of my venerable friend Patrick Bry- 
done, esquire, so well known in the literary world. 
It is situated near Coldstream, almost opposite to 
Cornhill, and consequently very near to Floddea 
field. 

14. The Till by Twisel bridge.— P. 94. 

On the evening previous to the memorable battle 
of Flodden, Surrey's head-quarters were at Bar- 
moor-wood, and king James held an inaccessible 
position on the ridge of Flodden-hill, one of the 
last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge 
of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, wind- 
ed between the armies. On the morning of the 
ninth September, 1513, Surrey marched in a north- 
westerly direction, and crossed the Till, with his 
van and artillery, at Twisel bridge, nigh where 
that river joins the Tweed, his rear-guard column 
passing about a mile higher, by a ford. This move- 
ment had the double effect of placing his army 
between king James and his supplies from Scot- 
land, and of striking the Scottish monarch with 
surprise, as he seems to have relied on the depth 
of the river in his front. But as the passage, both 
over the bridge and through the ford, was d^ifficult 
and slow, it seems possible that the English might 
have been attacked to great advantage while strug- 
gling with these natural obstacles. 1 know not if we 
are to impute James's forbearance to want of milita- 
ry skill, or to the romantic declaration which Pits- 
cottie puts in his mouth, "that he was determined 
to have his enemies before him on a plain field," 
and tlierefore would suffer no interruption to be 
given, even by artillery, to their passing the river. 

The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the 
English crossed the Till, is still standing beneath 
Twisel castle, a splendid pile of Gothic architec- 
ture, as now rebuilt by sir Francis Blake, bart. 
whose extensive plantations have so much im- 
proved the country roimd. The glen is romantic 
and delightful, with steep banks on each side, 
covered with copse, particularly with hawthorn. 
Beneath a tall rock, near tlife bridge, is a plentiful 
fountain, called St. Helen's well. 

15. Hence might they see the full array 
Of either host, for deadly fray.— P. 95. 
The reader cannot here expect a full account of 
the battle of Flodden; but, so far as is necessary 
to understand the romance, I beg to remind him, 
that when the English army, by their skilful coun- 
termarch, were fairly placed between king James 
and his own country, the Scottish monarcb resolv- 
ed to fight; and, setting fire to his tents, descended 
from the ridge of Flodden to secure the neigjibour- 
ing eminence of Branksome, on which that village 
is built. Thus the two armies met, almost with- 
out seeing eacli othe. , when, according to the old 
poem of " Flodden Field," 

The English line stretdi'd east and west, 

And soutliward were their faces set; 
The Scottish northward proudly prest, 
And manfully their foes they met. 
The English army advanced in four divisions. On 
the right, whicii first engaged, were the sons of 
earl Surrey, namely, Thomas Howard, the admi- 
ral of England, and sir Edmund, tlie knight mar- 
shal of the army. Their divisions were separated 
from each other; but, at the request of sir Edmund, 



MARMION. 



123 



liis hrother's battalion was drawn veiy near to his 
own. The centre was commanded by Surrey in 
person; and the left wing by sir Edward Stanley, 
■with the men of Lancasliire, and of the palatinate 
of Chestei'. Lord Dacre, with a large body of 
horse, formed a reserve. When tlie smoke, which 
the wind had driven between the armies, was some- 
what dispersed, they perceived the Scots, wliohad 
moved down the hill, in a similar order of battle, 
and in deep silence.* The earls of Huntly and of 
Home commanded their left wins, and charged sir 
Edmund Howard with such success, as entirely to 
defeat his part of the English right wing. The 
admiral, however, stood firm; and Dacre, advanc- 
ing to his support with the reserve of cavalry, prob- 
ably between the intervals of the divisions com- 
manded by the brothers Howard, appears to have 
kept the victors in effectual check. Home's men, 
chiefly borderers, began to pillage the baggage of 
both armies; and their leader is branded, by the 
Scottish historians, with negligence or treachery. 
On the other hand, Huntley, on whom they bestow 
many encomiums, is said, by the English histori- 
ans, to have left the field after the first charge. 
Meanwhile the admiral, whose flank these chiefs 
ought to have attacked, availed himself of their in- 
activity and pushed forward against another large 
division of the Scottish army in his front, headed 
by the earls of Crawford and Montrose, both of 
whom were slain, and their forces routed. On the 
left, the success of the English was yet more de- 
cisive; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of 
undisciplined highlanders, commanded by Lenox 
and Argyle, was unable to sustain the charge of 
sir Edward Stanley, and especially the severe exe- 
cution of the Lancashire archers. The king and 
Surrey, who commanded the respective centres of 
their armies, were meanwhile engaged in close 
and dubious conflict. James, surrounded by the 
flower of his kingdom, and impatient of the gall- 
ing discharge of arrows, supported also by his re- 
serve under Bothwell, charged witli such fury, 
that the standard of Surrey was in danger. At that 
critical moment, Stanley, who had routed the left 
■wing of the Scottish, pursued his career of victory, 
and arrived on the right flank, and in the rear of 
James's division, which, throwing itself into a cir- 
cle, disputed the battle till night came on. Surrej' 
then drew back his forces, for the Scottish centre 
not having been broken, and their left wing being 
victorious, he yet doubted the event of the field. 
The Scottish army, however, felt their loss, and 
abandoned the field of battle in disorder before 
dawn. They lost, perhaps, from eight to ten thou- 
sand men, but that included the very prime of their 
nobility, gentry, and even clergv. Scarce a family 
of eminence but has an ancestor killed at Flodden; 
and there is no province in Scotland, even at this 
day, where the battle is mentioned without a sen- 
sation of terror and sorrow. The English lost also 
a great number of men, perhaps within one-third 
of the vanquished, but they were of inferior note. 
— See the only distinct detail of the field of Flod- 
den in Pinkerton^s History, book xi, all former 
accounts being full of blunder and inconsistency. 

The spot, from which Clara views the battle, 
must be supposed to have been on a hillock com- 
manding the rear of the English right wing, which 



* " Lesquels Ecossois descendireiit la mont;igne en 
bon o dre, en la maniere que marclient les Allimniis, 
snns parler,tu faire aucunbi-uit." Gazette of the Battle, 
Pinkerton'j History, Appendix, vol. ii, p. 450. 



was defeated, and in which conflict Marmion is 
supposed to have fallen. 

16. Brian Tunstall, stainless knight. — P. 96. 

Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic lan- 
guage of the time, Tunstall the undefiled, was one 
of the few Englishmen of rank slain at Flodden. 
He figures in the ancient English poem, to which 
I may safely refer my reader; as an edition, with 
full explanatory notes, has been published by my 
friend Mr. Henry Weber. Tunstall perhaps de- 
rived his epithet of imdejilcd from his white ar- 
mour and banner, the. latter bearing a wliite cock 
about to crow, as well as from his unstained loy- 
alty and knightly faith. His place of residence was 
Thurland castle. 

17. View not that corpse mistrustfully, 
Defaced and mangled though it be; 
Nor to yon border castle high 

Look northward with upbraiding ^e. — P. 98. 
There can be no doubt that king .lames fell in 
the battle of Flodden. He was killed, says the 
curious French gazette, within a lance's length ot 
the earl of Surrey; and the same account adds, 
that none of his division were made prisoners, 
though many were killed: a circumstance that tes- 
tifies the desperation of their i-esistance. The 
Scottish historians record many of the idle reports 
which passed among the vulgar of their day. Home 
was accused, by the popular voice, not only of 
failing to support the king, but even of having car- 
ried him out of the field and murdered him. And 
this tale was revived in my remembrance, by an 
unauthenticated story of a skeleton, wrapped in a 
bull's hide, and siuTounded with an iron chain, 
said to have been found in the well of Home cas- 
tle; for which, on inquiry, I could never find any 
better authority than the sexton of the parish 
having said, that i/ the well iveve cleaned out, he 
ivoulil not be surprised at such a discovery. Home 
was the chamberlain of the king, and his prime 
favourite: he had much to lose, (in fact did lose 
all,) in consequence of James's death, and nothing 
earthly to gain by that event: but the retreat, or 
inactivity of the left wing, which he commanded, 
after defeating sir Edmund Howard, and even the 
circumstance of his returning unhurt, and loaded 
with spoil, from so fatal a conflict, rendered the 
propagation of any calumny again'st him easy and 
acceptable: other reports gave a still more ro- 
mantic turn to the king's fate, and averred, that 
James, weary of greatness after the carnage among 
his nobles, had gone on a pilgrimage to merit ab- 
solution for the death of his father, and the breach 
of his oath of amity to Henry. In particular, it was 
objected to the English, that they could never 
show the token of the iron belt; which, however, 
he was likely enough to have laid aside on the day 
of battle, as encumbering his personal exertions. 
They produce a better evidence, the monarch's 
sword and dagger, which are still preserved in the 
Herald's college in London. Stowe has recorded 
a degrading story of the disgrace with which the 
remains of the unfortunate monarch were treated 
in his time. An unhewn column marks the spot 
where James fell, still called the king's stone. 

13. fanatic Brook 

The fair cathedral storm'd and took. — P. <"). 
This storm of Litchfield cathedral, which had 
been garrisoned on the part of the king, took place 
in the great civil war. Lord Brooke, who, with 
sir John Gill, commanded the assailants, was shot 
with a musket-ball through the visor of his hel- 



124 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



met. The ro5'alists remarked, that he was killed 
by a shot fired from St. Chad's cathedral, and upon 
St. Chad's day, and i-eceived his death-wound in 
the very eye with whicii he had said, he hope<l to 
see the ruin of all the cathedrals in England. The 
magnificent churcli in question suffered crnelly 
upon this, and other occasions; the principal spire 
being ruined by the fire of the besiegers. 



Upon revising the poem, it seems proper to 
mention the following particulars: 



Tlie lines in page 68, 

Whose doom discording: neighbours sought. 
Content with equity unbought; 

have been unconsciously borrowed from a passage 
in Dryden's beautiful epistle to John Driden of 
Chesterton. The ballad of Lochinvar, p. 83, is in 
a very slight degree founded on a ballad called 
" Katherine Janfarie," wliich may be found in thp 
"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." 



mt aatrg ot tf)t nmt. 



TO THE MOST NOBLE JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN, etc. 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED, BT THE AUTHOH. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The scene of the following poem is laid chiefly 
in the vicinity of Loch-Katrine, in the Western 
Highlands of Perthshire. " The time of action in- 
cludes six days, and the transactions of each day 
occupy a canto. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

CANTO I. 

THE CHASE. 

Hahp of the North ! that mouldering long hast 
hung 

On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's 
spring. 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung. 

Till envious ivy did around thee cling. 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 

O minstrel harp, still must thine accents sleep? 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. 

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, 

When lay of hopeless love, or glory won. 
Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. 

At each according pause was lieard aloud 

• Thine ardent symphony sublime and high! 

Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed; 
For still the burthen of thy minstrelsy 

Was knighthood's dauntless deed and beauty's 
matchless eye. 

O wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand 

I'hat ventures o'er thj' magic maze to stray; 
O wake once more ! tho' scarce my skill command 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay: 
Though harsh and iaint, and soon to die away. 

And all unworthy of tiiy nobler strain; 
Yet, if one heart throb higher at its sway. 

The wizard note has not been touched in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again ! 

I. 

The Stag at eve had drunk his fill. 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 



And deep his midnight lair had made 

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade; 

But when the sun his beacon red 

Had kindled on Benvoirlicli's head, 

The deep-mouthed blood-hound's heavy bay 

Resounded up the rocky way. 

And faint, from farther distance borne. 

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 

U. 

As chief, who hears his warder call, 

" To arms! the foemen storm tlie wall," — 

The antlered monarch of the waste 

Sprung from liis heaiheiy couch in haste. 

But, e'er his fleet career he took. 

The dew drops from his flanks he shook; 

Like crested leader proud and high. 

Tossed liis beamed frontlet to the sky; 

A moment gazed adown the dale, 

A moment snufted the tainted gale, 

A moment listened to the cry. 

That thickened as the chase drew nigh; 

Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 

With one brave bound the copse he cleared. 

And, stretcliing forward free and far. 

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

III. 

Yelled on the view the opening pack, 
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountain gave response. 
An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong. 
Clattered a hundred steeds along, 
Tlieir peal the merry horns rung out, 
An hundred voices joined the shout: 
With hark and whoop, and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlick's echoes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled llie roe. 
Close in her covert cowered the doe. 
The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye. 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The huiTicane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
Returned from cavern, clitt', and linn, 
And silence settled, wide and still, | 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



125 



IV. 

Less loud tli: sounds of sylvan war 
Disturbed Uie,lieis;hts of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told, 
A giant made his den of old:* 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
His;li in his pathway hung the sun. 
And many a gallant, slaved per force. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse; 
And of the trackers of the deer 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near; 
So shrewdly, on the mountain side, 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

V. 

The noble stag was pausing now. 
Upon the moiuitain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended, tar beneath. 
The varied realms of fair Menteith. 
With anxious eye he wandered o'er 
Mountain and meJfdovv, moss and moor. 
And pondered refuge from his toil, 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copse-wood gray, 
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 
And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue. 
Fresh vigour with the hope returned. 
With flying foot the heatli he spurned. 
Held westward with unwearied race. 
And left behind the panting chase. 

VI. 

'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
As swept the hunt through Cambus-more; 
W'hat reins were tightened in despair. 
When rose Benledi's i-idge in air; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, 
Who sliunned to stem the flooded Teith, 
For twice, that day, from shore to shore, 
Tlie gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far, 
That reached the lake of Vennachar; 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

VIT. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 

Tiiat horseman plied the scourge and steel; 

For jaded now, and spent with toil, 

Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, 

While every gasp with sobs he drew. 

The labouring stag strained full in view. 

Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 

I/nmatciied for courage, breath, and speed,2 

Fast on his flying traces came, 

A\id all but won "that desperate game; 

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, 

Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds staunch; 

Nor nearer might the dogs attain, 

Nnr farther might the quarry strain. 

Thus up the margin of the lake. 

Between tlie precipice and brake, 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

VIII. 

The hunter marked that mountain high. 
The lone lake's western boundary. 
And deemed the stag must turn to bay. 
Where that huge rampart barred the way; 
Already glorying in the prize. 
Measured his antlers with his eyes; 
For tl\e death-wound, and death-halloo, 
Muster'd ffis breath, his whinyard drew;— ^ 



But thundering as he came prepared, 

With ready arm and weapon bared. 

The wily quarry shunned the shock, 

And turned him from the opposing rock; 

Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 

Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, 

In the deep Trosach's wildest nook 

His solitary refuge took. 

There while, close couched, the thicket shed 

Cold dews and wild flowers on his head. 

He heard the bafiled dogs in vain 

Rave through the hollow pass amain, 

Chiding the rocks tliat yelled again. 

IX. 

Close on the hounds the hunter came, 
To cheer them on tlie vanished game; 
But, stumbling in tlie rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain _ 
To rouse him with the spur and rein. 
For the good steed, his labours o'er. 
Stretched his stift' limbs to rise no more. 
Then touched with pity and remorse, 
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse: 
"I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed; 
Wo worth the chase, wo worth the day. 
That costs thy life, my gallant gray!"— 

X. 

Then through the dell his horn resounds. 
From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 
The sulky leaders of the chase; 
Close to their master's side they pressed, 
With drooping tail and humbled crest; 
But still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream. 
The eagles answered with their scream. 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seemed an answering blast; 
And on the hunter hied his way, 
To join some comrades of the da^'; 
Yet often paused, so strange the road. 
So wond'rous were the scenes it showed. 

XI. 

The western waves of ebbing day 
Rolled o'er the glen their level way; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
Was bathed in floods of living fire. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below. 
Where twined the path in shadow hid. 
Round many a rocky pyramid. 
Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; 
Round many an insulated mass. 
The native bulwarks of the pass. 
Huge as the tower which builders vain 
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. 
The rocky summits, split and rent. 
Formed turret, dome, or battlement, 
Or seemed fantastically set 
Willi cupola or minaret. 
Wild crests as pagod ever decked, 
Or mosque of easlei-n architect. 
Nor were these earth-born castles bare, 
Nor lacked they many a banner fair; 



126 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



For, from their shiver'd brows display'd. 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade, 
All twinkling with the dew-di-ops sheen, 
The briar-rose fell in streamers green. 
And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes. 
Waved in the west- wind's summer sighs. 

Xll. 

Boon nature scatter'd, (ree and wild, 

Each plant, or flower, the mountain's child. 

Here eglantine embalm'd the air, 

Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; 

The primrose pale, and violet flower. 

Found in each cliff" a narrow bower; 

Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side. 

Emblems of punishment and pride, 

Group'd their dark hues with every stain 

The weather-beaten crags retain. 

WitJi boughs that quaked at every breath, 

Gray birch and aspen wept beneath; 

Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 

Cast anchor in the rifted rock; 

And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 

His shatter 'd trunk, and frequent flung,' 

Where seem'd the clifi's to meet on high, 

His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky. 

Highest of all, where white peaks glanced. 

Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced, 

The wanderer's eye could barely view 

The summer heaven's delicious blue; 

So wond'rous wild, the whole might seem 

The scenery of a fairy dream. 

XIU. 

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet, still and deep, 
Afibrding scarce such breadth of brim. 
As served the wild duck's brood to swim. 
Lost for a space, through thickets veering. 
But broader when again appearing. 
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace; 
And farther as the hunter strayed, 
Still bx'oader sweep its channels made. 
The shaggy mounds no longer stood. 
Emerging from entangled wood. 
But, wave-encri-cled, seemed to float, 
Like castle girdled with its moat; 
Yet broader floods extending still. 
Divide them from tlieir parent hill. 
Till each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 

XIV. 

And now, to issue from the glen. 

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken. 

Unless he climb, with footing nice, 

A iar projecting precipice.4 

The broom's tough root his ladder made. 

The hazel saplings lent their aid; 

And thus an airy point he won. 

Where, gleaming with the setting sun. 

One burnished sheet of living gold, 

Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled. 

In all her length far winding lay. 

With promontory, creek, and bay, 

And islands that, empurpled bright. 

Floated amid the livelier light. 

And mountains, that like giants stand. 

To sentinel enchanted land. 

High on the south, huge Ben-venue 

Down on the lake in masses threw 

Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled. 

The fragments of an earlier world; 



A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Bcn-an heaved liigh his forehead bare. 

XV. 

From the steep promontory gazed 

The stranger, raptured and amazed. 

And " What a scene were here," he cried, 

" For princely pomp, or churchman's pride! 

On this bold brow, a lordly tower; 

In that sort vale, a lady's bower: 

On yonder meadow, far away, 

The turrets of a cloister gray. 

How blithly might the bugle horn 

Chide, on the lake, the lingering mom! 

How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 

Chime, when the groves were still and mute ! 

And, when the midniglit moon should lave 

Her forehead in the silver wave. 

How solemn on the ear would come 

The holy matin's distant hum, 

While the deep peal's commanding tonu 

Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 

A sainted hermit from his cell, 

To drop a bead with every knell— 

And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 

Should each bewildered stranger call 

To friendly feast, and lighted hall. 

XVI. 

" Blith were it then to wander here! 
But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, — 
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare. 
The copse must give my evening fare; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be. 
Some rustling oak my canopy. 
Yet pass we that; — the war and chase 
Give little choice of resting place; — 
A summer night, in green wood spent. 
Were but to-morrow's merriment: — 
But hosts may in these wilds abound, 
Such as are better missed than found; 
To meet with highland plunderers here 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer.^ 
I am alone; — my bugle strain 
May call some straggler of the train; 
Or, fall the worst that may betide. 
Ere now this falchion has been tried. " 

XVII. 

But sc.irce again his horn he wound, 

When lo! forth starting at the sound. 

From underneath an aged oak. 

That slanted from the islet rock, 

A damsel guider of its way, 

A little skift" shot to the bay. 

That round the promontory steep 

Led its deep, line in graceful sweep. 

Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 

The weeping-willow twig to lave. 

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow. 

The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 

The boat had touched this silver strand. 

Just as the hunter left his stand, 

And stood concealed amid the brake. 

To view this lady of the lake. 

The maiden paused, as if again 

She thought to catch the distant strain. 

With head up-raised, and look intent, 

And eye and ear attentive bent. 

And locks flung back, and lips apart, ^ 

Like monument of Grecian art, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



127 



In listening mood, she seemed to stand, 
The guardian naiad of the sti-and. 
XVIIl. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 

A nymph, a naiad, or a grace, 

Ot finer form, or lovelier face! 

What thougli the sun, with ardent frown, 

Had slightl)' tinged her cheek with hrown. 

The sportive toil, wliich, short and light, 

Had died her glowing hue so bright, 

Served too in hastier swell to show 

Short glimpses of a breast of snow; 

What though no rule of courtly grace 

To measured mood had trained her pace,— 

A foot more light, a step more true, 

Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; 

E'en the slight hare-hell raised its head, 

Elastic from her airy tread: 

What though upon her speech there hung 

The accents of tlie mountain tongue, — 

Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, 

The list'ner held his breath to hear. 

XIX. 

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid; 
Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 
Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid. 
Whose glossy black to sliarae might bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair. 
Mantled a plaid with modest care. 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; 
Not Katrine, in lier mirror blue. 
Gives back the shaggy hanks more true, 
Tlian every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movements of her breast; 
Whether joy danc,ed in her dark eye, 
Or wo or pity claimed a sigh. 
Or filial love was glowing there, 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit of the north. 
One only pafj^on, unrevealed. 
With maiden pride the maid concealed, 
Yet not less purely felt the flame — 
O need I tell that passion's name! 

XX. 

Impatient of the silent horn. 
Now on the gale her voice was borne: 
" Father!" she cried; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. — 
A while she paused, no answer came, — 
" Malcolm, wts thine the blast?" the name 
Less resolutely uttered fell. 
The echoes could not catch the swell. 
" A stranger I," the huntsman said. 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar. 
Pushed her light shallop from the shore. 
And, when a space was gained between. 
Closer she drew her bosom screen; 
(So forth the startled swan would swmg, 
So turn to prune his ruffled wing;) 
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
* That youthful maidens wont to fly. 



XXI. 

On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage. 

Yet had" not ([uenched the open truth. 

And fiery vehemence of youth; 

Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do, the soul to dare, 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould, 

For hardy sports, or contest bold; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed. 

And weaponless except his blade. 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high born heart, a martial pride. 

As if a baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armour trod the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed. 

He told of his benighted road; 

His ready speech flowed fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy: 

Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland, 

Less used to sue than to command. 

XXII. 
Awhile the maid the stranger eyed. 
And, re-assured, at length replied. 
That highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 
" Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home; 
Before the heath had lost the dew. 
This morn, a couch was pulled for you; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets liave swept the mere. 
To furnish forth your evening cheer." 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has eiTed," he said; 
" No right have I to claim, misplaced. 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost. 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair, 
Have ever drawn your mountain air. 
Till on this lake's romantic strand, 
1 found a fay in fairy land. " 

XXIll. 

" 1 well believe," the maid replied, 
As her light skiff approached tlje side, 
" I well believe, that ne'er before 
Your foot has trod Loch-Katrine's shore; 
But yet, as far as yesternight. 
Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — 
A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent 
Was on the \'isioned future ber.'..6 
He saw your steed, a dappled gray, 
Lie dead beneath the birchen way; 
Painted exact your form and mien. 
Your hunting suit of Lincoln green, 
That tasseled horn so gaylj' gilt, 
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, 
That cap with heron's plumage trim. 
And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 
He bade that all should ready be. 
To grace a guest of fair degree; 
But light I held his prophecy. 
And deemed it was my father's horn. 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne." 

XXIV. 

The stranger smiled:—" Since to your home 
A destined errant-knight I come. 



128 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\nnounced by prophet sootli anil old, 

Doomed doubtless, tor achievement bold, 

I'll lightly front each high emprize. 

For one kind glance of those bright eyes. 

Permit me, first, the task, to guide 

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." 

The maid, with smile suppressed and sly, 

The toil unwonted saw him try; 

For seldom, sure, if e'er before, 

His noble hand had grasped an oar: 

Yet witli main strength his strokes he drew, 

And o'er the lake the shallop flew: 

With heads erect, and whimpering cry, 

The hounds behind their passage ply. 

Kor frequent does the bright oar break 

The darkening mirror of the lake, 

Until the rocky isle Ihey reach. 

And moor their shallop on the beach. 

XXV. 

The stranger viewed the shore around; 
'Twas all so close with copse-wood boimd. 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there. 
Until the mountain maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road. 
That winded through the tangled screen, 
And opened on a narrow green. 
Where weeping birch and willow round 
With their long fibres swept the ground. 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.' 

xxyi. 

It was a lodge of ample size. 

But strange of structure and device; 

Of such materials, as around 

The workman's hand had readiest found. 

Lopped of their bouglis, their hoar trunks bared, 

And by the hatchet rudely squared, 

To give the walls their destined height, 

The sturdy oak and ash unite; 

While moss and clay and leaves combined 

To fence each crevice from the wind. 

The lighter pine-trees, over head. 

Their slender lengtli for rafters spread, 

And withered heath and rushes dry 

Supplied a russet canopy. 

Due westward, fronting to the green, 

A nu-al portico was seen, 

Aloft on native pillars borne. 

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn. 

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 

The ivy and Id;ean vine. 

The clematis, the favoured flower 

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower. 

And every hardy plant could bear 

Loch-Katrine's keen and searching air. 

An instant in this porch she staid. 

And gayly to the stranger said, 

" On heaven and on thy lady call. 

And enter the enchanted hall!" 

XX VII. 

" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be. 
My gentle guide, in following thee." — 
He crossed the threshold — and a clang 
Of angry steel that instant rang. 
To his bold brow his spirit rushed, 
llut soon for vain alarm he blushed. 
When on the floor he saw displayed, 
Cause of the din, a naked blade 
Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung, 
Upon a stag's 1 .go antlers swung; 



For all around, the walls to grace, 
Hung trophies of the fight or chase: 
A target there, a bugle here, 
A battle-axe, a hunting spear. 
And broad-swords, bows, and arrows, store, 
With the tusked trophies of the boar. 
Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
And there the wild-cat's brindled hide 
The frontlet of the elk adorns. 
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns: 
Pennons and flags defaced and stained. 
That blackening streaks of blood retained, 
And deer-skins, dappled, dun and wh.\te, 
With otter's fur and seal's unite, 
In rude and uncouth tapestry all. 
To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 

XXVIII. 

The wondering stranger round him gazed, 

And next the fallen weapon raised; 

Few were the amis whose sinewy strength 

Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. 

And as the brand he poised and swayed, 

" I never knew but one," he said, 

" Whose stalwart arm might brook to wie'ifi 

A blade like this in battle field." 

She sighed, then smiled, and took the wordj 

" You see the guardian champion's sword; 

As light it trembles in his hand, 

As in my grasp a hazel wand; 

My sire's tall form might grace the part 

Of Ferragus, or Ascapart:* 

But in the absent giant's hold 

Are women now, and menials old." 

XXIX. 

The mistress of the mansion came. 

Mature of age, a graceful dame; 

Whose easy step and stately port 

Had well become a princely court. 

To whom, though more than kindred knew,' 

Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 

Meet welcome to her guest she made. 

And every courteous rite was paid. 

That hospitality could claim, 

Though all unasked his birth and name!^ 

Such then the reverence to a guest. 

That fellest foe might join the feast. 

And from his deadliest foeman's door 

Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'ei^ 

At length his rank the stranger names, 

" The knight of SnoWdoun, James Fitz-James,; 

Lord of a barren heritage, 

Wiiich his brave sires, from age to age, 

By their good swords had held with toil; 

His sire had foUen in such turmoil. 

And he, God wot, was forced to stand 

Oft for his right with blade in liand. 

This morning with loi'd Moray's train 

He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 

Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer, 

Lost his good steed, and wandered here." 

XXX. 

Fain would the knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire; 
Well sliowcd the elder lady's mien. 
That courts and cities she had seen; 
Ellen, though more her looks displayed 
The simple grace of sylvan maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Showed she was come of gentle race; 
'Twere strange in4,"uder rank to find 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



129 



Each hint the knight of Snowdoun gave, 
Dame Margaret lieaijd with silence grave; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay. 
Turned all inquiry light away: 
" Wierd women we! by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem (lie Hood, we ride tlie blast. 
On wandering knights our spells we cast; 
■While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
Tis tiius our charmed rhymes we sing." 
She sung, and still a harp unseen 
Filled up the symphony between.'" 
XXXI. 

SOXG. 

" Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 
Dream of battled fields no more. 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle"s enchanted ball, 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing^ 
Eairy strains of music foil, • 

Every sense in slundier dewing. 
Soldier, rest! thy warfai-e o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 
" No rude sound siiall reach thine ear. 

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing. 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Vet the lark's shrill fife may come, 

At the day-break from the fallow. 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from tiie sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders challenge here. 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." 

XXXII. 
She paused — then, blushing, led the lay 
To grace the stranger of the day. 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing aong. 
Till to her lips in measured frame 
Tlie minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

SOXG CONTIJnrED. 

" Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, 

While our slumbrous spells assail ye, 
Dream not, with the rising sun, 

Bugles here shall sound reveillie, 
Sleep! the deer is in liis den; 

Sleep ! the hounds are by thee lying; 
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen. 

How thv gallant steed lay flying. 
Huntsman, rest! tliy chase is done, 
Think not of the rising sun. 
For at dawning, to assail ye. 
Here no bugles sound reveillie." 

XXXIII. 
The hall was cleared — the stranger's bed 
Was there of mountain heather spread. 
Where oft an hundi-ed guests had lain, 
And dreamed their forest sports again. 
But vainly did the healli-flower shed 
Its moorland fragrance round his head; 
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest 
The fever of his troubled breast. 
Ill broken dreams the image rose 
Of varied perils, pains, and woes; 
His steed now flounders in the brake, 
Now sinks liis barge upon the lake: 



Now leader of a broken host, 

His standard falls, his honour's lost. 

Then, from my couch may heavenly might 

Chase tiiat worst phantom of the night! — 

Again returned tiie scenes of youth, 

of confident undoubting truth; 

Again his soul he interchanged 

With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 

They come, in dim procession led, 

The cold, the faithless, and the dead; 

As warm each hand, each brow as gay, 

As if they parted yesterday. 

And doubts distract him at the view, 

O were his senses false or true? 

Dreamed he of death, or broken vow. 

Or is it all a vision now? 

XXXIV. 

A^ inn?rth, with Ellen in a grove 

Fe seemed to walk, and speak of love; 

fci -^ listened with a blush and sigh. 

His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 

He sought her yielded hand to clasp. 

And a cold gauntlet met his grasp; 

The phantom's sex was changed and gone. 

Upon its head a helmet shone; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size. 

With darkened cheek and threatening eyes, 

The grisly visage, stern and hoar. 

To Ellen still a likeness bore. — 

He woke, and, panting with affright. 

Recalled the vision of the night. 

The hearth's decaying brands were red. 

And deep and dusky lustre shed, 

Half showing, half concealing all 

The uncouth trophies of the hall. 

'Mid those the stranger fixed his eye 

Where that huge falchion hung on high. 

And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng. 

Rushed, chasing Countless thoughts along. 

Until, the giddy whirl to cure, - % 

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 

XXXV. 

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom. 

Wasted aromid their rich perfume; 

The birch trees wept in fragrant balm. 

The aspen slept beneath tiie calm; 

The silver light, with quivering glance. 

Played on the water's still expanse, — 

Wild were the heart whose passion's sway 

Could rage beneath the sober ray! 

He felt its calm, that warrior guest. 

While thus he communed with his breast:-— 

" Why is it, at each turn I trace 

Some memory of that exiled race? 

Can I not mountain maiden spy. 

But she must bear the Douglas e3'e? 

Can I not view a highland brand. 

But it must match the Douglas hand? 

Can 1 not frame a fevered dream. 

But still the Douglas Vs the theme? 

I'll dream no more — by manly mind 

Not e'en in sleep is will i-esigned. 

My midnight orisons said o'er, 

I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." 

His midnight orison he told, 

A prayer with every bead of gold. 

Consigned to heaven his cares and woes. 

And sunk in undisturbed repose; 

Until the heath cock shrflly crew. 

And morning dawned on Ben-venue. 



130 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



THE ISLAND. 
1. 

At morn the black-cock trims his jetty ■wing, 

'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay; 
All nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life reviving, witii reviving tia}'; 
And while yon little bark glides down the bay, 

Wafting the stranger on his way again, 
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray,! 

And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, 
Mixed with the sounding harp, O white haired 
Allan-bane ! 

II. 

SOXG. 

' Not faster yonder rowers' might 

Flings from their oars the spray. 
Not faster yonder rippling bright, 
That tracks tlie shallop's course in light, 

Melts in the lake awa}'. 
Than men from memory erase 
The benefits of former days; 
Then, stranger, go ! good speed the while, 
Nor think again of the lonely isle. 

" High place to thee in royal court, 

High place in battle line, 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport, 
Where beauty sees the brave resort, 

The honoured meed be thine! 
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere. 
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, 
And lost in love's and friendship's smile. 
Be memory of the lonely isle. 

HI. 

SONG CONTINUED. 

"But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam, * 

Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 

And sunken cheek and heavy eye. 
Pine for his highland home; 

Then, warrior, then be thine to show 

The care that sooths a wanderer's wo; 

Remember then thy hap ere while, 

A stranger in the lonely isle. 

*' Or, if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar ihy sail. 
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain. 
Wo, want, aTid exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune cnanged, 
On thankless courts, or fi-iends estranged. 
But come where kindred worth shall smile. 
To greet thee in the lonely isle." 

IV. 

As died the sounds upon the tide, 
The shallop reached the mainland side. 
And ere his onward way he took, 
The stranger cast a lingering look. 
Where easily his eye miglit reach 
The harper on the islet beach, 
Reclined against a blighted tree. 
As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 
To minstrel meditation given. 
His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 
As from the rising sun to claim 
A sparkle of inspiring flame. 
His hand, reclined upou the wire. 
Seemed watching the awakening lire; 



So still he sate, as those who wait 

Till judgment speak the doom of fate; 

So still, as if no breeze might dare 

To lift one lock of hoary hair; 

So still, as life itself were fled, 

In the last sound his harp had sped. 

V. 

Upon a rock with lichens wild, 
Beside him Ellen sate and smiled. 
Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, 
While her vexed spaniel, from the beaca. 
Bayed at the prize beyond liis reach! 
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, 
Why deepened on her cheek the rose?—* 
Forgive, forgive, fidelity ! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 
Yon parting lingei'er wave adieu. 
And stop and turn to wave anew; 
And, lively ladies, ere your ire 
Ofpdfmn.the heroine of my lyre. 
Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 
And prize such conquest of her eye! 

VI. 
While yet he loitered on the spot. 
It seemed as Ellen marked him not; 
But when he turned him to the glade, 
One courteous parting sign she made; 
And after, oft the knight would say, 
That not when prize of festal day 
Was dealt him by tiie brightest fair, 
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
So highly did his bosom swell. 
As at that simple, mute farewell. 
Now with a trusty mountain guide. 
And his dark stag-hounds by bis side. 
He parts — the maid, unconscious still, ' 
Watched him wind slowly round the hil'i 
But when his stately form was hid, 
The guardian in her bosom chid — 
" Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!" 
'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, 
" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 
On the smooth phrase of southern tongue; 
Not so had Malcolm strained his eye 
Another step than thine to spy. — 
Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried. 
To the old minstrel by her side, 
" Arouse thee from thy moody dream! 
I'll give thy harp heroic theme. 
And warm thee with a noble name; 
Pour forth tlie glory, of the Graeme. "2 
Scarce from her lip the woril had i-ushed, 
When deep the conscious maiden blushed; 
For of his clan, in hall and bower. 
Young Malcolm Grieme was held the flower. 

yii. 

The minstrel waked his harp — three times 
Arose the well-known martial chimes. 
And thrice their high heroic pride 
In melancholy murmurs died. 

" Vainly thou bid'st, O noble maid," 

Clasping his wiiiiered hands, he said, 

" Vainly thou bid'st me wake tlie strain, 

Tliough all unwont to bid in vain. 

Alas! than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned! 

I touch.the chords of jo}', but low 

And' mournful answer notes of wo; 

:i^h#^lhe proud march, whicli victors tread. 

Sinks in the wailing for tlie dead. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



131 



O well for me, if mine alone 

That dirge's deep prophetic tonal 

If, as my tuneful fathers said, 

This harp, which erst saint Modan swayed," 

Can thus its master's fate foretell, 

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell! 

VTir. 

«' But ah! dear lady, thus it sighed 

The eve thy saiTited mother died; 

And such the sounds which, while I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth. 

Appalling me who gave them birth, 

And, disobedient to my call. 

Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall, 

Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven, 

Were exiled from their native heaven. — * 

Oh! if yet worse mishap and wo 

My master's house must undergo, 

Or auglit but weal to Ellen fair. 

Brood in these accents of despair. 

No future bard, sad harp! shall fling 

Triumpi\ or ra\)ture from thy string; 

One short, one final strain shall flow, 

Fraught with unutterable wo, 

Then shivered shall thy fragments lie, 

Thy master cast him down and die." 

IX. 

Soothing she answered him, "Assuage, 

Mine honoured friend, the fears of age; 

All melodies to thee are known. 

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown. 

In lowland vale or higliland glen, 

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then, 

At times, unbidden notes should rise, 

Confusedly bound in memory's ties, 

Entangling, as they rush along, 

The war-march with the funeral song?— 

Small ground is now for boding fear; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My sire, in native virtue great. 

Resigning lordship, lands, and state. 

Not then to fortune more resigned. 

Than yonder oak might give the wind; 

The graceful foliage storms may reave. 

The noble stem they cannot grieve. 

For me" — she stooped, and, looking round, 

Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground, 

"For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An image of more splendid days. 

This little flower, that loves the lea, 

May well my simple emblem be: 

It drinks heaven's dew as blith as rose 

That in the king's own garden grows; 

And when I place it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is bound to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled. 

X. 

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 

A'iled the old harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw 
When angels stoop to sooth their wo. 
He gazed, till fond regret and pride 
Thrilled to a tear, then liius replied: 
" Loveliest and best! thou little know'st 

The rank, the honours thou hast lost! 
O might 1 live to see tiiee gi'ace, 
In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place. 



To see my favourite's step advance, 
The lightest in the courtly dance. 
The cause of every gallant's sigh. 
And leading star of every eye, 
And theme of every minstrel's art, 
The lady of the bleeding heart!"* 

XI. 

" Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried, 
(Light was her accent, yet she sighed,) 
"Tiiis mossy rock, my friend, to me 
Is worth gay chair and canopy; 
Nor wouidmy footstep spring more gay 
In courtly dance than blith strathspey. 
Nor h.ilf so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as tiiine; 
And then for suitors proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye. 
Thou, flattering bard, thyself wilt say. 
That grim sir Roderick owns its sway. 
Tlie Saxon' scourge. Clan- Alpine's pride, 
The terror of Loch-Lomond's side. 
Would, at my suit, thou know'st delay 
A Lennox foiay — for a day." 

Xll. 

The ancient bard his glee repressed: 

" 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest! 

For who, through all this western wild. 

Named black sir Roderick e'er, and smiled? 

In Holy-Rood a knight he slew;S 

I saw, when back the dirk he drew. 

Courtiers gave place before the stride 

Of the undaunted liomicide: 

And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 

Full sternly kept his mountain land. 

Who else dared give.' — ah! wo the day, 

That I such hated truth should say — 

The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 

Disowned by every noble peer,** 

E'en the rude refuge we have here! 

Alas, this wild marauding chief 

Alone might hazard our relief, 

And, now thy maiden charms expand, 

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; 

Full soon may dispensation sought. 

To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 

Then, though an exile on the hill. 

Thy father, as the Douglas, still 

Be held in reverence and fear; 

But though to Roderick thou'rt so dear. 

That thou might'st guide with silken thread. 

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread. 

Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain! 

Thy hand is on a lion's mane." 

Xllt. 

" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 
Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 
" My debts to Roderick's house I know: 
All that a mother could bestow. 
To lady Margaret's care I owe. 
Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrowed o'er her sister's child: 
To her brave chieftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 
A deeper, holier debt is owed; 
And, could I pay it with my blood, 
Allan! sir Roderick should command 
My blood, my life — but not my hand. 
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronnan's cell;'' 

I * The well-known cognizance of the Douglas fanuly. 



132 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Rather through realms beyond the sea, 
Seeking the world's cold charity. 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, 
An outcast ])ilgrim will she rove, 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 

XIV. 
"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray- 
That pleading look, what can it say 
But what I own? — I grant him brave. 
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave;8 
And generous — save vindictive mood. 
Or jealous transport, chafe his blood: 
I grant him true to friendly band, 
As his claymore is to his handj 
But O! that very blade of steel 
More mercy for a foe would feel: 
I grant him liberal, to fling 
Among his clan tiie wealth they bring, 
When back by lake and glen they wind, 
And in the lowland leave behind. 
Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 
A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 
The hand that for my father fought, 
I honour, as his daughter ought; 
But can I clasp it reeking red. 
From peasants slaughtered in their shed? 
No! wildly while his virtues gleam, 
They make his ])assions darker seem, 
And flash along his spirit high. 
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 
While yet a child, — and children know. 
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe,— 
I shuddered at his brow of gloom, 
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume; 
A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
His haughty mien and lordly air; 
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 
-"■In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 
I thrill with anguish! or, if e'er 
A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 
To change such odious theme were best, — 
What thiiik'st thou of our stranger guest?" 

XV. 
" What think I of him' wo the while 
That brougiit such wanderer to our isle ! 
Thy fatlier's battle brand, of 3ore 
For Tyne-man forged bj- fairy lore, 9 
What time he leagued, no longer foes,' 
His border spears with Hotspur's bows. 
Did, self-unscabbarded, fore-shoAV 
The footsteps of a secret foe.'" 
If courtly spj' had harboured here, 
What may we for the Douglas fear.' 
What for this island, deemed of old 
Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold? 
If neitlier spy nor foe, I pray. 
What yet may jealous Roderick say! 
Nay, wave not thy disdainful head! 
Bethink thee of the discord dread 
That kindled when at Beltane game 
Thou led'st the dance with Malcolm Grseme; 
Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, 
Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud; 
Bewnre! — But hark, what sounds are these? 
My dull ears catch no faltering breeze. 
No weeping birch, nor aspen's wake. 
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake. 
Still is the canna's* hoary beard, — 
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — 



• Cotton grass. 



And hark again! some pipe of war 
Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 

XVI. 
Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide. 
That, slow enlarging on the view. 
Four manned and masted barges grew. 
And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
Steered lull ui)on the lonely isle; 
The point of Brianchoil they passed. 
And to tlie windward as they cast. 
Against the sun they gave to shine 
The bold sir Roderick's bannered pine. 
Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
Now might you see the tartans brave. 
And plaids and plumage dance and wave; 
Now see the bonnets sink and rise. 
As his tough oar the rower plies; 
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke. 
The wave ascending into smoke; 
See the proud pipers on the bow. 
And mark the gaudy streamers fto^v 
From theii' loud chanters* down, and sweep 
The furrowed bosom of the deep, 
As, rushing through the lake amain. 
They plied the ancient higldand strain. 

XVII. 

Ever, as on they bore, more l-oud 

And louder rung the pibroch proud." 

At first the sound, by distance tame, 

Mellowed along the waters came. 

And, lingering long by cape and bay. 

Wailed every iiarsher note away; 

Then bursting bolder on the ear. 

The clan's siu'ill gathering they could hear; 

Those thrilling sounds, that call the might •. 

Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 

Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 

The mustering hundreds shake the glen. 

And hurrying at the sigtial-dread, 

The battered earth returns their tread. 

Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 

Expressed their merry marching on, 

Ere peal of closing battle rose. 

With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows: ■ 

And mimic din of stroke and ward, 

As broadsword upon target jarred; 

And groaning pause, e'er yet again. 

Condensed, the battle yelled amain; 

The rapid cliarge, the rallying shout, 

Retreat borne headlong into rout. 

And bursts of triumph, to declare, 

Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there. 

Nor ended thus the strain; but slow 

Sunk in a moan prolonged and low. 

And changed the conquering clarion swell. 

For wild lament o'er those that fell. 

XVIII. 

The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill 
Were busy with their echoes still; 
And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, 
While loud a hundred clans-men i-aise 
Their voices in their chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar. 
With measured sweep the burthen bore, 
In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
Makes through December's leafless trees. 



The drone of the bag-pipe. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



333 



The chorus first could Allen know, 
" Rodcrigh Vich Alpine, ho! iero!" 
And near, and nearer, as they rowed, 
Distinct the martial ditty flowed. 

XIX. 

BOAT SONG. 

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances! 

Honoured and blessed be the ever-green pine! 
Long- may the tree in his banner that glances 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! • 

Heaven send it happy dew, 

Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to gi-ow; 

While every highland glen 

Sends our shout back agen, 
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"'^ 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; 
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on 
the mountain. 
The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 
Moored in the rifted rock. 
Proof to the tempest's shock. 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow: 
Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 
Echo his praise agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 

XX. 

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, 
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied. 
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her 
side.''' 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our aid, 
■ Think of Clan- Alpine with fear and with wo; 
Lennox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they hear agen, 
•♦Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands! 
Stretch to your oars for the ever-green pine ! 
()! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands 
Were wreathed in a garland around him to 
twine! 
() that some seedling gem. 
Worthy such noble stem, 
Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow ! 
Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
Ring from her deepmost glen, 
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 

XXI. 

With all her joyful female band. 
Had iafiy Margaret sought the strand. 
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, 
And high their snowy arms they threw; 
As echoing back with shrill acclaim. 
And chorus wild, the chieftain's name; 
While, prompt to please, with mother's art. 
The darling passion of his heart, 
The dame called Ellen to the strand, 
To gi'eet her kinsman ere he land: 
•• Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou, 
And shun to wreath a victor's brow!" — 
' Reluctantly, and slow, the maid 
The unwelcome summoning obeyed, 
An-d, when a distant bugle rung. 
In the rriid-path aside she sprung: — 
"List, Allan-bane! from main land cast, 
i hear my father's signal blast. 



Be ours," she cried, "the skift"to guide. 
And waft him from the mountain side." 
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, 
She darted to her shallop light. 
And, eagerly while Roderick scanned. 
For her dear form, liis mother's bandj 
The islet far behind her Lay, 
And she had landed in the bay. 

xxn. 

Some feelings are to mortals given, 
With less of earth in them than heaven 
And if there be a human tear 
From passion's dross refined and clear, 
A tear so limpid and so meek. 
It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
'Tis that which pious fathers shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head! 
7\.nd as the Douglas to his breast 
His darling Ellen closely pressed. 
Such holy drops her tresses steeped, 
Though 'twas a hero's eye that weeped. 
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 
Marked she, that fear (aftection's proof) 
Still held a graceful youth aloof; 
No! not till Douglas named his name. 
Although the youth was Malcolm Grseme. 

XXIII. 

AlLar), with wistful look the while, 

Marked Roderick landing on the isle; 

His master piteously he eyed. 

Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride, 

Then dashed, with hasty hand, away 

From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; 

And DouglaSy as his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 

." Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 

In my poor follower's glistening eye? 

I'll tell thee: — he recals the day, 

When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, 

M' liile many a minstrel answered loud. 

When Percy's Norman pennon, won 

In bloody field, before me shone, 

And twice ten knights, the least a name 

As migiity as yon chief may claim. 

Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 

Vet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 

Was I of all that marshalled crowd. 

Though the waned crescent owned ray might. 

And in my train trooped lord and knight, 

Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays, 

And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise. 

As when this old man's silent tear, 

And this poor maid's affection dear, 

A welcome give more kind and true, 

Ttian aught my better fortunes knew. 

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast; 

O ! it out-beggars all 1 lost ! " 

XXIV. 

Delightful praise! — like summer rose. 
That bi-ighter in the dew drop glows, 
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared, 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide. 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide: 
The loved caresses of the jnaid 
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid; 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favourite stand. 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye. 

Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly, 

And, trust, while in sucli guise she stood, 

Like fabled goddess of the wood, 

That if a father's partial thought 

O'er weighed her worth and heauty aught. 

Well might the lover's judgment fail 

To balance with a juster scale; 

P'or with each secret glance he stole. 

The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 

XXV. 

Of stature tall, and slender frame, 

But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 

The belted plaid and tartan hose 

Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose; 

His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, 

Curled closely round his bonnet blue. 

Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 

The ptarmigan in snow could spy: 

Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, 

He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; 

Vain was the bound of dark bix)wn doe. 

When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 

And scarce tiiat doe, tiiough winged with fear. 

Out-stripped in speed the mountaineer: 

Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, 

And not a sob his toil confess, 

His form accorded with a mind 

Lively and ardent, frank and kind; 

A blither heart, till Ellen came, 

Did never love nor sorrow tame; 

It danced as lightsome in his breast. 

As played the feather on his crest. 

Yet friends who nearest knew the youth. 

His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, 

And bards, who saw his features bold, 

When kindled by the tales of old. 

Said, were that youth to manhood gi'own. 

Not long should RodericlcUhu's renown ' 

Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, 

But quail to that of Malcolm Grame. 

XXVI. 

Now back they wend their watery way. 
And, " O my sire!" did Ellen say, 
" Why urge thy chase. so far astray? 
And why so late returned ? And w hy" — 
The rest. was in lier speaking eye. 
•' My child, the chase 1 follow far, 
'Tis mimicry of noble war; 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I strayed 
Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade 
Nor strayed [ safe: for, all around, 
Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. 
This youth, though still a royal ward. 
Risked life and land to be my guard, 
And through the passes of the wood 
Guided my steps, not unpursued; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make. 
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, 
Nor peril aught for me agen. " — 

XXVII. 

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 
Reddened at sight of Malcolm Grseme. 
Vet, not in action, word, or eye, 
Failed auglit in hos[)itality. 
)u talk anil sport they whiled away 
The morning of that summer day; 



But at high noon a courier light 
Held secret parley with the knight; 
Whose moody aspect soon declared. 
That evil were the news he heard. 
Deep thought seemed toiling in his head; 
Yet was the evening banquet made. 
E'er he assembled round the flame. 
His mother, Doaglas, and the Grseme, 
And Ellen, too; then cast around 
Hia eyes, then fixed them on the ground, 
As studying phrase that might avail 
Best to convey unpleasant tale. 
Long with his dagger's hilt he played, 
Then raised his haughty brow, and said: 

XX VIII. 

" Short be my speech; — nor time affbrds, 

Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 

Kinsman and father, — if such name 

Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; 

Mine honoured mother; — Ellen — why. 

My cousin, turn awa}' thine eye? 

And Grteme; in whom I hope to know 

Full soon a noble friend or foe. 

When age shall give thee thy command. 

And leading in thy native land, — 

List all! — The king's vindictive pride 

Boasts to have tamed tlie border-side, !■* 

Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who. came 

To share their monarch's sylvan game. 

Themselves in bloody toils were snared, 

And when the banquet they prepared. 

And wide their loyal portals flung. 

O'er their own gateway struggling hung. 

Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead. 

From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 

Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, 

And from the silver Teviot's side; 

The dales where martial clans did ride 

Are now one sheep-walk waste and wide. 

This tyrant of the Scottish throne. 

So faithless and so ruthless known. 

Now hither comes; his end the same, 

The same pretext of sylvan game. 

What grace for highland chiefs judge ye. 

By fate of border chivalry. '^ 

Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, 

Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 

This by espial sure I know; 

Your counsel in the streight I show." — 

XXIX. 

Ellen and Margaret fearfully 

Sought comfort in each other's eye, 

Then turned their ghastly look, each one, 

This to her sire, that to her son. 

The hasty colour went and came 

In tlie bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme: 

I'lUt from his glance it well appeared, 

'Twas but for Ellen that he feared; 

While sorrowful, but undismayed, 

I'he Douglas thus his counsel said: 

" Brave Roderick, tliough the tempest roar. 

It may but thunder and pass o'er; 

Nor will I here remain an hour. 

To draw tiie lightning on thy bower; 

For, well thou know 'st, at this gray head 

The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 

For thee, who, at thy king's command, 

(^.ansl aid him with a gallant band. 

Submission, homage, humbled pride. 

Shall turn the monarch's wrath aside. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



135 



Poor remnants of the bleeding heart, 
Ellen and 1 will seek, apart, 
The refuge of some forest cell, 
Tivere, like tlie hunted quarry, dwell, 
Till on the mountain and the moor. 
The stern pursuit be past and o'er." — 

XXX. 

" No, by mine honour," Rodei-ick said, 
"So help me, heaven, and my good blade! 
Xo, never! blasted be yon pine, 
My fathers' ancient crest and mine, 
If from its shade in danger part 
The lineage of the bleeding heart! 
Hear my blunt speech, grant me this maid 
To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; 
To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 
Will friends and allies flock enow; 
Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 
Will bind to us each western cliief. 
AVlien tlie loud pipes my bridal tell, 
The links of Forth shall hear the knell, 
The guards shall start in Stirling's porch; 
And, when 1 light the nuptial torch, 
A thousand villages in flames 
Shall scare the slumbers of king James! 
— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus awa)^ 
And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; 
I meant not all my heart might say. 
Small need of inroad, or of fight, 
Wlien the sage Douglas may unite 
Each mountain clan in friendly band, 
To guard the passes of their land, 
Till the foiled king, from pathless glen, 
Shall bootless turn him home agen." 

• XXXI. 

There are who have, at midnight hour, 

In slumber scaled a dizzy tower. 

And, on the verge that beetled o'er 

The ocean-tide's incessant roar. 

Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, 

Till wakened by the morning beam. 

When, dazzled by the eastern glow, 

Such startler cast his glance below. 

And saw unmeasured depth around. 

And heard unintermitted sound. 

And thought tlie battled fence so frail, 

It waved like cobweb in the gale; 

Amid his senses' giddy whee'l. 

Did he not desperate impulse feel. 

Headlong to plunge himself below, 

A.nd meet the worst his fears foreshow? — 

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound. 

As sudden ruin yawned around. 

By crossing terrors wildly tossed. 

Still for the Douglas fearing most. 

Could scarce the desperate' thought withstand, 

To buy his safety with her hand. 

XXXII. 

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 
And eager rose to speak — but ere 
His tongue could huiTy forth his fear. 
Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, 
Where death seemed combating with life; 
For to her cheek, in feverish flood. 
One instant rushed the throbbing blood. 
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, 
Lett its domain as wan as clay. 
" Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried, 
" My daughter cannot be thy bride; 
11 



Not that the blush ta wooer dear, 
Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 
It may not be — forgive her, chief. 
Nor hazard aught for our relief. 
Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 
Will level a rebellious spear. 
'Twas I that taught bis youthful hand 
To rein a steed and wield a brand; 
I see him yet, the princely boy! 
Not Ellen more my pride and joy: 
I love him still, despite my wrongs, 
By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues. 
O seek the grace you well may find. 
Without a cause to mine combined. " 

xxxni. 

Twice through the hall the chieftain strode; 
The waving of his tartans broad. 
And darkened brow, where wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied. 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light. 
Like the ill demon of the niglit. 
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 
Upon the 'nighted pilgrim's way: 
But, unrequited love! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart. 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung. 
At length the hand of Douglas wrung. 
While eyes, that mocked at tears before, 
With bitter drops were running o'er. 
The death pangs of long-cherished hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
Convulsive heaved its chequered shroud, 
While every sob — so mute were all — 
Was heard distinctly through the hall. 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
111 might the gentle Ellen brook; 
She rose, and tOj^ier side there came. 
To aid her parting steps, the Grieme. 

XXXIV. 

Then Roderick from the Douglas broke— 

As flashes flame through sable smoke, 

Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, 

To one broad blaze of ruddy glow. 

So the deep anguish of despair 

Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. — 

With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid: 

"Back, beardless boy!" he sternly said, 

" Back, minion! hold'st thou thus at naught 

The lesson I so lately taught ? 

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid. 

Thank thou for punishment delayed." 

Eager as greyhound on his game. 

Fiercely with Roderick grappled Grseme. 

" Perish my name, if au";ht aftbrd 

Its chieftain safety, save his sword!" 

Thus as they strove, their desperate hand 

Griped to the dagger or the brand. 

Ami death had been — but Douglas rose. 

And thrust between the struggling foes 

His giant strength: — " Chieftains, forego! 

I bold the first who strikes, my foe. — 

Madmen, forbear your frantic jar! 

What! is the Douglas fallen so far, 

His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil 

Of such dishonourable broil!" 

Sullen and slowly they unclasp, 

As struck with shame, their desperate j^rasp, 

And each upon his rival glared, 

With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 



136 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXXV.- 

Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen scream, 
As faltered tlirou.s;h terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, 
And veiled his wrath in scornful word. 
•'Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere 
Sucli cheek should feel the midnight airl'S 
Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick M'ill keep the lake and fell, 
Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan-Alpine know. 
Thou canst our strength and passes show.— 
Malise, what ho!" — his hench-man cameji^ 
" Give our safe-conduct to the Groeme." 
Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold, 
" Fear nothing for thy favourite hold: 
The spot an angel deigned to grace, 
Is blessed though robbers haunt the place. 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight, as in blaze of day. 
Though with his boldest at his back. 
E'en Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 
Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, nay, 
Nought here of parting will I say. 
Eartli does not hold a lonesome glen. 
So secret, but we meet agen. — 
Chieftain! we too shall find an horn-." 
He said, and left the sylvan Bower. 

XXXVI. 

Old Allan followed to the strand, 

(Such was the Douglas's command,) 

And anxious told, how, on the morn. 

The stern sir Roderick deep had sworn, 

The fiery cross should circle o'er 

Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. 

Much were the peril to the Grseme, 

From tliose who to the signal came: 

Far up the lake 'twere safest land. 

Himself would row him to the strand. 

He gave his counsel to the wind, 

While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind. 

Round dirk, and pouch, and broadsword rolled, 

His ample plaid in tightened fold. 

And stripped liis limbs to such array. 

As best might suit the watery way. 

XXXVII. 

Then spoke abrupt: " Farewell to thee. 

Pattern of old fidelity!" 

The minstrel's hand he kindly pressed, — 

'« O! could I point a place of rest! 

My sovereign holds in ward my land, 

My uncle leads my vassal band. 

To tame his foes, his friends to aid, 

Poor Malcolm lias but heart and blade. 

Yet, if there bo one faithful Gr«me, 

Who loves the cliieftain of his name. 

Not long shall honoured Douglas dwell, 

Like hunted stag, in mountain cell; 

Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber dare, — 

1 may not give the rest to air! — 

Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought. 

Not the poor service of a boat, 

To waft me to yon mountain side." — 

Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 

Bold o'er the flood his head he bore. 

And ctoutly steered hira from the shore; 



And Allan strained his anxious eye 
Far mid the lake, his form to spy 
Darkening across each puny wave. 
To which the moon her silver gave. 
Fast as the cormorant could skim. 
The swimmer plied each active limb; 
Tiien, landing in the moonlight dell, 
Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
The minstrel heard the far halloo, 
And joyful from the shore withdrew. 

CANTO III. 
THE GATHERING. 

I. • 

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 

Who danced our infancy upon their knee, 
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, 

Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea. 
How are they blotted from the things that be! 

How few, all weak and withered of their force, 
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse. 
To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his 
ceaseless course. 

Yet live there still who can remember well, 

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, 
Both field and forest, dingle, clift", and dell. 

And solitary heath, the signal knew; 
And fast the faithful clan around him drew. 

What time the warning note was keenly wound, 
What time aloft their kindred banner flew. 

While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gather- 
ing sound, 
And while the fiery cross glanced, like a meteor, 
round. ' 

n. 

The summer dawn's reflected hue 

To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue; 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 

Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees, 

And the pleased lake, like maiden coy. 

Trembled, but dimpled not for joy; 

The mountain shadows on her breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest; 

In bright uncertainty they lie. 

Like future joys to lancy's eye. 

The water lily to the light 

Her chalice reared of silver bright; 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn. 

Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; 

The graj' mist left the mountain side. 

The torrent showed its glistening pride; 

Invisible in flecked sky, 

The lark sent down her reveliy; 

The black-bird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; 

In answer cooed the cushat dove 

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 

III. 
No thought of peace, no thought of rest. 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 
With sheathed broadsword in his hand. 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blade. 
Beneath a rock, his vassal's care 
Was promjjt the ritual to prepare, 
With dee[i and deathful meaning fraught; 
For such antiquity had taught 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The cross of fire should take its road. 



rHE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



isr 



The shi-inking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast; — 
Such glance the mountain eagle threw. 
As, from the clifts of Ben-venue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind. 
And, high in middle heaven reclined, 
With her broad shadow on the lako. 
Silenced tlie warblers of the brake. 

IV. 

A heap of withered boughs was piled, 

Of juniper and rowan wild, 

JNlingled with shivers from the oak. 

Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 

Brian, the hermit, by it stood. 

Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 

His grisled beard and matted hair 

Obscured a visage of despair; 

His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er. 

The scars of frantic penance bore. 

That monk, of savage form and face,^ 

The impending danger of his race 

Had drawn from deepest solitude. 

Far in BeiiJiarrow's bosom rude. 

Not his the mien of Christain pi'iest, 

But Druid's, from the grave released. 

Whose hardened heart and eje might brook 

On human sacrifice to look; 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er. 

The hallowed creed gave only worse 

And deadlier emphasis of curse; 

No peasant sought that hermit's prayer. 

His cave the pilgrim shunned with care; 

The eager huntsman knew his bound. 

And in mid chase called off his hound; 

Or if, in lonely glen or str.ith, 

The desert-dweller met his path. 

He prayed, and signed the cross between, 

While terror took devotion's mien. 

V. 

Of Brian's birth strange tales were told;^ 

His mother watched a midnight fold. 

Built deep within a dreary glen, 

Where scattered lay the bones of men. 

In some forgotten battle slain. 

And bleached by drifting wind and rain. 

It might have tamed a warrior's heart. 

To view such mockery of his art I 

The knot-grass fettered there the hand. 

Which once could burst an iron band; 

Beneath the broad and ample bone. 

That bucklered heart to fear unknown, 

A feeble and a timorous guest. 

The field-fare framed her lowly nest; 

There the slow blind-worm left his slime 

On the fleet limbs that mocked at time; 

And there, too, lay the leader's skull, 

Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and full, 

For heath-bell, with her purple bloom. 

Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 

All night, in this sad glen, the maid 

Sate, shrouded in her mantle's shade: 

She said, no shepherd sought her side, 

No hunter's hand her snood untied. 

Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 

The virgin snood did Alice wear;* 

Gone was her maiden glee and sport. 

Her maiden girdle all too short, 

Nor sought she, from that fatal night. 

Or holv church, or blessed rite. 



But locked her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail, uuconfessed. 

VI. 
Alone, among his young compeers. 
Was Brian from his infant years; 
A moody and heart-broken bo)'. 
Estranged from sympathy and joy, 
Bearing each taunt which careless tongue »^ 
Ojn his mysterious lineage flung. 
Wliole nights he spent by moonlight pale, 
To wood and stream his hap to wail. 
Till, frantic, he as truth received 
What of his birth the crowd believed. 
And sought, in mist and meteor fire. 
To meet and know his phantom sire! 
In vain, to sooth his wayward fate. 
The cloister oped her pitying gate; 
In vain, the learning of the age 
Unclasped the sable-lettered page; 
E'en in its treasures he could find 
Food for the fever of his mind. 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Of magic, cabala, and spells, 
And every dark pursuit allied 
To curious and presumptuous pride; 
Till, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung. 
And heart with mystic horrors wrung, 
Desperate he sought Benharrow's den. 
And hid him from the haunts of men. 

VII. 
The desert gave him visions Wild, 
Such as might suit the spectre's child.5 
Where with black clifts the torrents toil, 
He watched the wheeling eddies boil, 
Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 
Beheld the river demon rise; 
The mountain-mist took form and limb. 
Of noontide hag, or goblin grim; 
Tiie midnight wind came wild and dread, 
Swelled with the voices of the dead; 
Far on the future battle-heath 
His eye beheld the ranks of death: 
Thus the lone seer, from mankind hurled. 
Shaped forth a disembodied world. 
One lingering sympathy of mind 
Still bound him to the mortal kind; 
The only parent he could claim 
Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 
Late had he heard in prophet's dream, 
Tiie fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream;6 
Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast. 
Of charging steeds, careering fast 
Along Benharrow's shingly side, 
Where moi-lal horseman ne'er might ride:'' 
The thunder-bolt had split the pine, — • 
All augured ill to Alpine's line. 
He girt his loins, and came to show 
The signals of impending wo. 
And now stood prompt to bless or ban, 
As bade the chieftain of his clan. 

VIII. 

'Twas all prepared; — and from the rock, 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 
Before the kindling pile was laid, 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, 
Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb. 
Till darkness glazed his eye-balls dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 
A slender crosslet, formed with care. 



138 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A cubit's lengtii in measure due; 
The shafts ami limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose parents in Incl\-Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Chin- Alpine's grave,* 
And, answerins; Lomond's breezes deep, 
Sooth many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
The cross, thus formed, he held on high, 
Witb wasted hand, and haggard eye. 
And strange and mingled feelings woke, 
While his anathema he spoke: 

IX. 
*' Wo to the clansman, who shall view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew, 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low! 
Deserter of his chieftain's trust. 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust. 
But, from his sires and kindred thrust, 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and wo." 
He paused; — the word tiie vassals took. 
With forward Step and fiery look, 
O.i high their naked brands tiiey shook. 
Their clattering targets wildly strook; 

Anil first, in murmur low. 
Then, like the billow in his course. 
That far to seaward fiiids his source. 
And flings to shore his mustered force, 
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 

"Wo to the traitor, wo!" 
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew, 
The joyous wolf from covert drew, 
The exulting eagle screamed afar, — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 

X, 
The shout was hushed on lake and fell. 
The monk resumed his muttered spell. 
Dismal and low its accents came. 
The while he scathed the cross with flame; 
And the few words that reached the air, 
Although the holiest name was there. 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
its kindled points, he spoke aloud: — 
" Wo to the wretch, who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear! 
For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaiin, 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and shame. 

And infamy and wo." 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill. 
Denouncing misery and ill. 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammered slow, 
Answering, with imprecation dread, 
" Sunk be his home in embers red! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head. 

We doom to want and wo!" 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave! 
And the gray pass where birches wave. 
On Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 
Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his labouring breath he drew. 



While, with set teeth and clenched hand, 
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, 
I He meditated curse more dread. 
And deadlier on the clans-man's head, 
Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, 
The signal saw and disobeyed. 
The crosslct's points of sparliling wood 
He quenched among the bubbling blood, 
And, as again the sign lie rtared. 
Hollow and hoarse his voice- was heard: 
" When flits this cross from man to man, 
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, 
Burst be the ear that fails to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed! 
May ravens tear the careless eyes. 
Wolves make the coward heart their prize! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth. 
So may his heart's blood drench his hearth ! 
As dies in hissing gore the spark, 
Quencii thou his light, destruction dark! 
And be tiie grace to him denied. 
Bought by tliis sign to all beside!"^ 
He ceased: no eeiio gave agen 
Tiie murmur of the deep amen. 

XIL 

Then Roderick, with impatient look. 

From Brian's hand the symbol took: 

" Speed, IVIalise, speed!" he said, and gave 

The crosslet to his bench-man brave. 

"The muster-place be Lanric mead — 

Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed!" 

Like heath-bird, when tiie hawks pursue, 

A barge across Loch-Katrine flew: 

High stood tlie hench-man on tiie prow. 

So rapidly the barge-men row. 

The ijuhbles, where they lanched the boat. 

Were all unbroken and afloat. 

Dancing in foam and ripple still. 

When it had iieared the mainland hill; 

And from the silver beach's side 

Still was the prow three fathom wide, 

When lightly bounded to the land 

The messenger of blood and brand. 

xin. 

Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide 

On fleeter foot was never tied. 9 

Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste 

Thine active sinews never braced. 

Bend 'gainst the sleepy hill t!iy breast, 

Burst down like torrent from its crest; 

With short and springing footstep pass 

The trembling bog and false morass; 

Across the brook like roebuck bound. 

And thread tlie brake like questing hound; 

The crag is high, the scaur is deep. 

Yet shrink not from the desperate leap; 

Parched are thy burning lips and brow. 

Yet by the fountain pause not now; 

Herald of battle, fate, and fear," 

Stretch onward in thy fleet career! 

The wounded hind thou track'st not now, 

Pursuest not maid through green-wood bough, 

Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace, 

With rivals in tlie mountain-race; 

But danger, death, and warrior deed,. 

Are in thy course — Speed, Malise, speed! 

XIV. 

Fast as the fotal symbol flies, 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise; 
From winding glen, from uphind brown, 
Thej- poured each hardy tenant down. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



139 



Nor slacked the messenger his pace; 

He showed the sign, he named the i)lace, 

And, pressing forward like the wind, 

Left clamour and surprise behind. 

The fisherman forsook the strand. 

The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; 

With changed cheer, the mower blith 

Left in the half cut swathe his sithe; 

The herds without a keeper strayed, 

The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 

The fulc'iier tossed his hawk away, 

The hunter left the stag at bay; 

Prompt at the signal of alarms, 

Each son of Alpine rushed to arms; 

So swe|)t tiie tumil|lt and aftray 

Along the margin of Achray. 

Alas! thou lovely lake! that e'er 

Thy banks should echo sounds of fear! 

The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 

So stillv on thy bosom deep, 

The lark's blith carol, from the cloud, 

Seems for the scene too gayly loud. ^ 

XV. 
Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past, 
Duncraggan's huts appear at last, 
And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 
Half hidden in the copse so green; 
There mayst thou rest, thy labour done, 
Their lord shall speed the signal on. — 
As stoops the hawk upon his prey. 
The bench-man shotTiim down the way. 
What woful accents load thg gale? 
The funeral yell, the female wail ! — 
A gallanl hunter's sport is o'er, 
A valiant-warrior fights no more. 
Who, in the battle or the chase, 
At Roderick's side shall till his place? 
Within the hall, where torclies' ray 
Supplied the excluded beams of day, 
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 
And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
His stripling son stands mournful ny, 
His yoimgest weeps, but knows not why; 
The village maids and matrons round 
The dismal coronach*"* resound. 

XVI. 

CORONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font, reappearing. 

From the rain drops shall borrow. 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory; 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was in flushing. 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi,t 

Sage counsel in cumber. 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber! 



* Funeral song. 

t Oi- corri— The hollow side of the hill, where 
usually lies. 



Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and for ever! 

xvn. 

See Sturaah,* who, the bier beside, 
His master's corpse with wonder eyed. 
Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo 
Could send like lightiifhg; o'er the dew. 
Bristles his crest, and pptnts his ears. 
As if some stranger step he hears. 
'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread. 
Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead. 
But headlofig haste, or deadly fear, 
Urge the precipitate career. 
All stand aghast:— uidieeding Jill, 
The hench-man bursts into the hall: 
Before the dead man's bier he stood. 
Held forth the cross besmeared with blood; 
" The muster-place is Lanric mead; 
Speed fortli tlie signal! clansmen, speed!" 

XV m. 

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line. 

Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 

In haste tlie stripling to his side 

His father's dirk and broad-sword tied; 

But when he saw his mother's eye 

Watch him in speechless agony. 

Back to her opened arms he Hew, 

Pressed on her lips a fond adieu — 

" Alas!" she sobbed, — " and yet be gone. 

And speed thee forth like Duncan's son!" 

Oue look he cast upon the bier, 

Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, 

Breathed deep, to clear his labouring breast, 

And tossed aloft his bonnet crest. 

Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed. 

First he essays his fire and speed. 

He vanished, and o'er moor and moss 

Sped forward with the fiery cross. 

Suspended was the widow's tear. 

While yet his footsteps she could hear; 

And when she marked the hencli-man's eye 

Wet with unwonted sympathy, 

" Kinsman," she said, " his race is run. 

That should have sped thine errand on; 

The oak has fallen— tlie sapling bough 

Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 

Yet trust I well, his duty done. 

The orphan's God will guard my son. — 

And you. in many a danger true. 

At Duncan's best your blades that drew. 

To arms, and guard that orphan's head! 

Let babes and women wail the dead." 

Then weapon-clang, and martial call, 

Resounded through the funeral hall. 

While from the walls the attendant band 

Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand; 

And short and flitting energy 

Gltinced from the mourner's sunken eye, 

As if the sounds, to warrior dear. 

Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 

But faded soon that borrowed force; 

Grief claimed his right, and tears their course. 

XIX. 

Benledi saw the cross of fire. 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire." 
O'er dale and hill the summons flew. 
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 



game 



* Faithful— The nahie of a do£. 



140 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



The tear that gathered in his eye, 

He left the mountain breeze to dry; 

Until, where Teith's young waters roll, 

Betwixt him and a wooded knoll, 

That graced the sable strath with green. 

The chapel of saint Bride was seen. 

Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 

But Angus paused not on the edge; 

Though the dark waves darfted dizzily, 

Though reeled his sympathetic eye. 

He dashed arftid the torrent's roar; 

His right hand high tiie crosslet bore. 

His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide 

And stay his footing in the tide. 

He stumbled twice — the foam splashed high, 

With hoarser swell the stream raced by; 

And had lie fallen, — forever there. 

Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! 

But still, as if in parting life, 

Firmer he grasped the cross of strife. 

Until the opposing bank he gained, 

And up the chapel pathway strained. 

XX. 

A blithsome rout, that morning tide, 
Had sought the chapel of saint Bride. 
Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
To Norman, heir of Armandave, 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch, 
The bridal now resumed their march. 
In rude, but glad procession, came 
Bonnetted sire and coif-clad dame; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer. 
Which snooded maiden would not hear; 
And children, that, unwitting why, 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; 
And minstrels, lliat in measures vied 
Before the young and bonny bride. 
Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
The tear and blush of morning rose. 
With virgin step, and bashful hand. 
She held the kerchief's snowy band; 
The gallant bridegroom, by her side. 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride. 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was closely whispering word of cheer. 

XXI. 

Who meets them at the church-yard gate? — 

The messenger of fear and fate ! 

Haste in his hurried accent lies. 

And grief is swimming in his eyes. 

All dripping from the recent flood. 

Panting and travel-soiled he stood. 

The fatal sign of fire and sword 

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word; 

" The muster-place is Laurie mead; 

Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!" — 

And must he change so soon the hand. 

Just linked to his by holy band. 

For the fell cross of blood and brand? 

And must the day, so blith that rose. 

And promised rapture in the close, 

Before its setting hour, divide 

The bridegroom from the plighted bride? 

O fatal doom! — it must! it must! 

Clan- Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust. 

Her summons dread, brooks uo delay; 

Stretch to the race — away ! away ! 

XXII. 

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside. 
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride. 



Until he saw the starting tear 

Speak wo he might not stop to cheer; 

Then, tnisting not a second look. 

In haste he sped him up the brook, ' 

Nor backward glanced till on the heath. 

Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.— 

What in the racer's bosom stirred? — 

The sickened pang of hope deferred, 

And memory, with a torturing train 

Of all his morning visions vain. 

Mingled with love's impatience, came 

The manly thirst for martial fame: 

The stormy joy of mountaineers. 

Ere yet they rush upon the spears; 

And zeal for clan and chieftain burning. 

And hope, from well-fought field returning, 

With war's red honours on his crest. 

To clasp his Mary to his breast. 

Stung by his thoughts, o'er bank and brae. 

Like fire from flint he glanced away. 

While high resolve, and feeling strong, 

Burst inj.0 voluntary song. 

xxm. 

SONG. 

The heath this night must be m)' bed. 
The bracken* curtain for my head, • 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary! 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid! 

It will not waken me, Mary! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 

The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 

I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary ! 
No fond regret must Norman know; 
When bursts Clan-Alpiue on the foe. 
His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like arrow free, Mary! 
A time will come with feeling fraught; 
¥ov, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary ! 
And if returned from conquered foes, 
How blithly will the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repose. 

To ray young bride and me, Marj' ! 

XXIV. 

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,!^ 
Rushing, in conflagration strong, 
Thy deep ravines and dells along, 
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow. 
And reddening the dark lakes below; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far. 
As o'er thy heaths tlie voice of war. 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The sullen margin of Loch-Voil, 
Waked still Loch-Doine, and to the source 
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course; 
Thence, southward turned its rapid road 
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad. 
Till rose in arms each man miglit claim 
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name; 
From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 

• Bracken— Fern. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



141 



Each valley, each sequestered glen, 

Mustered its little horde of men. 

That met as torrents from tlie height 

In higliland dales tlieir streams unite, 

Still gathering, as they pour along, 

A voice more loud, a tide more strong, 

Till at the rendezvous thej' stood 

B)' hundreds, prompt for blows and bloodj 

Each trained to arms since life began, 

Owning no tie but to his clan. 

No oath, but by his chieftain's hand,'^ 

No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 

XXV. 

That summer morn had Roderick Dhu 

Surveyed the skirts of Ben-venue, 

And sent his scouts o'er tiiil and heath, 

To view the frontiers of Menteith. < 

All backward came with news of truce; 

Still lay each martial Grasme and Bruce, 

In Rednock courts no horsemen wait. 

No banner waved on Cardross^ate, 

On Duchray's towers no beacon shone. 

Nor scared the herons from Loch-Con: 

All seemed at peace. — Now, wot ye why 

The chieftain, with suqIi anxious eye, 

Ere to the muster he ri!^)airtr 

This western frontier scanned with csfre? — 

In Ben-%'enue's most darksome cl^t, 

A fair, though cruel, pledge was left; 

For Douglas, to his promise true. 

That morning from the isle withdrew, 

And in a deep sequestered dell 

Had sought a low and loneh' cell. 

B)' many a bard, in Celtic tongue. 

Has Coir-nan-Uriskin'-* been sung; 

A softer name the Saxons gave, 

\nd called the grot the Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 

It was a wild and strange retreat. 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest. 
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast; 
Its trench had stayed full many a rock, 
Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 
From Ben-venue's gray summit wild; 
And here, in random ruin piled, 
They froM'ned incumbent o'er the spot. 
And formed the rugged sylvan grot. 
The oak and birch, with mingled shade 
At noontide there a twilight made. 
Unless wlien short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth, futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn still, 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake, 
A sullen sound would upward break, 
VVitli dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway. 
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
In sucli tl)e wild-cat leaves her younp-; 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair, 
Souglit, for a space, their safety there. 
Gray superstition's whisper dread 
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread: 
For tliere, she said, did fays resort. 
And satyrs* liold their sylvan court, 



• The Urisk; or liighlaiid satyr.— Sue note. 



By moonlight tread their mystic maze. 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now eve, with western shadows long. 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong. 
When Roderick, with a chosen few,' 
Repassed the heights of Ben-venue. 
Above the goblin-cave they go, 
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo;'5 
The prompt retainers speed before. 
To lanch the shallop from the shore, 
For ^cross Loch-Katrine lies his way, 
To view the passes of Achray, 
And place his clansmen in array. 
Yet lags the chief in musing mind. 
Unwonted sight,»his men belund. 
A single page, to bear his sword. 
Alone attended on his lord;>6 
The rest tlieir way through thickets break 
And soon await him by the lake. ' 

It was a fair and gallant sight. 
To view them from the neighbouring heioht 
By the low levelled sunbeam's light; ° * 
I For strength and stature, from the clan 
Each warrior was a chosen man. 
As e'en afar might well be seen. 
By their proud step and martial mien. 
Their feathers dance, their tartans float 
Their targets gleam, as by the boat ' 
A wild and wailike group they stand. 
That well became such mountain strand. 

XXVHI. 

Their chief, with step reluctant, still 
Was lingering on the craggy hill 
Hard by where turned apart tlie road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning morn 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn. 
To drown his love in war's wild roar 
Nor tliink of Ellen Douglas more; ' 
But he who stems a stream with s'and. 
And fetters flame with flaxen hand 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 
By firm resolve to conquer love! 
Eve finds the chief, like restless ghost 
Still hovering near his treasure lost; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye, 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear, 
The accents of her voice to hear 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But hark! what mingles in the strain' ' 
It is the harp of Allan-bane, • . 

That wakes its measures slow and hio-h 
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. " ' 

What melting voice attends the sU-in^s' 
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings. " 

XXIX. 

BTM.N TO THE VIUGIJT.* 

Ave Maria! maiden mild! 

Listen to a maiden's prayer; 
Thou canst hear though from the wild. 

Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 

Though banished, outcast, and reviled— 
Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; 

Mother, hear a suppliant child! 

Ave Maria! nnA,^l,,V. -^-^ Marva! 

The flinty couch we now must share 



142 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Shall seem with down of eider piled, 

If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air 

Shall hrealhe of balm if thou hast smiled; 
Then, maiden, hear a maiden's prayer, 

Mother, list a suppliant child! 

Ave Maria! 
Jive Maria! Stainless styled ! 

Foul demons of the earth and air. 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 

Shall flee before thy presence ftir. 
We bow us to tliy lot of care, 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled; 
Hear for a maid a maiden's pi-ayer, 

And for a father hear a child ! 

*Jive Maria! 
XXX. 
Pied on the harp the closing hymn — ■ 
Unmoved in attitude and limb. 
As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his heavy sword. 
Until the page, with luimble sign, 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then, wliile his plaid he round him cast, 
" It is the last time — 'tis the last," — 
He muttered thrice, — "the last time e'er 
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear!" 
It was agoading thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain side; 
Sullen he flung him in the boat, 
And instant cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that silvery hay. 
And eastward held their hasty way, 
Till, with the latest beams of light. 
The band arrived on Lanric height, 
Where mustered, in the vale helow, 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 

XXXI. 

A various scene the clansmen made. 
Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed; 
But most, with mantles folded round. 
Were couched to rest upon the ground, 
Scarce to be known by curious eye. 
From the deep heather where they lie, 
So well was matched the tartan screen 
With heath-bell dark and brackens green; 
Unless where, here and there, a blade. 
Or lance's point, a glimmer made. 
Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade- 
But wlien, advancing through the gloom, 
Tltey saw the chieftain's eagle plume. 
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, 
Shook the steep^nountain's steady side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Three times returned tlie martial yell; 
It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
And silence claimed her evening reign. 

CANTO IV. 

THE phophect. 
I. 

" The I'ose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; 

The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, 
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears, 

O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
1 bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, 

Eml)lem of hope and love tlirough future years!" 
1 bus spokeyomig Norman, heir of Annandave, 

What lime tlie sun arose on Vennachar's broad 
wave. 



II. 

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 

Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 

All while he stripped the wild-rose spray. 

His axe and how beside him lay. 

For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, 

A wakeful sentinel he stood. 

Hark ! — on the rock a footstep rung. 

And instant to his arms he sprung. 

" Stand, or thou diest! — Wliat, Malise! — soon 

Art thou returned from braes of Doune. 

By thy keen step and glance I know. 

Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe."- 

(For while the fiery cross hied on. 

On distant scout had Malise gone.) 

"Where sleeps the chief?" the hench-man said. 

" ApaM, in yonder misty glade; 

To his lone couch I'll he your guide. "^ 

Then called a slumberer by his side, 

And stirred him with his slackened bow— - 

" Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho! 

We seek the ciiieftain; on the track. 

Keep eagle watch till I come back." 

III. 

Together up the pass the)^fiped : 

" What of tl|e foemen?" Norman said. — 

" Varying reports from near and far: 

This certain — that a band of war 

Has for two days been ready boune, 

At prompt command, to march from Doune; 

King .lames, the while, with princely powers, 

Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 

Speak on our glens in tiiunder loud. 

Inured to bide such bitter bout, 

The warrior's plaid may bear it out: 

But, Norman, how wilt tliou provide 

A shelter for thy bonny bride?" — 

" What! know ye not that Roderick's care 

To the lone isle hath caused repair 

Each maid and matron of the clan. 

And every child and aged man 

Unfit for arms; and given his charge. 

Nor skift' nor sliallop, boat nor barge. 

Upon these lakes shall float at large, 

But all beside the islet moor. 

That such dear pledge may rest secure?" 

IV. 

" 'Tis well advised — the chieftain's plan 

Bespeaks the father of his clan. 

But wherefore sleeps sir Roderick Dhu 

Apart from all his followers true?" 

" It is because last evening tide 

Brian an augury hath tried. 

Of that dread kind which must not he 

Unless in dread extremitj'. 

The taghairm called; by whicli, afar, 

Our sires foresaw the events of war. ' 

Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew." 

MALISE. 

" Ah! well the gallant brute I knew ! 
The choicest of the prey we had. 
When swept our jnaerry-men Gallangad,^ 
His hide was snow, his horns were dark, 
His red eye glowed like fiery spark; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet. 
Sore did he cumber our retreat. 
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe. 
E'en at tlie pass of Beal 'maha. 
I But steep and flinty was the road, 
I And sharp tlie hurrying pikeman's goad. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



143 



And when we came to Dennan's row 
A child might scatheless stroke Ills brow." 
V. 

NOUMAX. 

"That bull was slain: his reeking hide 
Tiiey stretched the cataract beside, 
Whose waters their wild tumult toss 
Adown the black- and craggy boss 
Of that Imge cliif, whose ample verge 
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.3 
Couched on a shelve beneath its brink, 
Close where the thundering torrents sink, 
Rocking beneath their headlong sway, 
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, 
Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, 
The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
Nor distant rests the chief;— but, hush! 
See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 
The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 
To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 
Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, 
That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? 
Or raven on tiie blasted oak, 
That, watching while the deer is bi-oke,* 
His morsel claims with sullen croak !'"■' 
— " Peace! peace! to other than to me, 
Thy words were evil augury; 
But still I hold sir Roderick's blade 
Clan-Alpine's omen and lier aid. 
Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell, 
Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell. 
The chieftain joins him, see — and now, 
.""ogether they descend the brow." — 

And, as they came, witli Alpine's lord 
The hermit monk held solemn word: 
♦'Roderick! it is a feai-ful strife. 
For man endowed with mortal life, 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, 
Whose eye can stare in stony trance, 
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, — 
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled. 
The curtain of the future world. 
Yet, witness every quaking limb, 
My sunken pulse, mine eye-balls dim. 
My soul with harrowing anguish torn. 
This for my chieftain have 1 borne! — 
The shapes tliat souglit my fearful couch, 
A human tongue may ne'er avouch; 
No mortal man, — save he, who, bred 
Between tlie living and the dead, 
Is gifted beyond nature's law, — 
Had e'er survived to say he saw. 
At length tiie fateful answer came, 
In characters of living flame! 
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, 
But borne and branded on my soul; — 
Which spills the foremost foeman's life. 
That party conquers in the strife, "j 

Vll. 
"Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care! 
Good is tliine augury, and fair. 
Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood, 
But first our broadswords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
Self-offered to the auspicious blow: 
A spy has sought my land this morn. 
No eve sliall witness his return! 
My followers guard each pass's mouth, 
To east, to westward, and to south; 



• Quartered.— See note. 



Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide. 
Has cliarge to lead his steps aside, 
Till, in deep path or dingle brown, 
He light on those shall bring him down. — 
But see, who comes his news to show! 
Malise! what tidings of the foe?" 

vm. 

"At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive, 

Two barons proud their banners wave, 

1 saw the Moray's silver star. 

And marked the sable pale of Mar." — 

" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those! 

I love to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on?" — "To-morrow's noon 

Will see them here for battle boune." 

" Then shall it see a meeting stern! 

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn 

Nought of the friendly clans of Earn ' 

Strengthened by them, we well might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. — 

Thou coiddst not? — well! Clan- Alpine's men 

Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen; 

Within Loch-Katrine's gorge we'll fight, 

All in our maids' and matrons' sight, 

Eaclj for his hearth and household fire. 

Father for child, and son for sire. 

Lover for maid beloved ! — but why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear, 

A messenger of doubt and fear? 

No! sooner may the Saxon lance 

Unfix Benledi from his stance, 

Thau doubt or terror can pierce through 

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu! 

'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe 

Each to his post! — all know their charge." — 
The pibroch sounds, the bands advance. 
The broadswords gleam, the banners dance. 
Obedient to the chieftain's glance. 
I turn me from the martial roar. 
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 

IX. 

Where is the Douglas' — he is gone; 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast b}' the cave,' and makes her moan; 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are poured on her unheeding ear. — 
" He will return — dear lady, trust! 
With joy return; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek, afar. 
Some refuge from impending war, 
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cowed by the approaching storm. 
I saw their boats, with many a light. 
Floating the live-long yesternight, 
Shifting like flashes darted forth 
By the red streamers of the north; 
I marked at morn how close they ride, 
Thick moored by the lone islet's side. 
Like wild ducks couching in the fen. 
When stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the main-land side, 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?"— 

X. 

ELLEW, 

"No, Allan, no f pretext so kind 
My wakeful terrors could not blind. 
When in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a pai-ting blessing gave, 



144 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The tear that glistened in his eye 

Drowned not his purpose fixed and high. 

My soul, though feminine and weak, 

Can image his, e'en as the lake. 

Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, 

Reflects the invulnerable rock. 

He hears report of battle rife, 

He deems himself the cause of strife. 

I saw him redden when the theme 

Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream, 

Of Malcolm Grxme in fetters bound, 

Which I, thou saidst, about him wound, 

Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught? 

Oh no! 'twas apprehensive thought 

For the kind youth, — for Roderick too— 

iLet me be just) that friend so true; 
n danger both, and in our cause! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Why else that solemn warning given, 
'If not on earth, we niect in heaven?' 
Why else, to CambusTKenneth's fane. 
If eve return him not again, 
Am I to hie and make me known? 
Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne. 
Buys his friends' safety with his own;— 
He goes to do — what 1 had done, 
Had Douglas' daughter been his son!" 
XI. 

ALLAN. 

"Nay, lovely Ellen! — dearest, nay! 
If aught should his return delay. 
He only named yon holy fane. 
As fitting place to meet again. 
Be sure he's safe: and for the Grseme, 
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name! 
My visioned sight may yet prove true. 
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 
When did my gifted dream beguile? 
Think of the stranger at the isle. 
And think upon the harpings slow, 
That presaged this approaching wo! 
•Sootii was ray prophecj' of fear; 
Relieve it when it augurs cheer. 
Would we had left this dismal spot! 
Ill-luck still haunts a fairy grot. 
"Of such, a wond'rous tale 1 know — 
Dear lady, change that look of wo! 
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." 

ELLEN. 

' Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, 
But cannot stop the bursting tear." 
The minstrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 

XII. 

BALLAD. 
ALICE I1RAND.6 

Merry it is in the good green wood. 

When the mavis* and merlef are singing, 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in 
cry, 
And tlie hunter's horn is ringing. 

" O Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you; 
And we must hold by wood and wold. 

As outlaws wont to do. 

*' O Alice, 'twas for all thy locks so bright. 
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 

That on the night of our luckless flight. 
Thy brother bold I slew. 



t Blackbird. 



" Now must I teach to hew the beach, 

The hand that held the glaive. 
For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And, for vest of pall, thy fingers small, 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer, 

To keep the cold away." 

" O Richard ! if my brother died, 

'Twas but a fatal chance; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 

And fortune sped the lance. 
" If pall and vair no more I wear. 

Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray. 

As gay the forest green. 

•' And, Richard, if our lot be hard, 

And lost thy native land. 
Still Alice has her own Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand." — 
XIII. 

BALLAD COJfTINtJED. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry in good green wood. 

So blith lady Alice is singing; 
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side. 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody elfin king. 

Who won'd within the hill, — ■? 
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 
" Why sounds yon stroke on beach and oak. 

Our moonlight circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our elfin queen ?» 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green ?9 

" Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, 

For thou wert christened man;io 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly. 

For muttered word or ban. 

" Lay on him the curse of the withered heart. 

The curse of the sleepless eye; 
Till he wish and pray that his life would»part, 

Nor yet find leave to die." 
XIV. 

BALLAD CONTINUED. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry in good green wood. 
Though the birds have stilled their singing; 

The evening blaze doth Alice raise, 
And Richard is taggots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf. 

Before lord Richard stands. 
And, as he crossed and blessed himself, 
" 1 fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 

" That is made witli bloody hands." — 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 

That woman void of fear, — 
" And if tlierc's blood upon his hand, 

'Tis but the blood of deer." — 
" Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! 

It cleaves unto his hand. 
The stain of thine own kindly blood. 

The blood of Ethert Brand. " 
Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sign, — 
" And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 

A spotless hand is mine. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



145 



•« And I conjure thee, demon elf. 

By him who demons fear, 
To show us whence thou art thyself, 

And what thine errand here?" — 

XV. 

V BALLAD CONTINUED. 

" 'Tis meny, 'tis merry in fairy land, 
When fairy birds are singing. 

When the court doth ride by tiieir monarch's side, 
With bit and bridle ringing: 

" And gayly sliines the fairy land- 
But all is glistening show," 

Like the idle gleam that December's beam 
Can dart on ice and snow. 

" And fading like that varied gleam, 

Ts our inconstant shape, 
Who now like knight and lady seem, 

And now like dwarf and ape. 
" It was between the night and day, 

Wlien the fairy king lias power, 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatclied away 

To the joyless elfin bovver. '2 

" But wist I of a woman bold, 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
1 might regain my mortal mold, 

As fair a Ibrm as thine." — 

She crossed him once, she crossed him twice— 

That lady was so brave; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue, 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; 

He rose benealli her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 

Her brother, Elhert Brand I 

Merry it is in good green wood, 

When the mavis and merle are singing, , 

But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, 
When all the bells were ringing. 

XVI. 

Just as the minstrel sounds were staid, 
A stranger climbed the steepy glade; 
His martial step, his stately mien, 
His hunting suit of Lincoln green, 
His eagle glance, remembrance claims— 
'Tis Snowdoun's knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. 
Ellen beheld as in a dream. 
Then, starling, scarce suppressed a scream: 
" O stranger! in such liour of fear, 
What evil hap has brought thee here?" 
" An evil liap! how can it be, 
That bids me look again on thee? 
By promise bound, my former guide 
Met me betimes this morning tide, 
And marshalled, over bank and bourne, 
The happy patli ol" my return." — 
•' The hajipy palii ! — what ! said he nought 
Of war, of battle to be fought, 
Of guarded pass?" — " No, by my faith! 
.Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." 
" O! haste thee, Allan, to the kern, — 
Yonder his tartans I discern; 
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 
That he will guide the stranger sure!— - 
What prompted thee, unhappy man? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
Had not been bribed by love or fear, 
Unknown to him to guide thee here." — 



xvn. 

" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be. 

Since it is worthy care from thee; 

Yet life I liold but idle breath. 

When love or honour's weighed with death. 

Then let me profit by my chance. 

And speak my ])urpose bold at once. 

I come to bear thee from a wild, 

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; 

By this soft hand to lead thee far 
From frantic scenes of feud and war. 
-^ear Bochastle my horses wait. 
They bear us soon to Stirling gate: 
I'll place thee in a lovely hower, 

I'll guard thee like a tender flower " 

"_Oh, hush, sir knight! 'twere female art 

To say I do not read thy heart; 

Too much, before, my selfish ear 

Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 

That fatal bait hath lured thee back. 

In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track ! 

j^nd how, O how, can I atone 

The wreck my vanity brougiit on;-^ 

One way remains — I'll tell liim all — 

Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall! 

Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 

Buy thine own pardon with thy shame! 

But first — my failier is a man 

Outlawed and exiled, under ban; 

The price of blood is on his head, 

With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 

Still wouldst thou speak' — then hear the truth 

Fitz-James, there is a noble youth,— 

14' yet he is! — exposed for me 

And mine to dread extremity — 

Thou hast the secret of my heart; 

Forgive, be generous, and depart. " 

xvin. 

Fitz-James knew every wily train 
A lady's fickle heart to gain. 
But here he knew and felt them vain. 
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 
^o give her steadfast speech the lie; 
In maiden confidence she stood. 
Though mantled in her cheek the blood. 
And told her love with such a sigh 
Of deep and hopeless agony. 
As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom. 
And she sat sorrowing on liis tomb. 
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye, 
But not with hope fled sympathy. 
He proffered to .attend her side, 
-A.S brother would a sister guide. ^ 
" O! little know'st thoU Roderick's heart! 
Safer for both we go ||)art. 
O haste thee, and from Allan learn, 
If thou may'st trust yon wily kern." — 
With hand upon his forehead laid, 
The conflict of his mind to sliade, 
A parting step or two he made; 
Then, as some thought had crossed his brain 
He paused, and turned, and came again. 

XIX. 

-^Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
This ring the grateful monarch gave, 
And bade, when I had boon to crave, 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
l"he recompense that 1 would name. 



146 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 

But one who lives by lance and sword, 

Whose castle is his helm and shield, 

His lordship the embattled field. 

What from a prince can I demand. 

Who neither reck of state nor land? 

Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine; 

Each guard and usher knows the sign. 

Seek thou the king without delay; 

This signet shall secure thy way; 

And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 

As ransom of his pledge to me."— 

He placed the golden circlet on. 

Paused — kissed her hand — and then was gone. 

The aged minstrel stood aghast. 

So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 

He joined his guide, and wending down 

The ridges of the mountain brown. 

Across the stream tiiey took their way, 

That joins Lock-Katrine to Achray. 

XX. 

All in the Trosach's glen was still, 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill: 
Sudden his guide w hooped loud and high — 
■'-^-'-Murdoch ! was that a signal cry?" 
He stammered forth, — " I shout to scare 
Yon raven from his daint)' fare." 
He looked — he knew the raven's prey. 
His own brave steed: — "Ah! gallant gray! 
For thee — for me, perchance — 'twere well 
We ne'er had left the Trosach's dell. 
Murdoch, move first — but silently; 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die." 
Jealous and sullen on they fared. 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI. 
Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge. 
When lo ! a wasted female form, 
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm. 
In tattered weeds and wild array. 
Stood on a clift' beside the way, 
And glancing round her restless eye. 
Upon tlie wood, the rock, the skj'. 
Seemed nought to mark, yet all to spy. 
Her brow was wi-eathed with gaudy broom; 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, which tlie eagles fling 
To crag and clift' from dusky wing; 
Such spoils her desperate. step liad sought, 
Where scarce was fooling for the goat. 
The tartan plaid siie first descried. 
And shrieked till all the rocks replied; 
As loud she lauglied when near they drew, 
For then the lowland garb slie knew; 
And then her hands she wildly wrung, 
And then she wept, and then she sung.— 
She sung: — the voice, in better time. 
Perchance to harp or lute might chime; 
And now, though strained and roughened, still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 

XXII. 

SONG. 

" They bid me sleep, they bid me pra)', 
They say my brain is warped and wrung — 

I cannot sleep on highland brae, 
1 cannot pray in highland tongue. 

Rut were i now where Allan glides, 

Or heard my native Devan's tides. 

So sweetly would I rest, and pray 

That heaven would close roy winti-y day ! 



" 'Twasthus my hair they bade me braid, 

They bade me to the church repair; 
It was my bridal morn, they said. 

And my true love would meet me there. 
Rut wo betide the cruel guile. 
That drowned in blood the morning smile! 
And wo betide the fairy dream! 
I only waked to sob and scream." 

XXIII. 
" Who is this maid? what means her lay? 
She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
And flutters wide her mantle gray, 
As the lone heron spreads his wing. 
By twiliglit, o'er a haunted spring." 
" 'Tis Rlanche of Devan," ^Iur(loch said, 
" A crazed and captive lowland maid, 
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride. 
When Roderick forayed Devan side. 
Tiie gay bridegroom resistance made, 
And felt oiu* chief's unconquered blade. 
I marvel she is now at large. 
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. 
Hence, brain-sick fool!" — He raised his bow: 
" Now, if thou^trikest her but one blow, 
I'll pitch thee from tlie clifi^ as far 
As ever peasant pitched a bar." 
"Thanks, champion, thanks!" the maniac cried. 
And pressed her to Fitz-James's side. 
" See the gray pennons I prepare. 
To seek my true-love through the air! 
I will not lend that savage groom, 
To break his fall, one downy plume! 
No! — deep among disjointed stones. 
The wolves shall batten on his bones. 
And then shall his detested plaid. 
By bush and brier in mid air staid, 
Wave forth a banner fair and free, 
Meet signal for their revelry." 

XXIV. 
" Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!' 
" 0! Aou look'st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been, 
But still it loves the Lincoln green; 
And though mine ear is all unstrung, 
Still, still it- loves the lowland tongue. 
"For O, my sweet William was forester ti'ue. 

He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 
His coat it was all of the green wOod hue. 

And so blithly he trilled the lowland lay! 
" It was not that I meant to tell — 
But thou art wise, and guessest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone. 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on liie clansman, fearfully. 
She fixed her apprehensive eye; 
Then turned it on tlie knight, and tlien 
Her look glanced wildlv o'er the glen. 

XXV. 
" The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set, 
^^Ever sing merrily, merrily; 
"jThe hows they bend, and the knives they whet. 

Hunters live so cheerily. 
" It was a stag, a stag of ten,* 

Bearing his branches sturdily; 
He came stately down tlie glen. 

Ever sing hardily, hardily. 
" It was there he met with a wounded doe. 

She was bleeding dealhfully; 
She warned him of the toils below, 

O, so faithfully, faithfully! 



' Having ten braucliLS uu Uis autlcis. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



U7 



•' He had an eye, and he could heed, 

Ever sing warily, warily; 
He had a foot, and he could ispeed — 

Hunters watch so narrowly." 
XXVI. 
Fitz-T ""cs's mind was passion-tossed, 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought. 
And Blanche's song conviction brought. — 
Not like a stag that spies the snare. 
But lion of the hunt aware, 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
♦' Disclose thy treachery, or die!" — 
Forth at full speed the clansman flew, 
But in his race his bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast. — 
Murdoch of Alpine, prove thy speed. 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need! 
With heart of fire and foot of wind. 
The fierce avenger is behind! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife 
The forfeit death — the prize is life! 
Thy kindred ambush lies hefore. 
Close couched upon the heathery moor; 
Them could'st thou reach! — it may not be — 
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shall see, 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee! 
— Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, 
As liglUning strikes the pine to dust; 
With foot and hand Fitz-Jaraes must strain, 
Ei-e he can win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye. 
He grimly smiled to see hin\ die; 
Then slower wended back his way, 
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 

XXVIl. 

She sate beneath the birchen tree. 

Her elbow resting on her knee; 

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, 

And gazed on it, and feebly laughed; 

Her wreath of broom and feathers gray. 

Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 

The knight, to stanch the life-stream tried, — 

" Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried, 

" This hour of death has given me more 

Of reason's power than years before; 

For, as these ebbing veins decay. 

My frenzied visions fade away. 

A helpless injured wretch I die, 

And something tells me in thine eye. 

That thou wert my avenger born. 

Seest thou this tress?" — O! still I've, worn 

This little tress of yellow hair. 

Through di^pger, frenzy, and despair! 

It once was bright and clear as thine. 

But blood ariW tears have dimmed its shine. 

I will not tell thee when 'twas shred. 

Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 

My brain would turti! — but it shall wave 

Like plumage on thy helmet brave. 

Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 

And thou wilt bring it me again. — 

1 waver still. O God! more bright 

Let reason beam her parting light! 

O! by thy knighthood's honoured sign. 

And for ihv life preserved by mine. 

When thou shalt see a darksome man. 

Who boasts him chief of Alpine's clan, 

With tartans broad and shadowy plume, 

A.nd hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 



Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong. 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong! 
They watch for thee by pass and fell — 
Avoid the path — O God! — fai-ewell!" 

xxvin. 

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-.lames; 

Fast poured his eye at pity's claims, 

And now, with niingled grief and ire, 

He saw tlie murdered maid expire. 

" God, in my need, be my relief, 

As I wreak this on yonder chief !" 

A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 

He blended with her bridegi-oom's hair; 

The mingled braid in blood he died, 

And placed it on his bonnet side: 

" By Him whose word is trulli! I swear, 

No other favour will I wear, 

TiJl this sad token I enibrue 

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu! 

— But hark! what means yon faint halloo? 

The chase is up, — but they shall know. 

The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." 

Barred from the known but guarded way. 

Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray, 

And oft must change his desperate track, 

By stream and [jrecipice turn'd back. 

Heartless, fatigued, and taint, at length, 

Fi-om lack of food and loss of strength. 

He couched him in a thicket hoar. 

And tliought his toils and perils o'er: 

" Of all my rash adventures past. 

This frantic feat must prove the last! 

Who e'er so mad but might have guessed. 

That all this highland hornet's ne'st 

Would muster up in swarms so soon 

As e'er they heard of bands at Doune? 

Like bloodhounds now they search me out, — 

Hark, to the whistle and the shout! 

If farther through the wilds 1 go, 

I only fall upon the foe; 

ril couch me liere till evening gray, 

Then darkling try my dangerous way." — 

XXIX. 
The shades of eve come slowly down. 
The woods are wrapped in deeper brown, 
The owl awakens from her dell, 
The fox is heard upon the fell; 
Enough remains of glimmering light. 
To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 
Yet not enough from far to show 
His figure to the watchful foe. 
With cautious step, and ear awake. 
He climbs the crag, and threads the brake; 
And not the summer solstice, there. 
Tempered the midnight mountain air, 
But every breeze, that swept the wold. 
Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 
In dread, in danger, and alone. 
Famished and chilled, through ways unknown^ 
Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; 
Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 
A watch-fire close beside him burned. 

XXX. 

Beside its embers i-ed and clear. 

Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer; 

And up he sprung, with sword in hand, — 

" Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!" 

" A stranger." — " What dost thou require'" 

" Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My life's beset, my path is lost, 

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." 



148 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"Art thou a friend to Roderick?"— "No." — 

" Thou darest not call thyself a foe?" 

"I dare! to him and all the band 

He brings to aid his murderous hand." 

•'Bold words!~bat, though the beast of game 

The privilege of chase may claim, 

Though space and law the stag we lend, 

Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend. 

Who ever recked where, how, or when, 

The prowling fox was trapped and slain?'^ 

Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 

Who sav thou earnest a secret spy!" — 

" Tliey "do, by heaven ! —Come Roderick Dhu, 

And of his clan the boldest two, 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." — 

" If by the blaze 1 mark aright, 

Tiiou bearest the belt and spur of knight." 

" Then by these tokens may'st thou know 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe. " 

" Enough, enough; sit down and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." — 

XXXI. 

He gave him of his highland cheer, 

The hardened ilesh of mountain deer;''* 

Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 

And hade the Saxon sliare his plaid. 

He tended him like welcome guest, 

Then thus his further speech addressed. 

" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 

A clansman born, a kinsman true; 

Each word against his honour spoke 

Demands of me avenging stroke; 

Yet more, — up6n thy fate, 'tis said, 

A mighty augury is laid. 

It rests witli me to wind my horn, — 

Thou art witli numbers overborne; 

It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand: 

But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause. 

Will I depart from honour's laws; 

To assail a wearied man were shame, 

And stranger is a holy name; 

Guidance and rest, and food and fire. 

In vain he never must require. 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day; 

Myself will guide thee on the way. 

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 

rill past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard, 

As far as Coilantogle's ford; 

From thence tiiy warrant is thy sword." 

"1 take thy courtesy, by heaven. 

As freely as 'tis nobly given!" — 

" Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry 

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." — 

With that he shook ttie gathered heath. 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath; 

And the brave foemen, side by side. 

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried. 

And slept until the dawning beam 

Purpled the mountain and the stream. 

CANTO V. 

THE COMBAT. 

I. 

Faik as the earliest beam of eastern light. 
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied, 

It smiles upon the dreary brow of night. 
And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide. 

And lights the fearful path on mountain side; 



Fair as that beam, although the fairest far. 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride, 

Shine martial faitl), and courtesy's bright star. 
Through all tiie wreckful storms tliat cloud the 
brow of war. 

U. 
That early beam, so fair and sheen. 
Was twinkling tluough the hazel screen, 
When, rousing at its glimmer red. 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by, 
And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
As short and rude, tlieir soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael* around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue. 
And, true to promise, led the way. 
By thicket green and mountain gray. 
A wildering path! — They winded now 
Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
Tlie windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the v.iles between that lie, 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky; 
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
Gained not tlie length of horseman's lance. 
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain; 
So tangled oft, that, bursting llu-ough. 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, 
That diamond dew, so pure and cleai-. 
It i-ivals all but beauty's tear! 

HI. 
At length they came where, stern and steep. 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose; 
Ever the hollow path twined on, 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone; 
An hundred men might liold the post 
With hai'diliood against a host. ■ 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak. 
With shingles bare, and clifts between, 
And patches bright oi bracken green, 
And heather black, that waved so high. 
It held the copse in rivalry. 
But where the lake slept deep and still, 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill; 
And oft both path and hill were torn. 
Where wintry torrents down had borne. 
And heaped upon the cumbered land 
Its wreclc of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
So toilsome was the road to trace, 
The guide, abating of his pace, 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
And asked Fitz-James, by what straiTge Qaus« 
He sought these wilds, traversed by iew. 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 

IV. 
" Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side; 
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
" I dreamed not now to claim its aid. 
When here, but three days since, I came. 
Bewildered in pursuit of game, 
All seemed as peaceful and as still. 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill; 
Tiiy dangerous chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war. 

♦ 'the Scottish hiphlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, 
and terms tlie lowlanders, Sassenach, or Saxons. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Thus said, at least, my mountain guide. 
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." 
" Yet'wliy a second venture try?" — 
" A warrior thou, and ask me why! 
Moves our free course by such fixed cause, 
As gives the poor mechanic laws? 
Enough, 1 sought to drive away 
Tiie lazy hours of peaceful day; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A knight's free footsteps far and wide,— 
A falcon flown, a graj'-hound strayed, 
The merry glance of mountain maid; 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone. "— 

V. 

" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not; — 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
Say, heard ye nougiit of lowland war. 
Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?" 
" No, by my word; of bands prepared 
To guard king James's sports I heard; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
:This muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
Wiiich else in Uoune had peaceful hung." 
" Free be they flung! — for we were loth 
Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
Free be they flung! as free shall wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came. 
Bewildered in the mountain game. 
Whence liie bold boast by which you show 
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?" 
" ^Va^rior, but yester-morn 1 knew 
Nought of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Save as an outlawed desperate man. 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who, in the regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight: 
Yet tliis alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart. " 

VI. 

Wrothful at such arraignment foul, 
Dark loured the clansman^s sable scowl. 
A space he paused, tlien sternly said, 
" And heard'st thuu why he drew his blade? 
Heard 'st tliou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe? 
What recked the chieftain if lie stood 
On highland heatii, or Holy-Rood? 
He rights sucii wrong where it is given, 
If it were in the court of heaven." 
" Still was it outrage; — yet 'lis true. 
Not then claimed sovereignty his due; 
While Albany, with feeble hand. 
Held borrowed truncheon of command,i 
The young king, mewed in Stirling tower. 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then, thy chieftain's robber life! 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife. 
Wrenching from ruined lowland swaia 

His herds and harvest reared in vain 

Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne." 

VII. 
The Gael beheld him grim the while 
And answered witli disdainful smile,—- 
" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye. 
Far to the south and east, where lay, 
E,\tended in succession gay. 



I Deep waving fields and pastures green. 
With gentle elopes and groves between; 
These fertile plains, that softened vale. 
Were once the birthright of the Gael; 
The stranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and'fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread. 
For fattened steer or household bread; 
Ask we for flocks these sliingles dry, 
And well the mountain might reply, — 
' To you, as to your.sires of yore. 
Belong the target and claymore! 
I give you shelter in my breast. 
Your own good blades must win the rest.' 
Pent in this fortress of ihe north, 
Think'st tliou -we will not sally forth, 
To spoil the spoiler as we may. 
And from the robber rend the prey? . 
Ay, by my soul! — While on yon plain 
The Saxon i-ears one shock of grain; 
While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 
But one along yon river's maze. 
The Gael, of plain and river lieir, 
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.'^ 
Where live the mountain cliiefs who hold. 
That plundering lowland field and fold 
Is aught but retribution true? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 

ATII. 
Answered Fitz-James,— *" And, if 1 sought, 
Think'st thou no other could be brought? 
What deem ye of my path way-laid? 
My life given o'er to ambuscade?" 
" As of a meed to rashness due; 
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, 
1 seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 
I seel?, good faith, a highland maid; 
Free hadst thou been to come and go; 
But secret path marks secret foe. 
Nor yet, for this, e'en as a spy, 
Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die, 
Save to fulfil an augury. " 
" Well, let it pass; nor will I now 
Fresh cause of enmity avow. 
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
Enough, I am by promise tied 
To match me with this man of pride: 
Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 
In peace; but when I come agen, 
I come with banner, brand, and bow. 
As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
For love-lorn swain in lady's bower. 
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 
As I, until before me stand 
This rebel chieftain and his band." 

IX. 
" Have, then, thy wish!"— he whistled shrilly 
And he was answered from the hill; 
Wild as the scream of the curlieu. 
From crag to crag the signal flew. 
Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bowsf 
On right, on left, above, below. 
Sprung up at once the lurking foe; ' 
From shingles gray their lances start. 
The bracken bush sends forth tlie dart, 
The rushes and the willow-wand . 
Are bristling into axe and bra'nd, 
And every tuft of broom gives life 
To plaided warrior armed for strife. 



150 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



That whistle garrisoned the glen 

At once with full five hundred men, 

As if the yawning hill to heaven 

A subterranean host had given. 

Watching their leader's heck and will, 

All silent there they stood, and still; 

Like the loose crags whose threateuing mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 

As if an infant's touch could urge 

rheir headlong \)assage down the verge. 

With step and v eapon forward flung, 

Upon the mountain-side they hung. 

The mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's living side, 

Then fixed his eye and sable brow 

Full on f itz-.Tames — " How say'st thou now.? 

These are Clan- Alpine's warriors true; 

And, Saxon, — 1 am Roderick Dhu!" 

X. 

Fitz-James was brave: — Though to his heart 

The life-blood thrilled with sudden start. 

He manned himself with dauntless air, 

Returned the chief his haughty stare. 

His back against a rock he bore, 

And firndy placed his foot before. 

« Come one, come all! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as 1." 

Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise. 

And the stern joy which warriors feel 

In foemen worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hand: 

Down sunk the disappearing band; 

Each warrior vanished where he stood. 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low; 

It seemed as if their mother earth 

Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 

The wind's last l)reath had tossed in air. 

Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill side, 

Where heath and fern were waving wide; 

The sun's last glance was glinted back, 

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — 

The next, all unreflected, shone 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

XI. 

Fitz-James looked round — yet scarce believed 

The witness that his sight received; 

Such apparition well might seem 

Delusion of a dreadful dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed. 

And to his look the chief replied, 

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 

But doubt not aught from mine ari-ay. 

Thou art my guest; I pledged my word 

As far as Coilantogle ford: 

Nor would 1 call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand. 

Though on our strife lay every vale 

Rent by tlie Saxon from the Gael. 

So move ve on; I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant, 

Deeming this path you might pursue, 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."" 

They moved; — I said Fitz-.Tames was brave, 

As ever knight that belted glaive; 

Yet dare not say, that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and tempered flood. 



As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
That seeming lonesome pathway through, 
Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 
With lances, that, to take his life, 
Waited but signal from a guide. 
So late dishonoured and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanished guardians ot the ground. 
And still, from copse and heather deep, 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep. 
And in the plover's sin-illy strain. 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free tyi far belund 
The pass was left; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green. 
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 
Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near. 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

XII. 

The chief in silence strode before, 

And reached that torrent's sounding shore, 

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 

From Vennachar in silver breaks, 

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 

On Bochastle the mouldering lines. 

Where Rome, the empress of the world, 

Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.* 

And here his course the chieftain staid. 

Threw down his target «nd his plaid. 

And to the lowland warrior said: 

"Bold Saxon! to his promise just, 

Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust. 

This murderous chief, this ruthless man. 

This head of a rebellious clan, 

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward. 

Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 

Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 

See, here, all vantageless I stand, 

Armed, like thyself, with single brand;^ 

For this is Coilantogle ford. 

And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

XIII. 

The Saxon paused: — "I ne'er delayed. 

When foeman bade me draw my blade; 

Nay more, brave chief, I vowed thy death: 

Yet sure tliy fair and generous faith, 

And my deep debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved: 

Can nought but blood our feud atone? 

Are there no means?"— "No, stranger, none! 

And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal. 

The Saxon cause rests on tliy steel; 

For thus spoke fate, by prophet bred 

Between the living and the dead: — • 

' Who spills the foremost foeman's life. 

His party conquers in the strife.' " 

"Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 

"The riddle is already read. 

Seek yonder brake beneath the clift", 

There lies red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 

Thus fate has solved her prophecy. 

Then yield to fate, and not to me. 

To James, at Stirling, let us go, 

When, if thou wilt be still his foe. 

Or if the king shall not agree 

To grant thee grace and favour free, 

1 plight mine honour, oath, and word. 

That, to thy native strengths restored, 

With each advantage shalt thou stand. 

That aids thee now to guard thy land." 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE;. 



151 



XIV. 

Dark lightning; flashed from Roderick's eye — 
' Soars thy presumption then so high, 
Because a wretched kern ye slew. 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu? 
He yields not, he, to man nor fate! 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate: 
My clansman's blood demands revenge.^ 
Not yet prepared' — By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold tliy valour liglU 
As that of some vain carpet-knight. 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair." — 
" I Uiank thee, Roderick, for the word! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; 
For I have sworn, this braid to stain 
In the blest blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, be gone! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud chief! can courtesy be shown; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern. 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt— 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." — 
Then each at once his falchion drew. 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw. 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 
As what they ne'er miglit see again; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 

XV. 

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw,6 
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dashed aside; 
For, trained abroad his arms. to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.^ 
He jjractised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; 
While less expert, tiiough stronger far, 
The Gael maintained unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood. 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood. 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide. 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain. 
And showered his blows like wintry rain; 
And, as firm rock, or castle roof. 
Against the winter shower is proof, 
The foe, invulnerable still. 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; 
Till, at advantage ta'eu, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand. 
And, backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. 

XVI. 

" Now, yield ye, or, by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!" 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, 1 defy! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die." — 
Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil, 
Like mountain-cat who guards her young. 
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung;^ 
Received, but recked not of a wound. 
And locked his arms his foeman round.— J 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
12 



That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 
Through bars ot brass and triple steel ! 
They tug, they strain; — down, down, they go, 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed. 
His knee was planted in his breast; 
His clotted locks he backward threw. 
Across his brow his hand lie drew, 
From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
Tiien gleamed aloft his dagger bright! — 
— But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
And all too late the advantage came. 
To turn the odds of deadly game; 
For while the dagger gleamed on high. 
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. 
Down came the blow; but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting chief's relaxing grasp; 
Unwounded from the dreadful close. 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 

XVII. 

He faltered thanks to heaven for life, 
Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife; 
Next on his foe his look he cast. 
Whose every gasp appeared his last; 
In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid, — 
" Poor Blanclio! thy wrongs are dearly paid; 
Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 
The praise that faith and valour give."— 
With that he blew a bugle note, 
Undid the collar from his throat, 
Unbonnetted, and by the wave 
Sat down, his brow and hands to lave. 
Then taint afar are heard the feet 
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet; 
The sounds increase, and now are seen 
Four mounted squires in Lincoln green; 
Two wlio bear lance, and two who lead. 
By loosened rein, a saddled steed; 
Each onward held his headlong course, 
And by Fitz-James reined up his horse — 
With wonder viewed the bloody spot — 
— " Exclaim not, gallants! question not, — 
You, Herbert and Luffhess, alight. 
And bind the wounds of yonder knight; 
Let the gray palfrey bear his weight. 
We destined for a fairer freight, 
And bring him on to Stirling straight; 
I will before .it better speed. 
To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 
The sun rides high; — I must be boune 
To see the archer-game at noon; 
But lightly Bayard clears the lea.— 
I De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 

XVI n. 

" Stand, Bayard, stand!" — the steed obeyed. 

With arching neck and bended head, 

And glancing eye, and quivering ear, 

As if he loved his lord to hear. 

No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid, 

No grasp upon the saddle laid. 

But wreathed his left hand in the mane. 

And lightly bounded from the plain. 

Turned on the horse his armed heel. 

And stirred his courage with the steel. 

Bounded the fiery steed in air, 

The rider sate erect and fair. 

Then, like a bolt from steel cross-bow 

Forth lanched, along the plain they go. 



152 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



They dashed that rapid torrent through, 
And up Carhonie's hill they flew; 
Still at the gallop i)riuked the knight, 
His merry-men followed as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride, 
And in the race tliey mock thy tide; 
Torry and Lendriek now are past, 
And Deanstown lies hehind them cast; 
They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland soon; 
Klair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire, 
Tliey sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
'l"he lofty brow of ancient Kier; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Fortii! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on tlie opposing shore take ground, 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Right hand they leave tliy cliffs, Craig-Forth! 
And soon the bulwark of the north. 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and town. 
Upon their fleet career looked down. 

XIX. 

As up the flinty path they strained, 

Sudden his steed the leader reined; 

A signal to his squire he flung. 

Who instant to his stirrup sprung: 

" Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray, 

"Who townward holds the rocky way, 

Of stature tall and poor array ? 

Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, 

M'ith which he scales the mountain side? 

Know'st thou from wtience he conies, or whom?'' 

" No, by my word; — a hurley groom 

He seems, mIio in the field or chase 

A baron's train would nobly grace." 

" Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply. 

And jealousy, no sharper eye? 

Afar, ere to the hill he drew. 

That stately form and step I knew: 

Like form in Scotland is not seen. 

Treads not such step on Scottish green. 

'Tis James of Douglas, by St. Serle! 

The uncle of the banished earl. 

Away, away, to court, to show 

The near approach of dreaded foe: 

The king must stand upon his guard: 

Douglas and he must meet prepared." 

Then right hand wheeled their steeds, and strait 

They won the castle's postern gate. 

XX. 

The Douglas, who had bent his way 

From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray. 

Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 

Held sad communion with himself: — 

" Yes! all is true my fears could frame: 

A prisoner lies the noble Grceme, 

And fiery Roderick soon will feel 

The vengeance of the royal steel. 

I, only [, can ward their fate, 

God grant the ransom come not late! 

The abbess hath her promise given, 

My child shall be the bride of heaven: 

Be pardoned one repining tear! 

For He, who gave her, knows how dear. 

How excellent! — but that is by, 

And now my business is — to die. 

— Ye towers! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled, 

And thou, O sad and fatal mound! 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound ,9 



As on the noblest of the land 

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand. 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare, for Douglas seeks his doom! 

— But hark! what blith and jolly peal 

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel? 

And see! upon the crowded street. 

In motley groups what masquers meet! 

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum. 

And merry morrice-dancers come. 

I guess, by all this quaint array. 

The burghers hold their sports to-day. ><> 

James will be there; he loves such show. 

Where the good yeoman bends his bow. 

And the tough wrestler foils his foe, 

A.S well as where, in proud career. 

The high-born tiller shivers spear. 

I'll follow to the castle-park. 

And play my prize: king James shall mark, 

If age has tamed these sinews stark. 

Whose force so oft, in happier days. 

His boyish wonder loved to praise." 

XXL 

The castle gates were open flung, 

The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung. 

And echoed loud the flinty street 

Beneath the coursers' clattering feet. 

As slowly down the deep descent 

Fair Scotland's king and nobles went. 

While all along the crowded way 

Was jubilee and loud huzza. 

And ever James was bending low. 

To his white jennet's saddle bow, 

Dofling his cap to city dame. 

Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame. 

And well the simperer might be vain,— 

He chose the fairest of the train. 

Gravely he greets each city sire. 

Commends each pageant's quaint attire. 

Gives to the dancej-s thanks aloud. 

And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 

Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, 

"Long live the commons' king, king James!" 

Behind the king thronged peer and knight. 

And noble dame and damsel bright. 

Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay 

Of the steep street and crowded way. 

But in the train you might discern 

Dark lowering brow and visage stern; 

There nobles mourned their pride restrained. 

And the mean burghers' joys disdained; 

And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan. 

Were each from home a banished man, 

There thought upon their own gray tower. 

Their waving woods, their feudal power. 

And deemed themselves a shameful part 

Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 

XXII. 

Now, in the castle-park, drew out 
Their chequered bands the joyous rout. 
There morricers, with bell at heel. 
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; 
But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
Bold Robin Hood" and all his band, — 
Friar Tuck, with quarter-staff' and cowl, 
Old Scathelocke, with his surly scowl, 
Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone. 
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; 
Their bugles challenge all that will. 
In archery to prove their skill. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



153 



^\ 



The Douglas bent a bow ot might, 
His first shaft centered in the white, 
And wiien in turn he shot again, 
His second split the first in twain. 
From the king's hand must Douglas take 
A silver dart, the arclier's stake; 
Fondly he watched, with watery eye. 
Some answering glance of sympathy,— 
No kind emotion made reply! 
Indifferent as to archer wight. 
The monarch gave the arrow bright. '2 

XXIII. 

Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose. 
And proud demanded mightier foes, 
Nor called in vain; for Douglas came. 
— For life is Hugh of Larbert lame; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 

jWhom senseless home his comratles bear. 

"^rize of the wrestling match, the king 
To Douglas gave a golden ring, '3 
While coldly glanced his eye of blue, 
As frozen drop of wintry dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
His struggling soul his words suppressed: 
Indignant then he turned him where 
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, 
To hurl the massive bar in air. 

, When each his utmost strength had shown, 

[The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 
From its deep bed, then heaved it iiigh, 
And sent the fragment through the sky, 
A rood beyond the farthest mark; — 
And still in Stirling's royal park. 
The gray-haired sires, who know the past, 
To strangers point the Douglas-cast, 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern day. 

XXIV. 

The vale with loud applauses rang. 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 
The king, with look unmoved, bestowed 
A purse well filled with pieces broad. 
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud. 
And threw the gold among the crowd, 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan. 
And sharper glance, the" dark gray man; 
Till whispers rose among the throng. 
That heart so free, and hand so, strong. 
Must to the Douglas' blood belong: 
The old men marked, and shook the head, 
To see his l\air with silver spread. 
And wjnked aside, and told each son 
Of feats upon the English done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately form. 
Though wrecked by many a winter's storm; 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing nature's law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd. 
Till murmur rose to clamours loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled round the king. 
With Douglas held communion kind. 
Or called the banished man to mind; 
No, not from those who, at the chase. 
Once held his side the honoured place, 
Begirt his board, and, in the field. 
Found safety underneath his shield: 



For he whom royal eyes disown. 
When was his form to courtiers known? 

XXV. 

The monarch saw the gambols flag. 

And bade let loose a gallai\t stag. 

Whose pride, tlie holiday to crown. 

Two favourite greyhounds shouhl pull down, 

Tliat venison free, and Bourdeaux wine 

Migiit serve the archery to dine. 

But Lufra, — wiiom from Douglas' side. 

Nor bribe nor threat coidd e'er divide, 

Tiie fleetest hound in all the north, — 

Brave Lufra saw, and darted foi-th. 

She left the royal hounds mid way. 

And, dashing on the antlered prey, 

Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank. 

And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 

The king's stout huntsman saw the sport 

By strange intruder broken short. 

Came up, and,, with his leash unbound. 

In anger struck the noble hound. 

— The Douglas had endured, that morn, 

The king's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 

And last, and worst to spirit proud, 

Had borne the pity of the crowd; 

But Lufra had been fondly bred 

To share his board, to watch his bed. 

And oft would Ellen, Lufra's neck. 

In maiden glee, with garlands deck; 

They were such play-mates, that with name 

Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 

His stifled wrath is brimming high. 

In darkened brow and flashing eye; 

As waves before the bark divide. 

The crowd gave way before his stride; 

Needs but a buffet and no more. 

The groom lies senseless in his gore. 

Such blow no other hand could deal. 

Though gauntleted in glove of steel. 

XXVL 
Then clamoured loud the royal train, 
And brandished swords and staves amain. 
But stern the baron's warning — "Back! 
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 
Beware the Douglas! — Yes, behold. 
King James! the Douglas, doomed of old, 
And vainly sought for near and far, 
A victim to atone the war: 
A willing victim now attends. 
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." 
— " Thus is my clemency repaid? 
Presumptuous lord!" the monarch said; 
" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man. 
The only man in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not know; 
But shall a monarch's presence brook 
Injurious Mow, and haughty look? 
What ho! the captain ot our guard! 
Give the offender fitting ward. 
Break off the sports! — "for tumult rose, 
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, — 
"Break off the sports!" — he said, and frowned, 
"And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 

xxvn. 

Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marred the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen pricked among the crowd. 
Repelled by threats and insult loud; 
To earth are borne the old and weak, 
The timorous fly, the women shriek; 



154 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, 
The hardier urge tumultuous war. 
At once round Douglas darkly sweep 
The royal spears in circle deep. 
And slowly scale the ])athway steep; 
Wliile on the rear in thunder pour 
The rabble with disordered roar. 
With grief the noble Douglas saw 
The commons rise against the law, 
And to the leacUng soldier said, 
" Sir John of Hyndford! 'twas my blade 
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid; 
For that good deed permit me, then, 
A word with these misguided men. 

XXVIII. 
" Hear, gentle friends! ere, yet for me 
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honour, and my cause, 
1 tender free to Scotland's laws; 
Are these so weak as must require 
Tlie aid of your misguided ire?j 
Or, if 1 suffer causeless wrong. 
Is tiien my selfish rage so strong. 
My sense of public weal so low. 
That, for mean vengeance on a foe, 
Those chords of love I should unbind 
Which knit my country and my kind? 
Oh no! believe, in yonder tower 
It will not sooth my captive hour. 
To know those spears our foes should dread. 
For me in kindred gore are red. 
To know, in fruitless brawl begun 
For me, that mother wails her son; 
For me, that widow's mate expires; 
For me, that orphans weep their sires, 
That patriots mourn insulted laws. 
And curse the Douglas for the cause. 
O! let your patience ward such ill. 
And keep youi- right to love me still!" 

XXIX. 
The crowd's wild fury sunk again 
In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 
With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed 
For blessings on his generous head. 
Who for his country felt alone, 
And prized her blood beyond his own. 
Old men, upon the verge of life. 
Blessed him who stayed the civil strife; 
And mothers held their babes on high, 
The self-devoted chief to spy. 
Triumphant over wrong and ire. 
To whom the prattlers owed a sire: 
E'en the rough soldier's heart was moved: 
As if behind some bier beloved, 
With trailing arms and drooping head. 
The Douglas up the liill he led, 
And at the castle's battled verge, 
Witli sighs resigned his honoured charge. 

XXX. 
The offended monarch rode apart, 
With bitter thought and swelling hearty 
And would not now vouchsafe again 
Through Stirling's streets to lead his ti-ain. 
" O Lennox, wlio would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, tliis common fool? 
Hear'st thou," he said, "the loud acclaim. 
With which they shout the Douglas name? 
.With like acclaim the vulgar throat 
Strained for king James their morning note: 
With like acclaim they hailed the day 
Wljen iirst I broke the Douglas' way; 



And like acclaim would Douglas greet, 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, 
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain? 
Vain as the leaf upon tlie stream. 
And fickle as a changeful dream; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood. 
And fierce as frenzy's fevered blood. 
Thou many-headed monster thing, 
O! who would wish to be thy king! — 

XXXI. 
" But soft! what messenger of speed 
Spurs hitherward his panting steed? 
I guess his cognizance afar — 
What from our cousin, John of Mar?" — 
" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 
Witliin the safe and guarded ground: 
For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 
Most sure for evil to tlie throne, — 
Tlie outlawed cliieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Has summoned liis rebellious crew; 
'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 
These loose banditti stand arrayed. 
The earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune, 
To break their muster marched, and soon 
Your grace will hear of battle fought; 
But earnestly the earl besouglit. 
Till for sucii danger he provide. 
With scanty train you will not ride."— 

XXXII. 
" Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, — 
I should have earlier looked to this; 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
— Retrace with speed thy former way; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war; 
Roderick, tiiis morn, in single fight, 
VV^as made our prisoner by a knight; 
And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host. 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel, 
For their chiefs' crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mar our message, Braco; fly!"^- 
He turned his steed, — " My liege, I hie, 
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, 
I fear the broad-swords will be drawn." 
The turf the flying courser spurned. 
And to his towers the king returned. 

XXXIU. 
Ill with king James's mood that day. 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay; 
Soon were dismissed the courtly throng, 
And soon cut short the festal song. 
Nor less upon the saddened town. 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The burghers spoke of civil jar. 
Of rumoured feuds and mountain war. 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms; — the Douglas too. 
They mourned him pent within the hold, 
"Where stout earl William was of old,"* — 
And tliere his word the speaker staid. 
And finger on iiis lip he laid, 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen, from the west. 
At evening to the castle pressed; 



Stabbed by James II, in Stirling castle. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



155 



And busy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore; 
At noon the deadly fray begun, 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumour shook the town. 
Till closed the night her pennons brown. 



THE GXTARD-nOOM. 
I. 

The sun awakening, through the smoky air 

Of the dai-k city, casts a sullen glance. 
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance; 
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, 

And scaring prowling robber to his den; 
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, 

And warning student pale to leave his pen. 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men. 

What various scenes, and, O! what scenes of wo, 

Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! 
The fevered patient, from his pallet low. 

Through crowded hospitals beholds its stream; 
The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam. 

The debtor wakes to thoughts of gj've and jail; 
The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream ; 

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, 
Trims her si6k infant's couch, and sooths his feeble 
wail. 

n. 

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 

With soldier step and weapon clang, 

\/hile drums, with rolling note, foretell 

Relief to weary sentinel. 

Through narrow loop and casement barred 

The sunbeams sought the court of guard. 

And, struggling with the smoky air. 

Deadened tlie torch's yellow glare. 

In comfortless alliance shone 

The lights through arch of blackened stone, 

And showed wild shapes in garb of war. 

Faces deformed with beard and scar. 

All haggard from the midnight watch. 

And fevered with the stern debauch; 

For the oak table's massive board. 

Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. 

And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, 

Showed in what sport the night had flown. 

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench: 

Some laboured still their thirst to quench; 

Some, cliilled with watching, spread their hands 

O'er the huge chimney's dying brands. 

While round them, or beside them flung. 

At every step their harness rung. 

HI. 

These drew not for their fields the sword. 

Like tenants of a feudal lord. 

Nor owned the patriarchal claim 

Of chieftain in their leader's name; 

Adventurers they,i from far who roved, 

To live by battle which they loved. 

There the Italian's clouded face. 

The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 

The mountain-loving Switzer there 

More freely breathed in mountain-air; 

The Fleming there despised the soil. 

That paid so ill the labourer's toil; 

The rolls showed French and German name. 

And merry England's exiles came, 



To share, with ill-concealed disdain. 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well trained to wield 
The heavy halbert, brand, and shield; 
In camps licentious, wild, and bold; 
In pillage, fierce and uncontrolled; 
And now, by holy tide and feast. 
From rules of discipline released. 

IV. 

They held debate of blood)' fray. 

Fought 'twixt Loch-Katrine and Achray. 

Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words. 

Their liands oft grappled to their swords; 

Nor sunk llieir tone to spare the ear 

Of wounded comrades groaning near. 

Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored. 

Bore token of the mountain sword, 

Though neighbouring lo the court of guard. 

Their prayers an,d feverish wails were heard: 

Sad burden to the ruffian joke. 

And savage oath by fury spt)ke ! — 

At length up started John of Brent, 

A yeoman from the. banks of Trent; 

A stranger to respect or fear. 

In peace a chaser of the deer. 

In host a hardy mutineer. 

But still the boldest of the crew. 

When deed of danger was to do. 

He grieved, that day, their games cut short, 

And marred the dicer's brawling sporl, 

And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl! 

And, while a merry catch I troll. 

Let each the buxom chorus bear, * 

Like brethren of the brand and spear." 

V. 
soiniEii's SOS^G. 
Our vicar still preachers that Peter and Poule 
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown 

bowl. 
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black. 

jack, 
And the seven deadly sins m a flagon of sack; 
Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with the liquor. 
Drink upsees* out, and a fig for the vicar! 
Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, 
Says that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly. 
And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black 

eye; 
Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker. 
Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar! 

Our vicar thus preaches — and wliy sliould he not* 
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot; 
And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch. 
Who infringe the domains of our good mother 

church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor. 
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar! 

VI. 
The warder's challenge, heard without. 
Staid in mid roar the merry shout. 
A soldier to the portal went, — 
" Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; 
And, beat for jubilee the drum! 
A maid and minstrel with him come." 
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, 
Was entering now tlie court of guard, 
A harper with him, and in plaid 
All muffled close, a mountain maid, 

•A Bacchanalian interjection, Jiorrowed from the Dutch. 



*4 



156 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view 

Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 

«« What news?" they roared: — " I only know, 

From noon till eve we tought with ibe. 

As wild and as untaraeable 

As the rude mountains where they dwell. 

On both sides store of blood is lost, 

Ivor much success can either boast." 

" But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil 

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; 

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp I 

Get thee an ape, and trudge tlie land, 

The leader of a juggler band." — ^ 

VII. 
" No, comrade; no such fortune mine. 
After the fight, these souglit our line, 
That aged harper and the girl. 
And, having audience of the earl. 
Mar bade 1 should purvey them steed. 
And bring them hithei'ward with speed. 
Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, 
For none shall do them shame or harm." 
•' Hear ye his boast?" cried John of Brent, 
Ever to strife and jangling bent; 
*' Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, 
And yet the jealous niggard grudge 
To pay the forester his fee! 
I'll have my share howe'er it be, 
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 
Bertram his forward step withstood; 
And, burning in his vengeful mood, 
Old Allan, tliough unfit for strife, 
Lsid hand upon his dagger-knife; 
But Ellen boldly stepped between. 
And dropped at once the tartan screen; 
So, from his morning cloud, appears 
The sun of May, through summer tears. 
The savage soldiery amazed. 
As on descended angel gazed; 
E'en hardy Brent, abashed and tamed. 
Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 

viir. 

Boldly she spoke: — " Soldiers, attend! 
My father was the soldier's friend; 
Cheered him in camps, in marches led, 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant, or the strong, 
Should exile's (laughter suffer wrong." 
Answered De Brent, most forward still 
In every feat, or good or ill,— 
"I shame me of the part i played: 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! 
An outlaw 1 by forest laws. 
And merry Need wood knows the cause. 
Poor Rose, — if Rose be living now," 
He wiped his iron eye and brow, 
" Must bear such a^e, 1 think, as thou. 
Hear ye, my mates, — I go to call 
The captain of our watch to hall; 
Tiiere lies my halbert on the floor; 
And he that steps my halKert o'er, 
To do the maid injurious part. 
My shaft shall quiver in liis heart! 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough: 
Ye all know John De Bient. Enough." 

IX. 
Their captain came, a gallant young — 
(Of Tullibardine's house lie sprung,) 
Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; 
Gay was his mien, his humour light, 



And, though by courtesy controlled. 

Forward his speech, his bearing bold. 

The high-born maiden ill could brook 

The scanning of his curious look. 

And dauntless eye; — and yet, in sooth, 

Young Lewis Avas a generous youth; 

But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 

Ill-suited to the garb and scene. 

Might lightly bear construction strange. 

And give loose fancy scope to range. 

" Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid! 

Come ye to seek a champion's aid. 

On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 

Like arrant damosel of yore? 

Does thy high quest a knight require, 

Or may the venture suit a squire?" 

Her dark eye flashed; — she paused and sighed, 

" O what have I to do with pride! 

Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, 

A suppliant for a father's life, 

I crave an audience of the king. 

Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 

The royal pledge of grateful claims. 

Given by the monarch to Fitz-James. " — 

X. 

The signet ring young Lewis took. 

With deep respect and altered look; 

And said, — " This ring our duties own; 

And, .pardon, if to worth unknown, . 

In semblance mean obscurely veiled, 

Lady, in aught my folly failed. 

Soon as the day flings wide his gates. 

The king shall know what suitor waits. 

Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 

Repose you till his waking hour; 

Female attendance shall obey 

Your host for service or arraj'. 

Permit I marshal you the way." 

But, ere she followed, with the grace 

And open bounty of her race. 

She bade her slender purse be shared 

Among the soldiers of the guard. 

The rest with thanks their guerdon took; 

But Brent, with shj' and awkward look, 

On the reluctant maiden's hold 

Forced bluntly back the proffered gold;— 

" Forgive a haughty English heart. 

And O forget its ruder part; 

The vacant purse shall be my share. 

Which in my barret cap I'll bear. 

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 

Where gayer crests may keep afar." 

With thanks, — 'twas all she could, — the maid 

His rugged courtesy repaid. 

XL 

When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to John of Brent: 
" My lady safe, O let your grace 
Give me to see m}' master's face! 
His minstrel I, — to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
\V^aked for his noble house their lyres, 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the chief's birth begins our care; 
Our harp must sooth the infant heir, 
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 
His earliest feat of field or chase; 
In peace, in war, our rank we keep. 
We cheer his board, we sooth his sleep, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



157 



Nor leave him till we pour our verse, 
A doleful tribute! o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot; 
It is my right — deny it not I" — 
" Little we reck," said John of Brent, 
*' We southern men, of long descent; 
Nor wot we how a name — a word — 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord: 
Yet kind my noble landlord's part, 
God bless the house of Beaudesert! 
And, but 1 loved to drive the deer, 
More than to guide the labouring steer, 
I had not dwek an outcast here. 
Come, good old minstrel, follow me; 
Thy lord aud chieftain shalt thou see." 

XIT. 

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 

A bunch of ponderous keys he took. 

Lighted a torch, and Allan led 

Through grated arch and passage dread. 

Portals they passed, where, deep within. 

Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din; 

Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, 

Lay wheel, and axe, and iieadsman's sword. 

And many a hideous engine grim. 

For wrenching joint, and crushing limb. 

By artists formed, who deemed it shame 

And sin to give their work a name. 

They halted at a low browed porch, 

And Brent to Allan gave the torch. 

While bolt and chain he backward rolled, 

And made the bar unhasp its hold. 

They entered: — 'twas a prison room 

Of stern security and gloom. 

Yet not a dungeon; for the day 

Through lofty gi-atings found its way, 

And rude and antique garniture 

Decked the sad walls and oaken floor; 

Such as the rugged days of old 

Deemed fit for captive noble's hold. 

" Here," said De Brent, " thou mayst remaia 

Till the leach visit him again. 

Strict is his charge, the warders tell. 

To tend the noble prisoner well." 

lietiring then, the bolt he drew. 

And the lock's murmurs growled anew. 

Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 

A captive feebly raised his head; 

The wondering minstrel looked, and knew — 

Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! 

For, come from where Clan- Alpine fought. 

They, erring, deemed the chief he sought. 

XIII. 

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
Shall never stem the billows more. 
Deserted by her gallant band. 
Amid the breakers lies astrand — 
So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu! 
And oft his fevered limbs he threw 
In loss abrupt, as when her sides 
Lie rocking in the advancing tides. 
That shake her frame to ceaseless beat, 
Yet cannot heave her from her seat; 
O! how unlike her course at sea! 
Or his free step on hill and lea! 
Soon as the minstrel he could scan, 
— "What of thy lady' of my clan? 
My mother? — Douglas? — tell me all! 
Have they been ruined in my fall? 
Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here? 
Yet speak — speak boldly — do not fear." 



(For Allan, who his mood well knew. 
Was choaked with grief and terror too.) 
"Who fought— who fled?--01d man, be brief? 
Some miglit— for they had lost their chief. 
Who basely live? — who bravely died?" 
" O, calm thee, chief!" the minstrel cried, 
" Ellen is safe;"—" For that, thank heaven!" 
" And hopes are for the Douglas given; 
The lady Margaret too is well, 
And, for thy clan — on field or fell, 
Has never harp of minstrel told, 
Of combat fought so true and bold. 
Thy stately pine is yet unbent, 
Though many a goodly bow is rent." 

XIV. 
The chieftain reared his form on high, 
And fever's fire was in his eye; 
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 
Ciiequered his swarthy brow and cheeks. 
— " Hark, minstrel! I have heard tliee play, 
W^ith measure bold, on festal day. 
In yon lone isle — again where ne'er 
Shall harper play, or warrior hear! 
That stirring air that deals on high, 
O'er Dermid's race our victory. 
Strike it!3 — and then (for well thou canst) 
Free 'from thy minstrel spirit-glanced, 
Fling me the picture of the fight. 
When met my clan the Saxon might. 
I'll listen, till my fancy hears 
The clang of swords, the crash of spears! 
These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, 
For the fair field of fighting men, 
And my free spirit hurst away. 
As if it soared from battle fray." 
The trembling bard with awe obeyed, — 
Slow on the harj) his hand he laid; 
But soon remembrance of the sight 
He witnessed from the mountain's height, 
With what old Bertram told at night. 
Awakened the full power of song. 
And bore him in career along; 
As shallop lanched on river's tide, 
That slow and fearful leaves the side. 
But, when it feels the middle stream. 
Drives downward swift as lightning's beam 

XV. 

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.* 

" The minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, 
For, ere he parted, he would say 
Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray — 
Where shall he find, in foreign land. 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! 
There is no breeze upon the fern. 

No ripple on the lake. 
Upon her eyrie nods the erne. 

The deer has sought the brake; 
The small birds will not sing aloud. 

The springing trout lies still. 
So diu-kly glooms yon thunder cloud, 
That swathes, as witli a piu'ple shrourt, 

Benledi's distant hill. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 

That mutters deep and dread. 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 
.i:ji 'j^afMie warrior's measured tread' .. 
Is it the lightning's quivering glance 

That on the thicket streams. 
Or do they flash on spear and lancp 

The sun's retiring beams? 



158 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I see the dagger-crest ot Mar, 

I see the Moray's silver star 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, 

That up the lake comes winding far ! 
To hero boune for battle strife, 

Or bard of martial lay, 
*Twere worth ten years of peaceful ]ife, 

One glance at their aiTay ! 
XVI. 
'* Their light armed archers far and near 

Surveyed the tangled ground, 
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 

A twilight forest frowned. 
Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stern battalia crowned. 
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, 
1 Still were the pipe and drum; 
oave heavy tread, and armour's clang, 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests to shake. 

Or wave their flags abroad; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, 

That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their va'ward scouts no tidings bring. 

Can rouse no lurking foe. 
Nor spy a trace of living thing. 

Save when they stirred the roe; 
The host moves like a deep-sea wave. 
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 

High swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain. 
Before the Trosach's rugged jaws; 
And here the horse and spearmen pause, 
, While, to explore the dangerous glen, 
Dive through the pass the archer-men. 

XVII. 
" At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and nan-ow dell. 
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell. 
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell I 
P'orth from the pass in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear: 
For life! for life! their flight they ply — 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry. 
And plaids and bonnets waving high. 
And broad-swords flashing to the sky. 

Are maddening in the rear. 
Onward they drive, in dreadful race. 

Pursuers and pursued; 
Before that tide of flight and chase, 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 

The spearmen's twilight wood? 
— ' Down, down,' cried Mar, ' your lances down! 

Bear back both friend and foe!'; 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay levelled low; 
And closely shouldering side to side, 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 
— * We'll quell the savage mountaineer. 

As their Tinchel* cows the game! 
They come as fleet as forest deer. 

We'll drive them back as tame.' — 
XVIII. 
" Bearing before therVi, in their course. 
The relics of the archer force. 



• A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding- a great 
space, and gradually narrowing, brought immense quan- 
tities of deer together, which usually made desperate 
efforts to break through the Tinchr' 



Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. 
Above the tide, each broadsword bright 
Was brandishing like beam of light, 

Each targe was dark below; 
And with tlie ocean's mighty swing. 
When heaving to the tempest's wing, 

They hurled them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's sliivering crash. 
As when the whirlwind rends the ash; 
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 
j^As if an hundred anvils rang! 
'T3ut Moray wheeled his rear-ward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank — 

— ' My banner-man, advance ! 
I see,' he cried, ' their columns shake.-— 
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake. 

Upon them with tlie lance!' 
The horsemen dashed among the rout. 

As deer break through the broom; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 

/They soon make lightsome room. 
CSan- Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Roderick then ! 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 

The battle's tide was poured; 
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear. 

Vanished the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, 

vReceives her roaring linn. 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild wliirlpool in. 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass; 
None linger now upon the plain. 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 

XIX. 

" Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
That deep and doubling pass within. 
—Minstrel, away! the work of fate 
Js bearing on: its issue wait. 
Where the rude Trosach's dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Gray Ben-venue I soon repassed, 
Loch-Katrine lay beneath me cast. 
The sun is set; — the clouds are met. 

The lowering scowl of heaven 
An inky hue of livid blue 

To the deep lake has given; 
Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen 
Swept o'er tlie lake, then sunk agen. 
1 heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge. 
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound. 
Which like an earthquake shook the ground, 
And spoke the stern and desperate strife. 
That parts not but with parting life. 
Seeming, to minstrel-ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 
Nearer it comes — the dim-wood glen 
The martial flood disgorged agen. 

But not in mingled tide; 
The plaided warriors of the north. 
High on the mountain thunder forth. 

And overha,ng its side; 
While by the lake below appears 
The darkening cloud of Saxon spears. 
At weary bay each shattered band. 
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand; 



.^ 



'J" 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



159 



Their banners stream like tattered sail. 
That flings its fragments to the gale, 
And broken arras and disarray 
Marked the fell havoc of the day. 

XX. 

•' Viewing the mountain's ridge askance. 
The Saxons stood in sullen trance, 
Till Moray pointed with his lance, 

And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! — 
See! none are left to guard its strand. 
But women weak, that ring the hand: 
'Tis there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile; 
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, 
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then. 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' — 
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 
On earth his casque and corslet rung, 

He plunged him in the wave: — 
All saw the deed — the purpose knew. 
And to their clamours Ben-venue 

A mingled echo gave: 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 
Tiie helpless females scream for fear. 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'Twas then, as by tlie outcry riven, 
Poured down at once tiie louring heaven; 
A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast, 
Her billows reared their snowy crest, 
Well for the swimmer swelled they high. 
To mar the highland marksman's eye; 
For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail. 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 
In vain. — He nears the isle — and lo! 
His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
— Just then a flash of lightning came, 
It tinged the waves and strand with flame; 
I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame. 
Behind an oak 1 saw her stand, 
A naked dirk gleamed in her hand: 
It darkened — but amid the moan 
Of waves I heard a dying groan; — 
Another flash ! — the spearman floats 
A weltering corse beside the boats. 
And the stern matron o'er him stood. 
Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 

XXI. 

" * Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried, 
The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 
Despite, the elemental rage, 
Again they hurried to engage; 
But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 
Blondy with spurring came a knight. 
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag. 
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. 
Clarion and trumpet by his side 
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide; 
While, in the monaixh's name, afar 
An herald's voice forbade the war. 
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold. 
Were both, he said, in captive hold." — 
But here the lay made sudden stand. 
The harp escaped the minstrel's hand! 
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 
How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy: 
At first, the chieftain, to the chime. 
With lifted hand, kept feeble time; 
That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong 
Varied his look as changed the song; 



At length no more his deafened ear 
The minstrel melody can hear: 
His face grows sharp, his hands are clenched, 
As if some pang his. heart-strings wrenched; 
Set are his teeth, his fading eye 
Is sternly fixed on vacancy; 
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu! 
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast. 
While grim and still his spirit passed; 
But when he saw that life was fled. 
He poured his wailing o'er the dead. 
XXII. 

LAMENT. 

" And art thou cold and lowly laid, 
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! 
For thee shall none a requiem say ' 
— For thee — who loved the minstrtl's lay. 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay. 
The shelter of her exiled line — 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I'll wail for Alpine's honoured pine! 
« What groans shall yonder valleys fill! 
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill! 
What tears of burning rage shall thrill. 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done. 
Thy fall before the race was won. 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 
There breathes not clansman of thy line. 
But would have given his life for thine. 
O wo for Alpine's honoured pine! 
" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage! 
The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
The prisoned eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again. 
E'en she, so long beloved in vain. 
Shall with my harp her voice combine, 
And mix her wo and te.irs with mine, 
To wail Clan- Alpine's honoured pine." 

XXIII. 
Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 
Remained in lordly bower apart, 
Where played, with many-coloured gleams, 
Through storied pane the rising beams. 
In vain on gilde-d roof they fall. 
And lightened up a tapestried wall, 
And for her use a menial train 
A rich collation spread in vain. 
The banquet proud, the chamber gay. 
Scarce drew one curious glance astray; 
Or, if she looked, 'twas but to say. 
With better omen dawned the day 
In that lone isle, where waved on high 
The dun deer's hide for canopy; 
Where oft her noble father shared 
The simple meal her care prepared, 
While Lufra, crouching by her side, 
Her station claimed with jealous pride. 
And Douglas, bent on woodland game, 
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Grseme, 
Whose answer, oft at random made, 
The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. — 
Those who such simple joys have known 
Are taught to prize them when they're gone. 
But sudden, see, she lifts her head! 
The window seeks with cautious tread. 
What distant music has the power 
To win her in this woful hour! 
'Twas from a turret that o'erhung 
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 



160 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXIV. 

LAX OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. 

" M}- hawk is tireil of perch and hood, 
My idle greyhound loHthes l>is food, 
My horse is weary of liis stall, 
Aiid I am sick of captive thrall. 
1 wish I were as I have been. 
Hunting the hart in forest green. 
With bended bow and bloodhound free, 
For that's the life is meet for me. 

" I hate to learn the ebb of time, 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl. 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
The lark was wont my matins ring. 
The sable rook my vespers sing; 
These towers, altiiough a king's they be. 
Have not a hall of joy for nie. 

" No more at dawning morn I rise, 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, 
Drive the ficfet deer the forest through. 
And homeward wend with evening dew; 
A blithsome welcome blithly meet, 
And lay my trophies at her feet. 
While fled the eve on wing of glee, — 
That life is lost to love and me!" 

XXV. • 

The heart-sick lay was hardly said. 

The list'ner had not turned her head, 

It trickled still, the starting tear. 

When light a footstep struck her ear. 

And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near. 

She turned the hastier, lest again 

The prisoner should renew his strain. 

"O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said; 

" How may an almost orphan maid 

Pay the deep debt" — " O say not so! 

To me no gratitude you owe. 

Not mine, alas! the boon to give, 

And bid thy noble father live; 

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid. 

With Scotland's king thy suit to aid. 

No tyrant he, though ire and pride 

May lead his better mood aside. 

Come, Ellen, come! — 'lis more than time, 

He holds his court at morning prime." — 

With beating heart and bosom wrung. 

As to a brother's arm she clung; 

Gently he dried tlie falling tear. 

And gently whispered hope and cheer; 

Her faltering steps half led, half staid. 

Through gallery fair and high arcade. 

Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 

A portal arch unlolded wide. 

XXVI. 

Within 'twas brilliant all and light, 
A thronging scene of figures bright; 
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight. 
As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even. 
And, from tiieir tissue, fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid; 
A few faint steps she forward made. 
Then slow her drooping head siie raised. 
And fearful round the presence gazed; 
For him she sought who owned this state, 
The dreaded prince whose will was fate! — 
She gazed on many a princely port. 
Might well have ruled a royal court; 



On many a splendid garb she gazed,— 
Then turned bewildered and amazed, 
For all stood bare: and, in the room, 
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 
To him each lady's look was lent; 
On him each courtier's eye was bent; 
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen. 
He stood, in simple Lincoln green, 
The centre of the glittering ring, 
And Snowdoun's kniglit is Scotland's kingl^ 

XXVII. 
As wreath of snow, on mountain breast, 
Slides from the rock that gave it rest. 
Poor Ellen glided from her stay. 
And at the monarch's feet she lay; 
No word her choking voice commands, — 
She showed the ring — she clasped her hands. 
O! not a moment could he brook. 
The generous prince, that suppliant look! 
Gently he raised her, — and, the while. 
Checked with a glance the circle's smile; 
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed. 
And bade her terrors be dismissed; — 
" Yes, fair, the wandering poor Fitz-James 
The fealty of Scotland claims. 
To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; 
He will redeem his signet ring. 
Ask nought for Douglas: — yester even, 
His prince and he have much forgiven: 
Wrong hath he liad from slanderous tongue! 
I, from his rebel kinsman, wrong. 
We would not to the vulgar crowd 
Yield wliat they craved with clamour loud, 
Calmly we heard and judged his cause. 
Our council aided, and our laws. 
I stanched thy father's death-feud stem, 
With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; 
And Botiiwell's lord henceforth we own 
The friend and bulwark of our throne.— 
But, lovely infidel, how now? 
What clouds thy misbelieving brow? 
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; 
Thou must confirm this doubting maid." 

XXVI II. 
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung. 
And on his neck his daughter hung. 
The monarch drank, that happy hour. 
The sweetest, holiest draught of powei^^ 
When it can say, with godlike voice, 
Arise, sad virtue, and rejoice! 
Yet would not James the general eye 
On nature's raptui'es long should pry; 
He stepped between — "Nay, Douglas, nay, 
Steal not my proselyte away ! 
The riddle 'tis my right to read. 
That brought this happy chance to speed.— 
Yes, Ellen, when disguised 1 stray 
In life's more low but happier way, 
'Tis under name which veils my power. 
Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower 
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,* 
And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 
Tiius watch I o'er insulted laws. 
Thus learn to right the injured cause." 
Then, in a tone apart and low, 
— " Ah, little trail'ress! none must know 
What idle dream, what lighter thought, 
What vanity full dearly bought. 
Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drev 
My spell-bound steps to Ben-venue, 
In dangerous hour, and all but gave 
Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive!" 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



161 



Aloud he spoke—" Thou still dost hold 
That little talisman of gold. 
Pledge of my faitli, Fitz-James's ring— 
What seeks fair Ellen of the king?" 

XXIX. 
Full well the conscious maiden guessed 
He probed the weakness of her breast; 
But, willi that consciousness there came 
A lightning of her fears for Gr^me, 
And more she deemed the monarch's ire 
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for lier sire, 
Kebellious broadsword boldly drew; 
And, to her generous feeling true, 
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. — 
*' Forbear thy suit; — the king of kings 
Alone can stay life's parting wings, 
I know his heart, T know his lumd. 
Have sliared liis cheer and proved his brand. 
My faiiiest earldom would 1 give 
to bid Clan-Alpine's chieftain live! — 
Hast thou no otlier boon to crave? 
No otlier captive friend to save?" — 
Blushing, she turned her from the king, 
And to the Douglas gave the ring. 
As if she wished her sire to speak 
The suit that stained her glowing cheek. — 
" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force. 
And stubborn justice holds her course. 
Malcolm, come forth!" — And, at tlie word, 
Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's lord. 
" For tliee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 
From thee may vengeance claim her dues, 
VVlio, nurturetl underneath our smile. 
Has paid our care by treaclierous wile. 
And sought, amid thy faithful clan, 
A refuge for an outlawed man. 
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. — 
Fetters and warder for the Graeme!" 
His chain of golil the king unstrung, 
Tiie links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung. 
Then gently drew the glittering band. 
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand. 



Harp of the north, farewell! The hills grow dark. 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights iier spark; 

The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizzard elm! the fountain lending, 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; 
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending. 

With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing 
bee. 

Yet. once again, farewell, thou minstrel harp! 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway. 
And little reek I of the censure sharp. 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have 1 owed thy strains on life's long way, 

Thro' secret woe's the world has never known. 
When on the we.-^i-y night dawned wearier day. 

And bitter was the grief devoured alone. 
That I o'erlive such woes, enchantress! is thine 
own. 

Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire — 
Some spirit of the air has waked thy slringl 

'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 
'Tis now the blush of fairy's frolic wing. 

Receding now, the dying numbers ring 
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell. 

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 



A wandering witch-note of the distant spell— 
And now, 'tis silent all! enchantress, fare thee 
well ! 



NOTXS TO CANTO I. 

1. the hf ipflus of Uam-var, 

And roused the caveni, wliere, 'tis told, 
A giant made Ids den of old.— P. 125. 
Uarvar, as the name is pronounced, or more 
properly Uaighmor, is a mountain to the north- 
east of the village of Callender in" Menteith, de- 
I'iving its name, which signifies the great den, or 
cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on 
the south side, said, by tradition, to liave been the 
abode of a giant. In latter times, it was the refuge 
of robbers and banditti, who have been only ex- 
tirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly- 
speaking, this strong-iiold is not a cave, as the 
name would imply, but a sort of small inclosure, 
or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open 
above head. It may have been originally designed 
as a toil for deer, who might get in from the out- 
side, but would find it difficult to return. This 
opinion prevails among the old sportsmen and deer 
stalkers in the neighbourhood. 
2. Two does of black St. Hubert's breed, , 

Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed.— P. 125. 
" The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's 
hounds, are commonly all blacke, yet neuerthe- 
less, their race is so mingled at these days, that 
we find them of all colours. These are the hounds 
which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept 
some of their race or kind, in honour or remem- 
brance of the saint, wliich was a hunter with St. 
Eustace. Whereupon we may conceiue that (by 
the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow 
them into paradise. To returne vnto my former 
purpose, this kindof dogges hath beene dispersed 
through the countries of Henault, Lorayne, Flaun- 
ders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty of body, 
neuertheless their legges are low and siiort, like- 
wise they are not swift, although they be very good 
of sent, hunting chases which are farre straggled, 
fearing neither water nor cold, and doe more couet 
the chases that smell, as foxes, b^jre, and such 
like, than other, because they find themselues nei- 
ther of swiftness nor courage to hunt and kill the 
chases that are lighter and swifter. Tiie blood- 
hounds of this colour prooue good, especially those 
that are cole-blacke, but 1 made no great account 
to breede on them, or to keepe the kind, and yet 
I found a book whiche a hunter did dedicate to a 
prince of Lor.iynd, Avhich seemed to loue hunting 
much, wherein was a blason, which the same hunter 
gaue to his bloodhound, called Souyllard, which 
was white: 

My name came first from holy Hubert's i-ace, 
Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace. 
Whereupon we may presume that some of the kind 
prooue white sometimes, but they are not of the 
kind of the gretfiers or bou.xes, which we haue at 
these days." — The JVoble Art of Venene or Hunt- 
ing, translated and collected for the use of all JVo- 
blemen and Gentlemen. Loud. 1611, 4to. p. 15. 
3. Fpr the death wound, and death halloo. 

Mustered his breath, his wluuyard drew.— P. 125. 

When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter 
had the perilous task of going in upon, and killing 
or disabling the desperate animal. At certain 
times of the year this was held particularly dan- 
gerous, a wound received from a stag's horns be- 
ing then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous 



162 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



than one from the tusks of a boar, as the old rhyme 
testifies: 

If thou be hurt with hart, it brings tliee to thy bier; 
But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou 
neejst not fear. 

At all times, however, the task was dangerous, 
and to be adventured upon wisely and warily, 
either by getting behind the stag while he was 
gazing on the hounds, or by watching an opportu- 
nity to gallop roundly in upon him, and kill him 
■with the sword. See many directions to this pur- 
pose in the Booke of Hunting, chap. 41. Wilson 
the historian has recorded a providential escape 
■which befel him in this hazardous sport, while a 
youth and follower of the earl of Essex. 

" Sir Peter Lee, of Lime, in Cheshire, invited 
my lord one summer, to hunt the stagg. And hav- 
ing a great stagg in chase, and many gentlemen in 
the pursuit, the stagg took soyle. And divers, 
■whereof I was one, alighted, and stood with swords 
drawne, to have a cut at him, at his coming out of 
the water. The staggs there being wonderfully 
fierce and dangerous, made us )'ouths more eager 
to be at him. lint he escaped us all; and it was 
my misfortune to be hindei-ed of my coming nere 
him, the.way being slipperie, by a fall; which gave 
occasion to some, who did not know mee, to speak 
as if I bad falne for feare. Which being told me, 
I left the stagg, and followed the gentleman who 
[first] spake it. But 1 found him of that cold tem- 
per, that it seems his words made an escape from 
him; as by his denial and repentance it appeared. 
But this made mee more violent in the pursuit of 
the stagg, to recover my reputation. And I hap- 
pened to be the only horseman in when the doggs 
sett him up at bay; and approaching near him on 
horsebacke, he broke through the dogs and ran 
at mee, and tore my horse's side with his homes, 
close by my thigh. Then I quitted my horse, and 
grew more cunning, (for the doggs had sette him 
up againe,) stealing behind him with my sword, 
and cut his ham-strings; and then got upon his 
back, and cut his throate; which, as I was doing, 
the company came in, and blamed my rasliness for 
running such % hazard." — Pec/f's Desiderata Cu- 
riosa, ii, 464. 

4. And now, to issue from the ^len, 

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 
Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far projecting precipice.— P. 126. 

Until the present road was made through tlie 
romantic pass which I have presumptuously at- 
tempted to describe in the preceding stanzas, there 
■was no mode of issuing out of the defile, called 
the Trosacbs, excepting by a sort of ladder, com- 
posed of the branches and roots of the trees. 

5. To meet with liighland plunderers here 

■Were worse than loss of steed or deer.— P. 126. 

The clans who inhabited the romantic regions 
in the neighbourhood of Loch-Katrine, were, even 
until a late period, much addicted to predatory 
excursions upon tlieir lowland neighbours. 

" In former times, those parts of this district, 
which are situated beyond the Grampian range, 
were rendered almost inaccessible by strong bar- 
riers of rocks, and mountains, and lakes. It was a 
border country, and though on the very verge of 
the low country, it was almost totally sequestered 
from the world, and, as it were, insulated with 
respect to society. 

•' 'Tis well known, that, in the highlands, it 
■was, in former times, accounted not only lawful. 



but honourable, among hostile tribes, to commit 
depredations on one another; and these habits of 
the age were perhaps strengthened in this district, 
by the circumstances which have been mentioned. 
It bordered on a country, the inhabitants of which, 
while they were richer, were less warlike than 
they, and widely differenced by language and man- 
ners." — Graham''s Sketches of Scenery in Perth- 
shire. Edin. 1806, p. 97. 

The reader will tlierefore be pleased to remem- 
ber, that the scene of this poem is laid in a time, 

■When looming fttulds, or sweeping of a glen, 
Had still been held the deed of gallant men. 

6. A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent 
Was on the visioned futui-e bent.— P. 127. 

If force of evidence could authorise us to be- 
lieve facts inconsistent with the general laws of 
nature, enough might be produced in favour of the 
existence of the second sight. It is called in Gaelic 
Taishitaraugh, from Taish, and unreal or sha- 
dowy appearance; and those possessed of the facul- 
ty are called Taishatrin, which may be aptly 
translated visionaries, Martin, a steady believer 
in the second sight, gives the following account 
of it: 

" The second siglit is a singular faculty, of see- 
ing an otherwise invisible object, ■without any pre- 
vious means used by the person that used it, for 
that end; the vision makes such a lively impres- 
sion upon the seers, that they neither see, nor think 
of any thing else, except the vision, as long as it 
continues; and then they appear pensive or jovial, 
according to the object which was represented to 
them. 

" At the sight of a vision, the eyelids of the per- 
son are erected, and the eyes continue staring un- 
til the object vanish. This is obvious to others 
who are by, when the persons happen to see a 
vision, and occurred more than once to my own 
observation, and to others that were with me. 

" There is one in Skie, of whom his acquain- 
tance observed, that when he sees a vision, the in- 
ner part of his eyelids turns so far upwards, that 
after the object disappears, he must draw them 
down with his fingers, and sometimes employ 
others to draw them down, which he finds to be 
the much easier way. 

"This faculty of the second sight does not li- 
neally descend in a tamily, as some imagine, for 
I know several parents who are endowed with it, 
but their children not, and vice versa; neither is 
it acquired by any previous compact. And, after 
a strict inquiry, I could never karn that tiiis fa- 
cultv was communicable any way whatsoever. 

"The seer knows neither the objiict, time, nor 
place of a vision, before it appears; and the same 
object is often seen by ilifttrent persons, living^ at 
a considerable distance from one another. The 
true w.iy of judging as to the time and circum- 
stance of an object, is by observation; for several 
persons of judgment, without this taculty, are more 
capable to judge of the design of a vision, than a 
novice that is a seer. If an object appear in the 
day or night, it will come to pass sooner or later 
accordingly. . • , i • i 

" If an objectis seen early in the mornmg (which 
is not frequent) it will be accovriplished in a few 
hours afterwards. If at noon, it will commonly be 
accomplished that very day. If in the evening, 
perhaps that night; if after candles be liglited, it 
will be accomplished that night: the later always 
in accomplishment, by weeks, months, and some- 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



163 



times years, according to the time of night the I with them; and after such visions the seers come 
■vision is seen. in sweating, and described the people that appear- 

" When a shroud is perceived about one, it is a ! ed; if there be any of their acquaintance among 'em, 
sure prognostic of death: the time is judged accord- ' they give an account of their names, as also of the 
ing to the height of it about the person; for if it is ! bearers, but they know nothing concerning the 
seen above tlie middle, death is not to be expect- | corpse. 

ed for the space of a year, and perhaps some I " All those who have the second sight do not 
months longer; and as it is frequently seen to as- I always see these visions at once, though they be 
cend higher towards the liead, death is concluded i together at the time, liut if one who has this fa- 
to be at hand within a few days, if not hours, as jculty designedly touch his fellow-seer at the in- 
daily experience confirms. Examples of this liind ^staut of a vision's appearing, then the second sees 
were shown me, when the persons of whom the it as well as tlie first: and this is sometimes dis- 
observations were then made, enjoyed perfect I cerned by those that are near them on such occa- 
heallh. j sions. " — Martiti's Description of tlie Western Isl- 

" One instance was lately foretold by a seer that ! nnds, 1716, 8vo. p. 300, et seq. 
was a novice, concerning the death of one of my I To tliose particulars, innumerable examples 
acquaintance; this wascommunicated to afew only, might be added, all attested by grave and credible 
and witii great confidence: I being one of the num- authors. But, in despite of evidence, which neither 



ber, did not in tlie least regard it, until the death 
of the person, about tiie time foretold, did confirm 
me of the certainly of the prediction. The novice 
mentioned Above is now a skilful seer, as appears 
from many late instances: he lives in the parish of 
St. Mary's, the most northern in Skie. 

"If a woman is seen standing at a man's left 
hand, it is a presage that siie will be his wife, 
whether they be married to others, or unmarried, 
at the time of the apparition. 

" If two or three woman are seen at once negr 
a man's left hand, she that is next him will un- 
doubtedly be his wife first, and so on, whether all 
three, or the man, be single or married at the time 
of the vision or not: of which there are several late 
instances among those of my acquaintance. It is an 
ordinary thing for them to see a man that is to come 
to the house shortly after: and if he Is not of tiie 
seer's acquaintance, yet he gives such a lively de- 
scription of his stature, complexion, habit, &c. 
that upon his arrival he answers the charactergiven 
him in all respects. 

" If the person so appearing be one of the seer's 
acquaintance, he will tell his name, as ivell as other 
particulars; and he can tell by liis countenance 
whether he comes in a good or bad humour. 

" I have been seen thus myself by seers of both 
sexes, at some liun(h-ed miles distance: some tliat 
saw me in this manner, had never seen me per- 
sonally, and it happened according to their visions, 
without any previous design of mine to go to those 
places, ray coming there being purely accidental. 
" It is ordinary with them to see houses, gar- 
dens, and trees, in places void of all three; and this 
in progress oCtime uses to be accomplished: as at 
Magsliot, in tne Isle of Skie, where there were but 
a few sorry cow-houses, thatclied with straw, yet, 
in a very few years after, the vision, which appear- 
ed often, was accomplished by the building of se- 
veral good houses on the very spot represented by 
the seers, and by the planting of orcliards there. 

"To see a spark of fire fall upon one's arm or 
breast, is a forerunner of a dead child to be seen 
in the arms of those persons, of which there are 
several fresh instances. 

" To see a seat empty at the time of one's sit- 
ting in it, is a presage of that person's death soon 
after. 

" When a novice, or one that has lately obtain- 
ed the second-sight, sees a vision in the night time, 
without doors, and comes near afire, he presently 
falls into a swoon. 

" Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of 
people, having a corpse which they carry along 



Hacon, Boyle, nor Johnson were able to resist, the 
Taisch,v/\\.\\ all its visionary properties, seems to 
be now universally abandoned to the use of poetry. 
Tlie exquisitely beautiful poem of Lochiel will at 
once occur to the recollection of every reader. 

7. Here, for retreat in dang^erous hour. 

Some chief had framed a rustic bower. — P. 128. 

The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continu- 
ally exposed to ])eril, iiad usually, in the most re- 
tired spot of their domains, some place of retreat 
for the hour of necessity, whicii, as circumstances 
would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic 
liut, in a strong and secluded situation. One of 
these last gave refuge to the unfortunate Charles 
Edward, in his perilous wanderings after the bat- 
tle of CulJoden. 

"It was situated in the face of a very rough, high, 
and rocky mountain, called Letterniliclik, still a 
part of Benalder, full of great stones and crevices, 
and some scattered wood interspersed. The habi- 
tation called the Cage, in the face of that mountain, 
was within a small thick bush of wood. There 
v/ere first some rows of trees laid down, in order 
to level a floor for a habitation; and, as the place 
was steep, tiiis raised the lower side to an equal 
height witii the other; and tliese trees, in the way 
of joists or planks, were levelled with eartli and 
gravel. Tliere were between the trees, grow- 
ing naturally on their own roots, some stakes 
fixed in the eartii, wliich, with the trees, were in- 
terwoven with ropes, made of heath and birch 
twigs, up to the top of the Cage, it being of around 
or rather oval sliape; and the whole thatched and 
covered over with fog. The whole fabric hung, as 
it were, by a large tree, which reclined from the 
one end, all along the roof, to the other, and which 
gave it the name of a Cage; and by chance there 
happened to be twostones at a small distance from 
I one another, in tlie side next the precipice, resem- 
bling the pillars of a chimney, where the fire was 
placed. The smoke had its vent out here, all along 
the fall of the rock, which was so much of the same 
colour, that one could discover no difference in the 
clearest day. " — Home''s History of the Rebellion, 
Lond. 1802, 4to. p. 381.' 

8. My sire's tall form might ^race the part 
Of f eriagus, or Ascabart.— P. 128. 
These two sons of Anak flourished in romantic 
faille. The first is well known to llie admirers of 
Ariosto, by the name of Ferrau. He was an antago- 
nist of Orlando, and was at length slain by him in 
single combat. There is a romance in the Auchin- 
leck. MS., in which FeiTagus is thus described: 



164 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" On a day come tiding 
Unto Chails the king-, 

Al of a doujjhti knight 
Was comtn to Navers, 
Stout he was and fers, 

Veruagu he higlit. 
Of Babiloun tlie soudan 
Thidt'v him sende gan, 

With king; Charls to fight. 
So hard he « as to fond* 
That no dint of brond 

No givued hira, aplight. 
He hadde twenti men strengthe, 
And forti f<ft of lengthe 

Thiike painira hede.i* 
And four fVtt in the face, 
Y-metent in the place, 

And fiften in brede.^ 
His nose was a fot and more; 
His brow, as bristles wore;|| 

He that it seii^he it sede. 
He loked lotheliche, 
And was swartlj as any jiiche. 

Of him men might adrede." 

Romance of Charlemagne, i, 461, 484. — Auchin- 
.eck, MS. "fol. 265. 

Ascapart, or Ascabart, makes a very material 
figure in tlie history of Bevis of Hampton, by 
whom he was conciuered. His effigies may be 
seen guarding one side of a gate at Southampton, 
■while the other is occupied by sir Bevis himself. 
Tiie dimensions of Ascabart were little inferior to 
those of Ferragus, if the following description be 
correct 

" They metten with a geaunt, 
With a lotheliche semblaunt. 
He was wonderliche strong 
Rome** thretti fote long. 
His herd was bot gret and i-owe;"!-!" 
A space of a fot betweene is} J browe; 
His dob was, to yeue§§ a strok, 
A lite bodi of an oak.|l|| 

Beues hadde of him wonder gret, 
And askede him what a bet,1I1[ 
And yaf*** men of this contr6 
Were ase mechef t+ ase was he. 
' Me name,' a sede,}t{ ' is Ascopard, 
Garci me sent hiderward. 
For to bring this quene ayen, 
And the Beues her of-slen.J^j 
Icham Garci is |{|{{| chainpioun, 
And was i-driue out of meHlit toim 
Al for that ich was so lite.***' 
Eueri man me wolde smite, 
Ich was so lite and so merugh,i"+1"+ 
Eueri man me clepede dwerugh.^Jtt 
And now icham in this londe, 
I wax mor ieh§§§5 understonde. 
And stranger than other tene;i||||||| 
And that schel on us be sene." 
Sir Bevis of Hampton, i. 2512. Auchinleck MS. fol. 189. 

9. Though all unasked his birth and name.— P. 128. 
The highlanders, who carried hospitality to a 
punctilious excess, are said to have considered it 
as churlish, to ask a stranger his name or lineage, 
before he had taken refreshment. Feuds were so 
frequent among them, that a contrary rule would, 
in many cases, have produced the discovery of some 
circumstance, which might have excluded the 
guest from the benefit of the assistance he stood in 
need of. 

10. And still a harp unseen 

Filled up the symphony between.— P. 129. 
" They (meaning the highlanders) delight much 



• Found, proved. t Had. i Measured. J Breadth. 
I) Were. H Black. ** Fully. ttRough. t^His. 
5^ Give. nil The stem of a little oak tree. 

•H He hight, was called. **' If. ttt Great, 

nt He said. §§5 Slay. |||||| His. 1111 My. 

•••• Little. tttt Lean. UIX Dwarf. 

§§5§ Greater, taller. ll|lllli Ten. 



in musicke, but chiefly in harps and clairschoes 
of their own fashion. The strings of the clairschoes 
are made of brasse-wire, and the strings of the 
harps of sinews, -which strings they strike either 
witli their nayles, growing long, or else with an 
instrument appointed for' that use. They take 
great pleasure to (iecke their harps and clairschoes 
with silver and precious stones; the poore ones 
that cannot attayne hereunto, decke them with 
christall. They sing verses, prettily compound, 
contayning (for the most part) prayses of valiant 
men. I'here is not almost any other argument, 
whereof their riiymes intreat. They speak the an- 
cient French language, altered a little. "* — " The 
harp and clairschoes are now only heard of in the 
highlands in ancient song. At what period these 
instruments ceased to be used, is not on record; 
and tradition is silent on this head. But, as Irish 
harpers occasionally visited the highlands and 
western isles till lately, the harp might liave been 
extant so late as the middle of tlie present century. 
Thus far we know, that from remote times down 
to the present, harpers were received as welcome 
guests, particularly in the highlands of Scotland: 
and so late as the latter end of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, as appears by the above quotation, the harp 
was in common use among the natives of the west- 
ern isles. How it Iiappened that the noisy and in- 
harmonious bagpipe banisheil the soft and expres- 
sive harp, we cannot say; but certain it is, that '.he 
bagpipe is now* the only instrument that obtains 
universally in the highland districts." — Campbell's 
Journey through JVorth Mritain, Lond. 1808, 4to. 
i, 175. 

Mr. Gunn, of Edinburgh, has lately publishej 
a curious essay upon the harp and harp music of 
the highlands of Scotland. That the instrument 
was once in common use there, is most certain. 
Cleland numbers an acquaintance with it among 
the few accomplishments which his satire allows 
to the highlanders: 

In nothing they're accounted sharp, 
Except in bag-pipe or in harp. 



■NOTES TO CANTO ll. 
1. Mom's genial influence roused a minstrel gray. — P. 130. 

That highland chieftains, to a late period, re- 
tained in their service the bard, as a family officer, 
admits of very easy proof. The author of the let- 
ters from Scotland, an officer of engineers, quar- 
tered at Inverness about 1720, who certainly can- 
not be deemed a favourable witness, gives the 
following account of the office, and of a bard, whom 
he heard exercise his talent of recitation: 

"The bard skilled in the genealogy of all the 
highland families, sometimes preceptor to the 
young laird, celebrates in Irish verse the original 
of the tribe, the famous warlike actions of the suc- 
cessive heads, and sings his own lyricks as an opi- 
ate to tiie chief, when indisposed for sleep; but 
poets are not equally esteemed and honoured in 
all countries. I happened to be a witness of the 
dishonour done to the mnsE, at the house of one 
of the chiefs, where two of these bards were set 
at a good distance, at the lower end of a long ta- 
ble, with a parcel of highlanders of no extraordi* 
nary appearance, over a cup of ale. Poor inspira- 
tion ! 

• ■Vide " Certayne Matters concerning the Realme of 
Scotland, &c. as they were Anno Domini 1J97. Lond. 
1603," 4to. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



165 



" They were not asked to drink a sjlass of wine 
at our table, though the whole company cmsisted 
only of the ffveat man, one of his near relations, 
and myself. 

" After some little time, the chief ordered one 
of them to sing me a highland song. The bard 
readilv obeyed, and with a hoarse voice, and in a 
tune of few various notes, began, as I ^^as told, 
one of his own lyricks; and when he had proceeded 
to the fourtli or fifth stanza, I perceived, by the 
names of scvei-al persons, glens, and mounlains, 
which I had known or heard of before, that it was 
an account of some clan battle. But in his going 
on, the chief (who piques himself upon his school- 
learning) at some jiarlicular passage, bid him cease, 
and cryed out, 'There's nothing like that in Vir- 
gil or Homer.' 1 bowed, and told him I believed 
so. This you may believe was very edifying and 
delightful." — Letters from Scotland, ii, 167. 

2. The Graeme.— P. 130. 

The ancient and powerful family of Graham, 
(which, for metrical reasons, is here spelt after 
the Scottish pronunciation,) held extensive pos- 
sessions in tlie counties of Dumbarton and Stirling. 
Few families can boast of more historical renown, 
having claim to three of the most remarkable cha- 
racters in the Scottish annals. Sir John the Grseme, 
the faithful and undaunted partaker of the labours 
and pati'iotic warfare of Wallace, fell in the un- 
fortunate field of Falkirk, in 1298. The celebrated 
marquis of Montrose, in whom De Retz saw real- 
ized his abstract idea of the heroes of antiquity, 
was the second of these worthies. And, notwith- 
standing the severity of his temper, and the rigour 
with which he executed the oppressive mandates 
of the princes wliom he served, I do not hesitate 
to name as the third, John Grahame, of Claver- 
house, viscount of Dundee, whose heroic death in 
the arms of victoiy, may be allowed to cancel the 
memory of his cruelty to the non-conformists, dur- 
ing the reigns of Charles U, and James II. 

3. This harp, which erst saint Modan swaj'ed. — P. IJt. 
1 am not prepared to show that saint Modan was 
a performer on the harp. It was, however, no un- 
saintly accomplishment; for saint Dunstan cer- 
tainly did play ujion that instrument, which, re- 
taining, as was natural, a portion of the sanctity 
attached to its master's character, announced fu- 
ture events by its spontaneous sound. " But labour- 
ing once in these mechanic a-rts for a devoute ma- 
trone that had sett him on work, his violl, that 
hung by him on the wall, of its own accord, with- 
out anie man's helpe, distinctly sounded this an- 
ihime: Gaudent in cnslis animx sanctorvim qui 
Christi vestigia sitnt secuti; et quia pro eius amore 
sanipimeyn suitm fiiderunt, idea cum Christo gaii- 
deiit ste)i7iim. Whereat all the companie being 
much astonished, turned their eyes from behould- 
ing him working, to looke on that strange acci- 
dent."——" Not long after, manie of the court 
that hitherunto had born a kind of fityned friend- 
ship towards him, began now greatly to enyie at 
his progress and rising in goodness, using manie 
crooked, backbiting meanes todiftarae his vertues 
witij tiie black maskesof hypocrisie. And the bet- 
ter to authorise tiieir calumnie, they brought in 
this that happened in the violl, affirming it to have 
been done by art magick. What more? this wicked 
rumour encreased dayly, till the king and others 
of the nobilitie taking houhl thereof, Dunstan grew 
jdious in their sight. Therefore he resoiued to 



leaue the court, and goe to Elphegus, surnamed 
the Bauld, then bishop of Winchester, who was his 
cozen. Which his enemies understanding, they 
layd wayte for him in the way, and hauing thrown 
him off his horse, beate him, and dragged him 
in the durt in the most miserable manner, mean- 
ing to haue slaine him, had not a companie of 
mastiue dogges, that came unlookt uppon them, 
defended and redeemed him from their crueltie. 
Wiien with sorrow he was ashamed to see dogges 
nioi'e humane than they. And giuing thankes to 
Almightie God, he sensibly againe perceaued that 
the tunes of his violl had giuen him a warning of 
future accidents." Flower of the Livesofthe most 
renowned Saiiicts of England, Scotland, and Ire- 
land, by the R. Father Hierome Porter. Doway, 
163'i, 4to. tome i, p. 438. 

The same supernatural circumstance is alluded 
to by the anonymous author of " Grim, the Col- 
lie,' of Croydon." 

•' \_Ditnstan''s harp sotinds on themall.^ 

" t.vest. Haik, hark, my lords, the holy abbot's harp 
Sounds by itselt so hanging on llie wall! 

^^ Dtihstan. Unhallowed man, that scom'st the sacred 
redo, 
Hark, how the testimony of ray truth 
Sounds heai enly music w ith an angel's hand, 
To testify Dunstan's integrity. 
And prove thy active boast of no effect." 

4. Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven. 

Were exiled from their native heaven.— P. 131. 

The downfall of the Douglasses of the house of 
Angus, during the reign of James V, is the event 
alluded to in the text. The earl of Angus, it will 
be remembered, had married the queen dowager, 
and availed himself of the right which he thus ac- 
quired, as well as of his extensive power, to retain 
the king in a sort of tutelage, which approached 
very near to captivity. Several open attempts were 
made to rescue James from this thraldom, with 
which he was well known to be deeply disgusted; 
but the valour of the Douglasses, and their allies, 
gave them the victory in every conflict. At length, 
the king, while residing at Falkland, contrived to 
escape by night out of his own court and palace, 
and rode full speed to Stirling castle, where the 
governor, who was of the opposite faction, joyfully 
received him. Being thus at liberty, James speedily- 
summoned around him such peers as he knew to 
be most inimical to the domination of Angus, and 
laid his complaint before them, says Pitscottie, 
" with great lamentations; showing to them how 
he was holden in subjection, thir years bygone, 
by the earl of Angus, and his kin and friends, who 
oppressed the whole country, and spoiled it, under 
the pretence of justice and his authority; and had 
slain many of his lieges, kinsmen, and friends, 
because they would have had it mended at their 
hands, and put him at liberty, as he ought to have 
been, at the counsel of his wliole lords, and not 
have been subjected and corrected with no par- 
ticul.ir men, by the rest of his nobles: Therefore, 
said he, I desire, my lords, that 1 may be satisfied 
of the said earl, his kin, and friends; for I avow, 
that Scotland shall not hold us both, while [i. e. 
till) I be revenged on him and his. 

"The lords hearing the king's complaint and 
lamentation, and also the great rage, fury, and 
malice, that he bore toward the earl of Angus, his 
kin and friends, they concluded all, and thought it 
best that he should be summoned to underly the 
law; if he fand not caution, nor yet compear him- 
self, that he should be put to the horn, with all 



166 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



his kin and friends, so many as were contained in 
the letters. And fui-tlier, the lords ordained, by 
advice of his nmjesty, tliat his brother and friends 
should be summoned to find caution to nnderly the 
law within a certain day, or else be put to the horn. 
But the earl appeared not, nor none for him; and 
so he was put to the horn, with all his kin and 
friends: so many as were contained in the summons, 
that compeared not, were banished, and holden 
traitors to tiie king." — Lindsay of PitscoUie''s His- 
tory of Scotlajid. Edinburgh, fol. p. 142. 

5. In Holy-Rood a knight he slew.— P. 131. 

This was by no means an uncommon occurrence 
in the court of Scotland; nay, the presence of the 
sovereign himself scarcely restrained tlie ferocious 
and inveterate feuds which were the perpetual 
source of bloodshed among the Scottish nobility. 
The following instance of the murder of sir George 
Stuart of Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the 
celebrated Francis, earl of Bothwell, may be pro- 
duced among many; but, as the offence given in 
the royal court will hardly bear a vernacular trans- 
lation, 1 shall leave the story in Johnstone's Latin, 
referring for farther particulars to the naked sim- 
plicity of Birrell's Diary, 30th July, 1588. 

" Mors improbi liominis non tarn ipsa immeri- 
ta, quam pessimo exempla in publicam fosde per- 
petua. Gulielmus Stuartus Alkiltrius, Arani fra- 
ter, natiu'a ac moribus, cujus saepius memini, vul- 
go propter sitem sanguinis sang^dnarius dictus, 
a Bothvelio, in Sanctse Crucis Regia, exardescente, 
ira mendacii probo lacessitus, obscsenum osculum 
liberius retorquebat; Bothvelius lianc contumeli- 
am tacitus tulit, sed ingenlum irarum molem animo 
concepit. Utrinque postridie Edinburgi conven- 
tura, totidem numero comitibus arraatus, prsesidii 
causa, et acriter pugnatura est; casteris amicis et 
clientibus metu torpentibus, aut vi absterritis, ip- 
se Stuartus fortissimo dimicat, tandem excusso 
gladio k Bothvelie, Scythica feritate transfoditur, 
sine cujusquam misericordia; habuit itaque quern 
debuit exitum. Dignus erat Stuartus qui patere- 
tur; Bothvelius qui faceret. Vulgus sanguinem 
sanguine prEedicaiJit, et horumcruore innocuorum 
manibusegregie parentatum." — Johnstoivi Histo- 
ria Rerwn Britanmcamm, ab anno 1572, ad an- 
num 1628. Amstelodami, 1655, fol. p. 135. 

6. The Douglas, like a stricken deer. 
Disowned by evei-y noble peer. — P. 131. 
The exiled state of this powerful race is not ex- 
aggerated in this and subsequent ])assages. The 
hatred of James against the race of Douglas was 
so inveterate, that, numerous as their allies were, 
and disregarded as the regal authority had usually 
heen in similar cases, their nearest friends, even 
in the most remote parts of Scotland, durst not en- 
tertain them, unless under the strictest and closest 
disguise. James Douglas, son of the banished earl 
of Angus, afterwards well known by the title of 
carl of Morton, lurked, during the exile of his 
family, in the north of Scotland, under the assumed 
name of James Innes, otherwise Jmnes the Grieve, 
(j. e. Reve or Bailiff. ) " And as he bore the name," 
says Godscroft, "so did he also execute the office 
of a grieve or overseer of the lands and rents, the 
corn and cattle, of him with whom he lived." 
From the habits of frugality and observation, which 
he acquired in this humble situation, the historian 
traces that intimate acquaintance with popular 
character, which enabled him to rise so high in 
the state, and that honourable economy by which 



he repaired and established the shattered estates 
of Angus and Morton. — History of the House of 
Douglas. Edinburgh, 1743, vol. ii, p. 160. 
7. Maronnan's cell. — P. 131. 

The parish of Kilmarnock, at the eastern ex- 
tremity of Loch-Lomond, derives its name from a 
cell or chapel, dedicated to saint Maronoch, or 
Marnoch, or Maronnan, about whose sanctity very 
little is now remembered. There is a fountain de- 
voted to him in the same parisii; but its virtues, 
like the merits of its patron, have fallen into ob- 
livion. 

8. — — Bracklinn's thundenng wave.— P. 132. 

This is a beautiful cascade made at a place call- 
ed liie Bridge of Bracklinn, by a mountain stream 
called the Keltie, about a mile from the village of 
Callender, in Menteith. Above a chasm where 
the brook precipitates' itself from a height of at 
least fifty feet, tiiere is thrown, for the convenience 
of tiie neiglihourhood, a rustic foot bridge, of about 
three feet in breadth, and without ledges, which is 
scarcely to be crossed by a stranger without awe 
and apprehension. 

9. For Tiiieman forged by faiiy lore.— P. 132. 
Archibald, the thii-d carl of Douglas, was so 

unfortunate in all his enterprizes, that he acquired 
the e])ithet of Tineman, because he tined, or lost, 
his followers in every battle which he fought. He 
was vanquished, as every reader must remember, 
in the iiloody battle of Homildon-hill, near Wool- 
er, where he himself lost an eye, and was made 
prisoner by Hotspur. He was no less unfortunate 
when allied with Percy, being wounded and taken 
at the battle of Shrevvsbury. He was so unsuccess- 
ful in an attempt to besiege Roxburgh Castle, that 
it was called the Foul Raid, or disgraceful expe- 
dition. His ill fortune left him indeed at the bat- 
tle of Beauge, in France; but it was only to return 
with double emphasis at the subsequent action of 
Vernoil, the last and most unlucky of iiis encoun- 
ters, in which he fell, with the flower of the Scot- 
tish chivalry, then serving as auxiliai-ie^ in France, 
and about two thousand common soldiers, A. D. 
1424. 

10. Did, self-unscabbarded, fore-show 
The footsteps of a seci-et foe.— P. 132. 

The ancientwarriors, whose hope and confidence 
rested chiefly in their blades, were accustomed to 
deduce omens from them, especially from such 
as were supposed to have been fabricated by en- 
chanted skill, of which we have various instances 
in the romances and legends of the time. The 
wonderful sword Skofnung, wielded by the cele- 
brated HrolfKraka, was of this description. It was 
deposited in the tomb of the monarch at his death, 
and taken from thence by Skeggo, a celebrated pi- 
rate, who bestowed it upon his son-in-law, Kor- 
mak, with the following curious directions; " The 
manner of using it will appear strange to you. A 
small bag is attached to it, which take heed not 
to violate. Let not the rays of the sun touch the 
upper part of the handle, nor unsheath it unless 
thou art ready for battle. But when thou comest 
to the place of fight, go aside from the rest, grasp 
and extend the sword, and breathe upon it. Then 
a small worm will creep out of the handle; lower 
the handle that he may more easily return into it." 
Kormak, after having received tiie sword, return- 
ed home to his mother. He showed the sword, 
and attempted to draw it, as unnecessarily as in- 
effectually, for he could not pluck it out of the 



•• 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



167 



sheath. His mother, Dalla, exclaimed, " Do not de- 
spise the counsel given to thee, my son. " Kormak, 
however, r^'peating his efforts, pressed down the 
handle with his feet, and tore off the bag, when 
Skofnnng emitted a liollow groan: but still he 
could not ansheath the sword. Kormak then went 
out with Uessus, whom he had challenged to fight 
■with liim, and drew apart at the place of combat. 
He sat down upon the ground, and ungirding the 
sword, which he bore above his vestments, did 
not remember to shield the hilt from the rays of 
the sun. In vain he endeavoured to draw it, till 
he placed his foot against tlie hilt; then the worm 
issued froin it. But Kormak did not riglitly handle 
the weapon, in consequence whereof good fortune 
deserted it. As he unsheathed Skofnung, it emit- 
ted a hollow murmur." BarthoUni, de Cansis 
Contempts a Daiiis adliuc GentHilms Mortis, Li- 
bri Tres, Hafniee, l'6S9, 4to. p. 574. 

To the history of this sentient and prescient 
weapon, I beg leave to add, from memory, the fol- 
lowing legend, for which I cannot prodiice any bel- 
ter authority. A j-oung nobleman, of high hopes 
and fortune, chanced to lose his way in the town 
which he iniiabited, the ca()ital, if I mistake not, 
ofa German province. He liad accidentally involv- 
ed himself among the narrow and winding streets 
ofa suburb, inhabited by the lowest oi'der of the 
people, and an approaching thunder-sliower deter- 
mined him to ask a sliort refuge in ll»e most 
decent habitation that was near liim. He knocked 
at the door, which was opened by a tall man of a 
grisly and ferocious aspect, aii<l sordid dress. The 
stranger was readily ushered to a chamber, where 
swords, scourges, and machines, wliicli seemed to 
be implements of torture, were suspended on the 
wall. One of these swords dropped from its scab- 
bard, as tlie nobleman, after a moment's hesitation, 
crossed the tinvshold. His host immediately stared 
at him with such a marked expression, that the 
young man could not help demanding iiis name 
and business, and the meaning of his looking at 
him so fixedly. " I am," answered the man, "the 
public executioner of this city; and tlie incident 
you have observed is a sure augury that 1 shall, 
in discharge of my duty, one day cut off your head 
with the weapon which has just now spontaneously 
unsiieathed itself." The nobleman lost no time in 
leaving his place of refuge; but, engaging in some 
of the plots of the period, was shortly after decapi- 
tated by that very man and instrument. 

Lord Lovat is said, by the author of the letters 
from Scotland, to have affirmed that a number of 
swords that hung up in the hall of the mansion- 
house leaped of themselves out ot the scabbard at 
the instant he was born. This story passed cur- 
rent among his clan, but, like that of the story 1 
have just quoted, proved an unfortunate omen. — 
Letters from Scotland, vol. ii, p. 214. 

11.—— —The pibroch proud.— P. 132. 

Tlie connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to disco- 
ver in a well-composed pibroch, the imitative 
sounds of march, conflict, flight, pursuit, and all 
the " current ofa heady fight." To this opinion, 
Dr. Beattie has given his suftVage in the following 
elegant passage; "-^ A. pibroch is a species of tune, 
peculiar, I think, to the highlands and western 
isles of Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, 
and differs totally from all other music. Its rliytbm 
is so irregular, and its notes, especially in the 
quick movement, so mixed and huddled together, 
lh.1t a stranger finds it impossible to reconcile his 

13 



ear to it, so as to perceive its modulation. Some 
of these pibrochs, being intended to represent .t 
battle, begin witii a grave motion, resembling a 
marcli: then gra(kiallv quicken into tlic onset: run 
oft' with noisy confusion, and turbulent rapidity, 
to imitate the conflict and pursuit; then swell into 
a few flourishes of triumphant joy; and perliaps 
close with the wild and slow waUings of a funeral 
procession." — Essay on Laughter and Ludicrous 
Composition, chap, iii, j\/'ote. 

12. Rodorigh-Vich Alpine dhii, ho! ieroe!— P. 133. 

Besides his ordinary name and surname, which 
were cliiefly used in the intercourse with the low- 
lands, every highland chief had an epithet expres- 
sive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan, 
and whicli was common to all his predecessors and 
successors, as Pharaoh to the kings of Egypt, or Ar- 
saces to those of Parthia. Tliis name was usuallj' a 
patronymic expressive of his decent from the foun- 
der of the family. Thus the duke of Argyle is call- 
ed Mac-Callum More, or the Son of Colinthe Great. 
Sometimes, however, it is derived from armorial 
distinctions, or the memory of some great feat: thus 
lord Seaforth, aschief of the Mackenzies, or Clan- 
Kennet, bears the epithet of Caber-fae, or Jiuck^s 
Head, as representative of Colin Fitzgerald, foun- 
der of tlie family, wlio saved the Scottish king 
when endangered by a stag. But besides this title, 
which belonged to his office and dignity, the chief- 
tain had usually another peculiar to himself, which 
distinguislied liim from the chieftains of the same 
race. This was sometimes derived from complex- 
ion, as dhu or roy; sometimes from size, as beg or 
more; at other times, from some particular exploit, 
or from some peculiarity of iiabit or appearance. 
The line of the text therefore signifies. 

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

The song itself is intended as an imitation of 
the jorrams, or. boat-songs of the highlanders, 
which were usuidly composed in honour of a fa- 
vourite chief. They are so adapted as to keep 
time with the sweep of the oars, and it is easy to 
distinguish between those intended to be sung to 
ihe oars ofa galley, wliere the stroke is lengthen- 
ed and doubled as it were, ftnd those which were 
timed to tlie rowers of an ordinary boat. 
13.— the bL'St of I.och-Lomond lie dead on her side. — P. 133, 

The Lennox, as the district is called, which en- 
circles the lower extremity of LocVi-Lomond, was 
peculiarly exposed to the incursions of the moun- 
taineers, who inhabited the inaccessible fastnesses 
at the upper end of the lake, and the neighbouring 
district of Loch-Katrine. These were often mark- 
ed by circumstances of great ferocity, of which the 
noted conflict of Glen-fruin is a celebrated instance. 
This was a clan-battle, in which the Macgregors, 
headed by Allaster Macgregor, chief of the clan, 
encountered the sept of tlie Cohjuliouns, command- 
ed by sir Humphry Colqiihoun of Luss. It is on all 
bands allowed that the action was desperately 
fought, and that the Colquhouns were defeated 
with slaughter, leaving two hundred of their name 
dead upon the field. But popular tradition has 
added other horrors to tlie tale. It is said, that 
sir Humphry Colquhoun, who was on horseback, 
escaped to the castle of Benechra, or Banochar, 
and was next day dragged out and murdered by 
the victorious Macgregors in cold blood. Bucha- 
nan of Auchmar, however, speaksof his slaughter 
as a subsequent event, and as perpetrated by the 
Macfarlancs. Again it is reported, that the Mae- 
};regors murdered a tuimber of youths, whom re» 



168 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



port of the intended battle had brought to be spec- 
tators, and wliom tlic Cohiuhouns, anxious for their 
safety, bad sliut up in a barn to be out of danger. 
One account of the Macgregors denies this cir- 
cumstance entirely; another ascribes it to the sa- 
vage and blood-thirsty disposition of a single indi- 
vidual, the bastard brother of the laird of Macgre- 
gor, who amused himself with this second massa- 
cre of the innocents, in express disobedience to 
the chief, by whom he was left their guai'dian (hu'- 
ing the pursuit of the Colquhouns. It is added, 
that Macgregor bitterly lamented this ati-ocious 
action, and prophesied the ruin which it must 
bring upon their ancient clan. The following ac- 
count of the conflict, which is indeed drawn up by 
a friend of the clan Gregor, is altogether silent on 
the murder of the youths. " In the spring of the 
year 1602, there happened great dissentions and 
troubles between the laird of Luss, chief of the 
Colquhouns, and Alexander, laird of Macgregor. 
The original of these quarrels proceeded from in- 
juries and provocations mutually given and receiv- 
ed, not long before. Macgregor, however, want- 
ing to have tbcm ended in friendlj' conferences, 
marched at the head of two hundred of his clan, 
to Leven, which borders on Luss, his country, 
with a view of settling matters by the mediation 
of friends: But Luss had no such intentions, and 
projected bis measures with a different view; for 
he privately drew together a body of 300 horse 
and 500 foot, composed partly of his own clan and 
their followers, and partly of the Buchanans, iiis 
neighbours, and resolved to cut off Macgregor and 
his party to a man, in case the issue of the con- 
ference did not answer bis inclination. But mat- 
ters fell otherwise than be expected: and though 
Macgregor bad previous information of bis insi- 
dious design, yet, dissembling his resentment, he 
kept the appointment, and parted good friends in 
appearance. 

" No sooner was he gone, than Luss, thinking 
to surprise him and his party in full security, and 
without any dread or apprehension of his treache- 
ry, followed with all speed, and came up with him 
at a place called GlentVoon. Macgregor, upon the 
alarm, dividetl his men into two parties, the great- 
est part whereof he commanded himself, and the 
other be committed to the care of his brother John, 
who, by his orders, led them about another way, 
and attacked the Colquhouns in flank. Here it was 
fought witii great bravery on both sides for a con- 
siderable time; and, notwithstanding the vast dis- 
proportion of numbers, Macgregor, in the end, 
obtained an absolute victory. So great was the 
rout, that 200 of the Colquhouns were left dead 
upon the spot, most of the leading men were kill- 
ed, and a multitude of prisoners taken. But what 
seemed most surprising and incredible in this de- 
feat, was, that none of the Macgregors were miss- 
ing, except John, the laird's brother, and one com- 
mon fellow, though indeed many of them were 
wounded." — Professor Ross's Histovy of the fami- 
ly of Sutherland, 1631. 

The consequences of the battle of Glen Fruin 
•were very calamitous to the family of Macgregor, 
■who had already been considered as an uiirulv 
clan. The widows of the slain Colquhouns, sixtv, 
it is said, in number, appeared in doleful proces- 
sion beture the king at Stirling, each riding upon 
a white palfrey, and bearing in her hand the bloody 
shirt of her husband displayed upon a pike. James 
VI was so much moved by the complaiutt; of this 



" choir ot mournful dames," that be let loose bis 
vengeance against the Macgregors, without either 
bounds or moderation. The very name of the 
clan was proscribed, and those by whom it had 
been borne were given up to sword and fire, and 
absolutely hunted down by blood-hound? like wild 
beasts. Argyle and the Campbells, on the one 
hand, Montrose, with the Grsemes and Bucha- 
nans, on the other, are said to have been the chief 
instruments in suppressing this devoted clan. The 
laird of Macgregor surrendered to the former on 
condition that be would take him out of Scottish 
ground. But, to use Birrel's expression, he kept 
" a highlandman's promise;" and, although he ful- 
filletl his word to the letter by cariying him as far 
as Berwick, he afterwards brought bira back to 
Edinburgh, where be was executed with eighteen 
of his clan. — BirrePs Diary, 2d October, 1603. 
The clan Gregor being thus driven to utter de- 
spair, seem to have renounced the laws, from the 
benefit of which they were excluded, and their 
depredations produced new acts of. council, con- 
firming the severity of their proscrii)tion, which 
had oidy tlie effect of rendering them still more 
united and desperate. It is a most extraordinary 
])roofofthe ardent and invincible spirit of clan- 
ship, that, notwiilistanding the repeated proscrip- 
tions providently ordained by the legislature "for 
the iimeous prcventinrf the disorders and oppres- 
sion tliat may fall out by the said name and clan 
of Macgregors and their followers," they were, in 
1715 and 1745, a potent clan, and continue to sub- 
sist as a distinct and numerous race. 



-The king'"s vindictive pride 



lioasts to have tamed the border side. — P. 134. 
In 1529, James V made a convention, at Edin- 
burgh, for tlie purpose of considering ihc best 
mode of quelling the bo''der robbers, "who, (hiring 
the license of his minority, and the troubles wliich 
followed, had committed many exorbitancies. Ac- 
cordingly, he assembled a-flying army often thou- 
sand men, consisting of bis principal nobility 
and tlieir followers, who were directed to bring 
their hawks and dogs with them, that the monarch 
might refresh himself with sport during the inter- 
vals of military execution. With this array tie 
swept through Ettrick forest, where be banged 
over the gate of his own castle. Piers Cockburn, 
of Henderland, who bad prepared, according to tra- 
dition, a feast for bis reception. He caused Adam 
Scott of Tusiiielaw also to be executed, w-bo was dis- 
tinguislied by tlie title of king of the border. But 
tbe most noted victim of justice, during that expedi- 
tion, was Joim Armstrong of Gilnockie, famous in. 
Scottisii song, who, confiding inbis own supfjosed 
innocence, met tlie king, with a retiniie of thirty-six 
persons,all of whom were hanged at Carlenrig,near 
tlie source of the Teviot. Tbe effect of this severity 
was suoli,that, as the vulgar expressed it, " the rush 
bush kept the cow," and " thereafter w as great peace 
and rest a long time, wherethrough the king had 
great profit;.for be had ten thousand sheep going in 
the Ettrick forest in keeping by Andrew Bell, 
who made tlie king as good count of them as thej' 
had gone in the bounds of Fife. " — I'iiscottie's His- 
tory, p. 153. 

1.5. Wliat grace for highland chiefs judge ye. 
By fate of border thivalry.— P. 134. 

James was, in fact, equally attentive to restrain 
rapine and feudal oppression in every part of bis 
dominions. " The king passed to the isles, and 
there held justice courts, and piuiished both 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



169 



thiet and traitor according to their demerit. And 
also he caused great men to show their lioldings, 
■wherethrough he found many of the said huids in 
non-entr}'; the which he confiscated and brought 
home to his own use, and afterwards annexed them 
to the crown, as ye shall hear. Syne brougiit ma- 
ny of the great men of the isles captive with him, 
such as Mudyart, M'Connel, M'Loyd of tlie Lewes, 
M'Neil, M'Lane, M'lntosh, John Mudyard, M'- 
Kay,M'Kenzie,'with many others that I cainiot re- 
hearse at this time. Some of them he put in ward, and 
some in court, and some he took pledges for good 
rule in time coming. So he brought tlie isles both 
north and south, in good rule and peace; wherc- 
toi"e he had great profit, service, and obedience of 
people a long time thereafter, and as long as he 
had the heads of the country in subjection, they 
lived in great peace and rest, and lhei-e was great 
riches and policy b}' the king's justice." — PirscoT- 
TIE, p." 152. 

16. Kest safe till morning;— pity 'twere 

Such clieek shoulil feel the niichufjht air. — P. 136. 
Hardihood was in every respect so essential to 
tlie character of a highlander, that the reproach 
of effeminacy was the most bitter which could Ije 
thrown upon him. Yet it was somctirties hazarded 
on what wc might presume to think slight grounds. 
It is reported of old sir Ewing Cameron of Lochiel, 
when upwards of seventy, that he was siu'prised 
by night on a hunting or military expedition. He 
wrapped him in his plaid, and lay contentedly 
down upon the snow, with which the ground h.tp- 
pened to be covered. Among his attendants, who 
were preparing to take their rest in the same man- 
ner, he observed that one of his grandsons, for his 
Letter accommodation, had rolled a large snow- 
ball, and placed it below his head. The wrath of 
the ancifent chief was awakened by a symptom of 
what heconjeeived to be degenerate luxury. " Out 
tipon thee," said'he, kicking the frozen bolster 
from the head which it supported, " art thou so 
c-ffeminate as to need a pillow?" The oflicer of en- 
gineers, whose curious letters from the higlilands 
have been more than once (luoled, tells a similar 
story of Macdonald of Keppoch, and subjoins the 
following remarks: 

" This and many other stories are romantic; 
but there is one thing, that at first thought might 
seem very romantic, of which I iiave been credi- 
bly assured, that when the liigblanders are con- 
strained to lie among the hills, in cold dry windy 
weather, they sometimes soak the plaid in some 
river or burn, (i. e. brook;) and then, holding up 
a corner of it a little above their heads, they turn 
tliemselves round and round, till the}' are enveloped 
by the wiiole mantle. They then lay themselves 
down on the heath, upon the leward side of some 
hill, where the wet and the warmth of their bodies 
make a steam, like that of a boiling kettle. The 
wet, tiiey sa}', keeps them warm by thickening the 
stuff, and keeping the wind from penetrating. 

" I must confess 1 shoidd have been apt to ques- 
tion this tact, had I not fre(piently seen them wet 
from morning to night; and, even at the beginning 
of the rain-, not so much as stir a few yards to siiel- 
ter, but continue in it, without necessitv, till tliey 
were, as we say, wet through and through. And 
that is soon eftected by the looseness and spongi- 
ness of the plaiding; but the bonnet is frcqufently 
taken oft", and wrung like a dishclout, aiid then put 
on again. 

" They have been accustomed from their infan- 



cy to be often wet, and to take the water like span- 
iels, and this is become a second nature, and can 
scarcelj' \>c called a hardship to them, insomuch 
that I used to say, they seemed to be of the duck- 
kind, and to love water as well. Though I never 
saw this preparation for sleep in windy weather, 
yet, setting out early in a morning from one of the 
huts, I have seen tlie marks of their lodging, where 
the ground has been free from rime or snow, which 
remained all round the spot where they had lain." 
— Letters from Scotland. Lond. 17'54, 8vo. ii, p. 
108. 

17. his henchman came. — P. 13&. 

" This officer is a sort of secretary, and is to 
be ready, upon all occasions, to venture his life in 
defence of his master; and at drinking-bouts he 
stands behind his scat, athishaimch, from whence 
his title is derived, and watches the conversatioUj 
to see if any one offends his patron. 

"An English officer being in company with a 
certain chieftain, and several otiier highland gen- 
tlemen, near Killichumen, had an argmnent with 
the great man; and both being well warmed with 
usky, at la^ the dispute grew very hot. 

"A youth who was henchman, not i;nderstand- 
ing one word of English, inuigined his chief was 
insulted, and thereupon drew his pistol from his 
side, and snapped it at the officer's head; but the 
pistol missed fire, otherwise it is more than pro- 
bable he miglit have suffered death from the hand 
of that little vermin. 

" But it is very disagreeable, to an Englishman 
over a bottle, with the highlandei-s, to see every 
one of them have liis gilly, that is, his servant, 
standing beliind him all the while, let what will 
be the subject of conversation." — Letters from 
Scotland, ii, 159. 

NOTES TO CANTO lit. 

1. And wiiile the fifery cross glanced, like a meteor, round. 

V. 136. 
When a chieftain designed to summon his clan, 
upon any sudden or important emergency, he slew 
a goat, and, making a cross of any light wood, 
seared its extremities in the fire, and extinguished 
them in the blood of the animal. This was called 
the Fiery Cross, also Crean Tarigh, or the Cross 
of Shame, because disobedience to what the sym- 
bol implied, inferred infamy. It was delivered to a 
swift and trusty messenger, wlio ran full speed with 
it to the next hamlet, where be presented it to the 
principal person, with a single word implying- 
the place of rendezvous. He who received the 
symbol was bound to send it forward, witii equal 
despatch, to the next village; and thus it passed 
with incredible celerity through all the district 
which owed allegiance to the chief, and also among 
his allies and neighbours, if the danger was com- 
mon to them. At sight of the fiery cross, every 
man, from sixteen years old to sixty, capable of 
bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in 
his best arms and accoutrements, to the |dace ot 
rendezvous. He who failed to appear suffered the 
extremities of fire and sword, which were emble- 
matically denounced to the disobedient by the 
bloody and burnt marks upon this warlike signal. 
During tiie civil war of 1745-6, the fiery cross of- 
ten made its circuit; and upon one occasion it pass- 
ed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a 
tract of thirty-two miles, in three hours. The late 
Ale.\ander Stewart, esq. of lavernahyle, described 



170 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



to me his having sent round the fiery cross through 
the district of Appine, daring the same commo- 
tion. The coast was tiireatened by a descent from 
two English frigates, and the flower of the young 
men wei-e with the army of prince Charles Ed 
■ward, tiien in England: yet the summons was so 
eftectuiil, that even old age and childhood obeyed 
it: and a force was collected in a few hours, so 
numerous and so enthusiastic, that all attempt at 
the intended diversion upon the country of the ab- 
sent warriors was iu prudence abandoned, as des- 
perate. 

This practice, like some others, is common to 
the highlanders with the ancient Scandinavians, 
as will appear by the following extract from Olaus 
Alagnus: 

" When tlie enemy is upon the sea-coast, or 
■within the limits of northern kingdomes, then 
presently, by the command of the principal go- 
veruours, with the counsel and consent of the old 
soldiers, who are notably skilled in such like bu- 
siness, a staff"of three hands length, in the common 
sight of them all, is carried, by the speedy running 
of some active young man, unto that village or 
city, with this "command, — that on tli5 3, 4, or 8, 
day, one, two, or three, or else every man in par- 
ticular, from 15 years old, shall come with his 
arms, and expences for ten or twenty days, upon 
pain that his or their houses shall be burnt, (which 
is intimated by the burning of tlie staff, ) or else 
tlie master to be hanged, (which is signified by the 
cord tied to it,) to appear speedily on such a bank, 
or field, or valley, to hear tlie cause he is called, 
and to hear orders from the said provincial gover- 
nours what he shall do. Wherefore tliat messen- 
ger, swifter than any post or waggon, having done 
liis commission, comes slowly back again, bring- 
ing a token with him tliat he hath done all legally: 
and every moment one or another runs to every 
village, and tells those places what the)' must do." 
" The messengers, therefore, or the foot- 
men, that are to give warning to the people to meet 
for the battail, run fiercely and swiftly; for no snow, 
or rain, nor heat can stop them, nor night hold 
them; but they will soon run the race they under- 
take. The first messenger tells it to the next vil- 
lage, and that to the next; and so the hubbub runs 
all over till they all know it in that stift or terri- 
tory, where, when, and wherefore they must meet." 
— Olaus MAGNtrs' History of the Goths, English- 
ed by J. S. Lond. 1658, book iv, chap. 3, 4. 

2. That monk, of saviige form and face.— P. 137. 
The state of religion in the middle ages afford- 
ed considerable facilities for those whose mode of 
life excluded them from regular worship, to se- 
cure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistance of con- 
fessors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature of 
iheir doctrine to the necessities and peculiar cir-" 
cunistances of their flock. Robin Hood, it is well 
known, liad his celebrated domestic chaplain, friar 
Tuck. And that same ciu-tal friar was ])robably 
matched in manners and appearance by the ghost- 
ly fathers of the Tynedale robbers, who are thus 
described in au excommunication fulminated 
against their patrons by Ricliard Fox, bishop of 
Durham, tempore Henriei Vlll. " We have fur- 
ther understood, that there are many chaplains in 
the said territories of Tynedale and Redesdale, 
who are public and open maiiitainers of concubi- 
nage, irregular, suspended, excommunicated, and 
iiilerdicied persons, and withal so utterly ignorant 



of letters, that it has been found by those who ob- 
I jected this to them, that there were some who, 
having celebrated mass for ten years, were stil* 
unable to read the sacramental service. We have 
also understood there are persons among them 
who, although not ordained, do take upon them 
the offices of priesthood; and, in contempt of God, 
celebrate the divii.e and sacred rites, and adminis- 
ter the sacraments, not only in sacred and dedi- 
cated places, but in those which are prophane and 
interdicted, and most wretchedly ruinous; they 
themselves being attired in ragged, torn, and most 
filthy vestments, altogether unfit to be used in di- 
vine, or even iu temporal offices. The which said 
chaplains do administer sacraments and sacramen- 
tal rites to the aforesaid manifest and infamous 
thieves, robbers, depreilators, receivers of stolen 
goods, and plunderers, and that without restitu- 
tion, or intention to restore, as evinced by the fact; 
and do also openly admit tliem to the rites of ec- 
clesiastical sepulchre, without exacting security 
for restitution, although they are prohibited from 
doing so by the sacred canons, as well as by the 
institutes of tlie saints and fathers. All which in- 
fers the heavy peril of their own souls, and is a 
pernicious example tothe other believers in Christ, 
as well as no sliglit, but an aggravated injury to 
the numbers despoiled and plundered of their 
goods, gear, herds, and chattels."* 

To this lively and picturesque description (.f 
the confessors and churchmen of predatory tribes, 
tliere may be added some curious particulars re- 
specting the priests attached to the several septs 
of native Irish, during the reign of queen Eliza- 
beth. These friars had indeed to plead, that the 
incursions, which they not only pardoned, but even 
encouraged, were made upon those hostile to them, 
as well iu religion as from national antipathy. 
But by protestant writers they are uniformly al- 
leged to be the chief instruments of Irish insur- 
rection, the very well-spring of all rebellion to- 
wards the English government. Lilhgow, the 
Scottish traveller, declares the Irish wood-kerne, 
or predatory tribes, to be but the hounds of their 
iiunting priests, who directed their incursions by 
their pleasure, partly for sustenance, partly to 
gratify animosity, partly to foment general divi- 
sion, and always for the better security and easier 
domination of the friars.f Derrick, the liveliness 
and minuteness of whose descriptions may fre- 
quently apologise for his doggrel verses, after de- 
scribing an Irish feast, and the encouragement 
given by tiie songs of the bards, to its termii-ation 
iu an incursion upon the parts of the country more 
immediately under the dominion of the English, 
records the no less powerful arguments used by 
the friar to excite their animosity: 

And more t' augment the flame, 

and rancour of thtir harte. 
The friar, of his counsells vile, 

to rebelles doth imparte, 
Affirming that it is 

an almosie deede to God, 
To make the English subjects taste 

the Irish rebel Is rodde. 
To spoile, to kill, to burne, 

this friai's counst-U is; 



* The Monition against the robbers of Tynt dale and 
Redesdale, with which I was fuvoured by my friend, Mr. 
Suitecs, of Maiusforth, may be found in the original La- 
tin, in the Appendix to the Introduction to the Border 
Minstrelsy, No. vii, fourth edition. 

t Lithgow's Travels, fii-st edit. p. 431. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



m 



And for the doinff of the same, 

he wan-antes heavenlie blisse. 
He tells a holie tale; 

the white he tui-nes to blacke; 
And through the pardons in liis male, 

he workes a knavishe knacke. 

The wTCckful invasion of a part of the English 
pale is then described with some spirit; the burn- 
ing of houses, driving off cattle, and all pertaining 
to such predatory inroads, is illustrated by a rude 
cut. The defeat of the Irish by a party of English 
soldiers from the next garrison, is then commemo- 
rated, and in like manner adornet! with an engrav- 
ing in which the friar is exhibited roouruingover 
the slain chieftain; or, as the rubric expresses it, 

The friar then, that treaclierous knave, with ough ough- 

hone lament. 
To see his cousin deviU's-sou to have so foul event. 

The matter is handled at great length in the 
text, of which the following verses are more than 
sufficient sample:— 

The frier seying this, 

lamentes that lucklesse parte, 
And curseth to the pitte ofhell 

the death man's sturdie liarte: 
Yet for to quight them with 

the frier ta'.jeth paine, 
For all the sjnines that ere he did 

remission to obtaine. 
And therefore serves his booke, 

the candell and the bell; 
But thinke you that suche apishe toies 

bri)ig damnesl souls from hell? 
It 'longs not to niy parte 

infernal things to knowe; 
But I beleve till later daie, 

thei rise not from belowe. 
Yet hope that friers give 

to this rebellious rout. 
If that their souls should chaunce in hell, 

to bringe them quickly out, 
Doeth make them lead suche lives, 

as neither God nor man, 
Without revenge for their desartes, 

permitte to suft'cr can. 
Thus friers are the cause, 

the fountain and the spring. 
Of hui-leburls iji this lande, 

of eche unhappie thing. 
Thei cause him to rebell 

against their soveraigne queene, 
And through rebellion often tjiues, 

their lives doe vanishe clene. 
So as by friers' meanes, 

in whom all follie swimme. 
The Irishe karne doe often lose 

the life, with hedde and limme.* 

As the Irish tribes, and those of the Scottish 
liiglilands, are much more intimately allied, by 
language, manners, dress, and customs, than the 
antiquaries of either country have beeii willing to 
admit, 1 flattermyself I have here produced a strong 
•warrant for the character sketched in the text. 
The following picture, though of a different kind, 
serves to establish the existence of ascetic religion- 
ists, to a comparatively late period, in tlie higii- 
lands and Western Isles. There is a great deal of 
simplicity in tlie description, for which, as for 
much similar information, I am obliged to Dr. 
John Martin, who visited the Hebrides at the sug- 
gestion of sir Robert Sibbald, a Scottish antiqua- 
rian of eminence, and early in the eighteenth cen- 
tuiy published a description of them, wliich pro- 



• This curious picture of Ireland was inserted by the 
author in the repuolication of Somers' Tracts, vol. i, in 
which the plates have been also inserted, from the only 
impressions known to exist, belonging to the copy in the 
Advocates' Ubrai-y. See Somers' Tracts, vol. i, pp. 591 
594. 



cured him admission into the royal society. He 
died in London about iri9. His work is a strange 
mixture of learning, observation, and gross credu- 
lity. 

" I remember," says this author, " I have seen 
an old lay-capuchin here, (in the island of Benbe- 
cula,) called in their language brahir-bocht, that 
IS poor brother; which is literally true; for he an- 
swers this ciiaracter, having nothing but what is 
given him: he holds himself fully satisfied wiUi 
food and raiment, and lives in as great simplicity 
as any of his order; his diet is very mean, and he 
drinks only fair water: his habit is no less morti- 
fying than that of his brethren elsewhere; he wears 
a short coat, which comes no farther than his mid- 
dle, with narrow sleeves like a waistc )at: he wears 
a plad above it, girt about the middle, wliich 
reaches Jo his knee: the plad is fastened on his 
breast with a wooden pin, his neck bare, and his 
feet often so too: he wears a hat for ornament, and 
the string about it is a bit of a fisher's line, made 
of horse-hair. This plad he wears instead of a 
gown worn by those of iiis order in other countries. 
I told liim he wanted the flaxen girdle th;tt men 
of his order usually wear: he answered me, that 
he wore a leather one, which was the same thing. 
Upon the matter, if he is spoke to when at meat, 
lie answers again; which is contrary to the custom 
of his order. This poor man fretiuently diverts 
himself with angling of trouts; he lies upon straw, 
and has no bell Tas others have) to call him to his 
devotion, but only his conscience, as he told me." 
— Maktin's description of the Western Islands, 
p. 82. 
3. Of Brian's birth strange tales were told.— P. 137. 

The legend which follows is not of the author's 
invention. It is possible he may differ from mo- 
dern critics, in supposing tliat the records of hu- 
man superstition, if peculiar to, and characteristic 
of, the country in which the scene is laid, are a 
legitimate subject of poetry. He gives, liowever, 
a ready assent to the narrower proposition, which 
condemns all attempts of an irregular and disor- 
dered fancy to excite terror, by accumulating a 
train of fantastic and incoherent horrors, w hether 
borrowed from all countries, and patciied upon a 
narrative belonging to one which knew them not, 
or derived from the author's own imagination. 

In the present case, therefore, I appeal to the 
record which I have transcribed, witli the varia- 
tion of a very few words, from the geographical 
collections made by the laird of Macfarlane. I 
know not whether it be necessary to remark, tliat 
the miscellaneous concourse of youths and maidens 
on the night and on the spot where the miracle is 
said to have taken place, might, even in a credu- 
lous age, have somewhift diminished the wonder 
whiclt accompanied the conception of Gilli-Doir- 
MagrevoUich. 

" There is hot two myles from Inverloghie, the 
church of K-ilmalee, in Loghyeld. In ancient times 
there was ane church builded upon ane hill, which 
was above this church, which doeth now stand in 
this toune; and ancient men doeth say, tliat there 
was a battel foughten on ane little hill not the tenth 
part of a myle from this clturch, be certaine men 
which they did not know what they were. And 
lon;i; time thereafter, certaine herds of that tonne, 
and' of the next toune, called Unnalt, botii wenches 
and youthes, did on a tyme conveen with others 
on that hill; and the day being somewhat cold, did 
gather tilte bones of the dead men that were slayne 



172 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



long time before in that place, and did make a fii-e 
to warm them. At last they did' all remove from 
the fire, except one maid or wench, which was ve- 
rie cold, and she did remain there for a space. 
She being quyetlie her alone, without any otiier 
companie, took up her clothes above her knees, 
or thereby, to warm her; a wind did come and 
caste the ashes upon her, and she was conceived 
of ane man-child. Several tymes tliereafter she 
was verie sick, and at last she was knowne to be 
with chyld. And then her parents did ask at her 
the jnatter heiroft", which the wench could not weel 
answ.er which way to satisfie them. At last she re- 
solved them with anc answer. As fortune fell up- 
on her concerning this marvellous miracle, the 
chyld being borne, his name was called Gili-doir 
JUaghrevolich; that is to say, the black child, so7i 
to the bones. So called, his grandfather sent him 
to school, and so he was a good schoUar, and godlie. 
lie did build this church which doeth now stand 
in Lochyeld, called Kilmalie." — Macfariane, 
ut supra, ii, 188. 

4. Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 

The virgin snood did Alice wear. — P. 137. 

The snood, or ribbon, with which a Scottish 
lass braided her hair, had an emblematical signi- 
fication, and applied to her maiden character. It 
was exchanged for the ciirch, toy, or coif, wlien 
she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. 
But if the damsel was so unfoilunate as to lose 
pretensions to the name of maiden, without gain- 
ing a right to that of mati'on, she was neither per- 
mitted to use tiie snood, nor advance to the graver 
dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there 
occur many sly allusions to such misfortune, as in 
the old words to the popular tune of " Ower the 
muir amang the heather." 

Down amang the broora, the broom, 
Down amang the In-oom, my dearie, 

The lassie lost her silken snood. 
That gard her greet till she was wearie. 

5. The desert gave hira visions wild, 

Such as might suit the spectre's child. — P. 137. 

in adopting the legend concerning the birth of 
the founder of the church of Kilmalie, the author 
has endeavoured to trace the effects which such a 
belief was likely to produce, in a barbai'ous age, 
on the person to whom it related. It seems likely 
that he must have become a fanatic or an impostor, 
or that mixture of both which forms a more fre- 
quent character than either of them, as existing 
separately. In truth, mad persons are frequently 
more anxious to impress upon others a faith in 
their visions, than they are themselves confirmed 
in their reality: as, on the other hand, it is difficult 
for the most cool-headed impostor long to person- 
ate an enthusiast, without in some degree believing 
what he is so eager to have believed. It was a na- 
tural attribute of such a character as the stipposed 
hermit, that he should credit the numerous super- 
stitions with which the minds of ordinary highland- 
ers are almost alwajs embued. A few of these 
are slightly alluded to in this stanza. The river 
demon, or" river-horse, for it is that form which 
he commonly assumes, is the kelpy of the low- 
lands, an evil and malicious spirit, delighting to 
forbode and to witness calamity. He frequents 
most highland lakes and rivers: and one of his 
most memorable exploits was performed upon 
the bank of Loch Vennachar, in the very district 
viiich forms the scene of our action: It consisted 



in the destructinn of a funeral procession, with all 
its attendants. 1 he "noontide hag," called in Gae- 
lic glas-Ucli, a tall, emaciated, gigantic female 
figure,is supposed in particularto haunt the district 
of Knoidart. A goblin dressed in antique armour, 
and having one hand covered with blood, called, 
from that circumstance, L]tam-dearg-, or red-hand, 
is a tenant of the forests of Glenmore and Rotliie- 
murcus. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in 
shape and malignant in disposition, are believed 
to frequent different mountains and glens of the 
highlands, where any unusual appearance, pro- 
duced by mist, or the strange lights that are soq|e- 
times thrown upon particular objects, never fails 
to present an apparition to the imagination of tfic 
solitary and melancholy mountaineer. 

6. The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream.— P. 137. 

Most great families in the highlands were sup- 
posed to have a tutelar, or rather a domestic spirit, 
attached to them, who took an interest in their 
prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, an ap- 
proaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant was 
called jyiay JMoUach, and appeared in the form 
of a girl, who had her arm covered with hair. 
Grant of Rotliiemurcus had an attendant called 
Bodach-an-dun, or the ghost of the hill; and many 
other examples might be mentioned. The Ban- 
Schie* implies a female fairy, whose lamentations 
were often supposed to precede the death of a chief- 
tain of pai'ticular families. When she is visible, it is 
in the form of an old woman, with a blue mantle and 
streaming hair. A superstition of the same kind is, 
I believe, universally received by the interior ranks 
of the native Irish. 

The death of the head of a highland family is 
also sometimes Supposed to be announced by a 
chain of lights of different colours, called Dr''eug, 
or death of the druid. The direction which it 
takes marks the place of the funeral. 

7. Soinids, too, had come in midnight blast, 
Of charging steeds, eareei-iiig fast 
Along BenJiarroVv's shingly side, 
Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride. — P. 137 

A presage of the kind alluded to in the text, is 
still believed to announce death to the ancient 
highland family of M'Lean, of Lochbuy. The 
spirit of an'ancestor slain in battle, is heard to gal- 
lop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice 
around the family residence, ringing his fairy bri- 
dle, and thus intimating the approaching calamity. 
How easily the eye as well as the ear may be de- 
ceived upon such occasions, is evident from the 
stories of armies in the air, and other spectral phe- 
nomena with which history abounds. Such an ap- 
parition is said to have been witnessed upon the 
side of Southfell mountain, between Penrith and 
Keswick, upon the 23d June, 1744, by two persons, 
William Lancaster ■ of Blakehills, and Daniel 
Stricket his servant, whose attestation to the fact, 
with afuU account of the apparition, dated the '21st 
July, 1785, is printed in Clark's Survey of the 
Lakes. The apparition consisted of several troops 
of horse moving in regular order, with a steatly 
rapid motion, making a curved sweep around the 
fell, and seeming to the spectators to disappear 
over the ridge of the mouutain. Many persons 
witnessed this phenomenon, aud observed the lasi, 
or last but one, of the supposed troop, occasionally 



In the first edition, this was erroneously explained 
as equivalent to Ben Sc/iichiaii, or the head of the fairies. 



THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 



173 



leave his rank, and pass at a gallop to the front, 
■wlien lie resumed the same steadj' pace. This cu- 
ri'ous appearance, making the necessary allowance 
for imagination, may be perha])S sufiicicntly ac- 
coimted for by optical deception. — iSurve)/ of the 
Lakes, p. 25. 

Supernatural intimations of approaching fate are 
not, I believe, confined to highland families. How- 
ell mentions having seen at a lapidary's, in 1G32, 
a monumental stone, prepared for four persons of 
the name of Oxenham, before the death of each of 
■whom, the inscription stated a white bird to have 
appeai'ed and fluttered around the bed, while the 
patient was in the last agony. — Familiar Letters, 
edit. 1726, p. 247. Glanville mentions one family, 
the members of which received this solemn sign' 
by music, the sound of which floated from the fa- 
mily residence, and seemed to die in a neighbour- 
ing wood; another, thatof captain Wood of Bamp- 
ton, to whom the signal was given by knocking. 
But the most remarkable instance of the kind, oc- 
curs in the MS. memoirs of lady Fanahaw, so ex- 
emplary for her conjugal aftection. Her liusband, 
sir Richard, and she, chanced, during tiieir abode 
in Ireland, to visit a friend, the head of a sept, who 
resided in his ancient baronial castle, surrounded 
■with a moat. At midnight, she was awakened by 
a ghastly and supernatural scream, and looking 
out of bed, beheld, by the moonlight, a female face 
and part of the form, hovering at the window. The 
distance from the ground, as well as the circum- 
stance of the moat, excluded the possibility that 
what she beheld was of this world. The face was 
that of a young and ratber handsome woman, but 
pale, and the hair, which was reddish, loose and 
dishevelled. The dress, whicti lady Fanshaw's 
terror did not prevent her remarking accurately, 
■was that of the ancient Irish. This apparition con- 
tinued to exhibit itself for some time, and tlien 
vanislied with two shrieks similar to that which 
liad first excited lady Fanshaw's attention. In tlie 
morning, with infinite terror, she communicated 
to her host what she had witnessed, and found him 
prepared not only to credit, but to account for the 
apparition. " A near relation of my family," said 
lie, " expired last night in this castle. We disguis- 
ed our certain expectation of the event from you, 
lest it should throw a cloud over tlie cheerful re- 
ception which was your due. Now, before such 
an event happens in this family and castle, the fe- 
male spectre whom you have seen always is visi- 
ble. She is believed to be the spirit of a woman 
of inferior rank, whom one of my ancestors de- 
graded iiiraself by marrying, and whom afterwards, 
to expiate the dishonour done his family, he caused 
to be drowned in the castle^moat. " 

8. 'Wliose parents in Inch-Cailliacli wave 

'riK-U- shadows o'er ClaiV- Alpine's grave. — P. 138. 

Inch- Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Wo- 
men, is a most beautiful island at the low er extre- 
mity of Loch-Lomond. The church belonging to 
the former nunnery was long used -as a place of 
worship for the parish of Buchanan, biit scarce any 
vestiges of it now remain. Tlie burial ground con- 
tinues to be used, and contains the family places 
of sepulture of several neighbouring clans. The 
monuraentsoflhe lairds of iVIacgregor, and of other 
families, claiming a descent from the old Scottish 
king Alpine, are most I'emarkable. The high- 
landers are as jealous of their rights of sepulture, 
as may be expected from a people whose whole 
laws and govcrument, if clausliip can be called so, 



turned upon the single principle of family descent: 
" Mav his ashes be scattered on the water," was 
one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations 
which they used against an enemy. 

9. the dun deer's hide 

On fleeter foot was never tied.— P. 138. 

The present brogue of the highlanders is made 
of half-dried leather, with holes to admit and let 
out the water; for walking the moors dry-shod, is 
a matter altogether out of question. The ancient 
buskin was still ruder, being made of undress- 
ed deer's hide, with tlie hair outwards, a circum- 
stance which procured the higtdiuiders the well- 
known epithet of Redshanks. The process is very 
accurately described by one Elder (liimself a high- 
lander) in the project for a imion between England 
and Scotland, addressed to Heniy VI 11. 

" We go a hunting; and after that we have slain 
red deer, we flay ott"the skin by and by, and set- 
ting of our bare-foot on the inside thereof, for want 
of cunning shoemakers, by 3 our grace's pardon, 
we play the coblers, compassing and measuring so 
much thereof, as shall reach up to our ancles, prick- 
ing the upper part thereof with holes, that the wa- 
ter may repass where it enters, and stretching it 
up with a strong thong of the same above our said 
ancles. So, and please your noble grace, we make 
our shoes. Therefore, we using such manner of 
shoes, the rough hairy side outwards, in your 
grace's dominions of England, we be calletl rough- 
footed Scots." — PiNKjiRTOsf's History, vol. ii, p. 
'397. 

10. The dismal coronach.— P. 139. 

The coronach of the highlanders, like the ulii- 
latns of the Romans, and the uhdoo of tlie Irish, 
was a wild expression of lamentation, poured forth 
by the mourners over the body of a departed friend. 
When the words of it were articulate, they ex- 
pressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss 
the clan would sustain by his death. The follow- 
ing is a lamentation of this kind, literally trans- 
lated from the Gaelic, to some of the ideas of 
wliich tlie text stands indebted. Tbe tune is so 
popular, that it lias since become the war-march, 
or gathering of the clan. 

Coronach on sir Lauchlan, chief of Maclean. 

Which of all the Senachies 

Can trace thy line from the' root, up to paradise, 

But Macvuirih, the sou of Fergus? 

No sooner liad thine ancient stately tree 

Taken firm root In Albion, 

Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw. — 

'Twus then we lost a chief of deathless name! 

'Tis no base weed — no planted tree, 

Nor a seedling of last autumn; 

Nor a sapliu planted at Beltain;* 

Wide, wide around were spread its lofty branches— 

But the topmost botigli is lowly laid! 

Thbu hast forsaken us before Sawaine.f 

Thy dwelUni* is the winter house; — 

Loud, sad, and mighty is thy death song! 

Oh! courteous champion of Montrose! 

Oh! stately warrior of the Celtic Isles! 

Thou shalt buckle thy harness ou no more! 

The coronach has for some years past been super- 
seded at funerals by the use of the bag-yjipe; and 
that also is, like many other highland peculiarities, 
falling into disuse unless in remote districts. 

11. Benk-di saw the cross of fire, 

It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.— P. 139. 
A glance at the provincial map of Perthshire, or 



Bel's fire, or Whitsunday. 



t Halloween. 



174 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS- 



at any large map of Scotlaad, will trace the pro- 
gress of the signal through tlie small district of 
lakes and mountains, which, in exercise of my po- 
etical privilege, I have subjected to the authority 
of my imaginary cliieftain; and which, at the pe- 
riod of my romance, was really occupied by a clan 
who claimed a descent from Alpine, a clan tiie 
most unfortunate, and most persecuted, but nei- 
ther tlie least distinguished, least powerful, nor 
least brave, of the tribes of the Gael. 

Slioeh nor lioghridh ducliaisach 

Bha-shios an Duii-Staiobhiiiish 

Aig an roubh cnui na Halba othus 

'Stag; a cheil duchas fast ris. 
The first stage of the fiery cross is to Dun- 
craggan, a place near the Brigg of Turk, where a 
short stream divides Loch-Achray from Loch-Ven- 
iiachar. From thence, it passes towards Callender, 
and then turning to the left up the pass of Lennie, is 
consigned to Norman at the chapel of St. Bride, 
which stood on a small romantic knoll in the middle 
ofthe valley, called Strath-Ire. Tombeaand Arnan- 
dave, or Armandave, are names of places in the 
vicinity. The alarm is then supposed to pass along 
the lake of Lubnaig, andthrougli the various glens 
in the district of Bahiuiddcr, including the neigh- 
bouring tracts of Glentinlas and Strath-Gartney. 

12. Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 

Bakiuidder, speeds the midnight blaze.— P. 140. 

It may be necessary to inform llie southern read- 
er, that tlie heath on the Scottish moor-lands is 
often set fire to, that the siieep may have the ad- 
vantage ofthe young herbage produced in room 
of the tough old heather plants. This custom (exe- 
crated b)' sportsmen) produces occasionally the 
most beautiful nocturnal appearances, similar al- 
most to the discharge of a volcano. The simile is 
not new to poetry. The charge of a v.arrior, in 
the fine ballad of Hardyknute, is said to be " like 
a fire to heatlier set." 

13. by his chieftain's hand.— P. 141. 

The deep and implicit respect paid by the high- 
land clansmen to tiieir chief, rendered this both a 
common and a solemn oath. In other respects, 
Ibey were like most savage nations, capricious in 
their ideas concerning the obligatory power of oaths. 
One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the 
dirk, imprecating upon themselves death by that, 
or a similar weapon, if they broke their vow. But 
for oaths in the usual form, they are said to have 
had little respect. As for the reverence due to the 
chief, it may be guessed from tlie following odd 
example ofthe highland point of iionour: 

"The clan whereto the abovementioned tribe 
belongs, is the only one I have heard of, wiiich is 
■without a chief; that is, being divided into fami- 
lies, under several chieftains, without any particu- 
lar patriarch of the whole nan»e. And this is a 
great reproach, as may appear from an affair that 
fell out at my table, in the highlands, between one 
of that name and Cameron. The provocation giv- 
en by the latter was — name your chief. — The re- 
turn of it, at once, was, — You are a fool. They 
■went out next-morning, but, having early notice of 
it, 1 sent a small party of soldiers after them, 
which, in all probability, prevented some barba- 
rous mischief that might have ensued; for the 
chiefless highlander, who is himself a petty chief- 
tain, was going to the place appointed with a small 
sword and pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old 
man) took witli him only his broad-sword^ accord- 
in;; to agreement. 



" When all was over, and I had, at least seem- 
ingly, reconciled them, I was told the words, of 
which I seemed to tliink but slightly, were, to ofte 
ofthe clan, the greatest of all provocations."— Let- 
ters from the JKorth of Scotland, vol. ii, p. 221. 

14. Coir-nan-Uriskin. — P. 141. 

This is a very steep and most romantic hollow 
in the mountain of Ben-venue, overhanging the 
south-eastern extremity of Loch-Katrine. It is 
surrounded with stupendous rocks, and oversha- 
dowed with birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the 
spontaneous production of the mountainj even 
where its cliffs appear denuded of soil. A dale in 
so wild a situation, and amid a people whose ge- 
nius bordered on the romantic, did not remain 
without appropriate deities. The name literally 
implies the Corri, or Den of the Wild or Siiaggy 
Men. Perhaps this, as conjectured by Mr. Alexan- 
der Campbell,* may have originally only implied 
its being the haunt of a ferpcious banditti. But tra- 
dition has ascribed to the TJrish, who gives name 
to the cavern, a figure between a goat and a man; 
in short, however much the classical reader may 
be startled, precisely that of the Grecian satyr. 
The Urisk seems not to have inherited, with the 
form, t^ie petulance ofthe sylvan deity ofthe clas- 
sics: his occupations, on the contrary, resembled 
those of Milton's Lul)ber Fiend, or of the Scottish 
Brownie, thougii he difi^ered from both in name 
and appearance. "The Urisks,'" says Dr. Gra- 
iiam, " were a sort of lubberly supernaturals, who, 
like the Brownies, could be gained over by kind 
attention, to perform tlie drudgery of the farm, 
and it was believed that many of the families in 
the highlands had one ofthe order attaciied to it. 
Thev were supposed to be dispersed over the high- 
lands, each in his own wild recess, but the solemn 
stated meetings ofthe order were regularly hehl 
in this cave of Ben-venue. This current supersti- 
tion, no doubt, alludes to some circumstance in the 
ancient history of this country." — Scenery on the 
Southern confines nf Pertlisldre, 1806, p. 19. 

It must be owned that the coir, or den, does not, 
in its present state, meet our ideas of a subterra- 
neous grotto, or cave, being only a small and nar- 
row cavity, among huge fragments of rocks rudely 
piled together. But sucii a scene is liable to con- 
vulsions of nature, which a lowlanderconnot esti- 
mate, and which may have choaked up what was 
originally a cavern. At least the name and tradi- 
tion authorize the author of a fictitious tale to as- 
sert its having been such at the remote period in 
which the scene is laid. 

IS. the wihl pass of Beal-nani-bo.— P. 141. 

Bealach-nam-bo, or the pass of cattle, is a most 
magnificent glade, overhung with aged bircli-trees, 
a little higher up the mountain than the Coir-nan- 
Uriskin, treated of in the last note. The whole 
composes the most sublime piece of scenery that 
imagination can conceive. 

16. A single page, to bear liis sword, 
Alone attended on his lord.— P. 141. 
A highland chief, being as absolute in his pa- 
triarchal authority as any prince, had a corres- 
ponding number of ofticers attached to his person. 
He had his body-guards, called luicht-tach, picked 
from his clan tor strength, activity, and entire de- 
votion to his person. These, acconUng to their 
deserts, were sure to share abundantly in the rude 
profusion of his hospitali ty. It is recorded, for 

• Journey from Edinburgh, 1802, p. 109. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



175 



example, by tradition, that Allan Maclean, chief 
of that clan, happened upon a time to hear one of 
these favourite retainers observe to his comrade, 
that their chief grew old — " Whence do you infer 
thati"' replied the other. " When was it," rejoin- 
ed the first, " tlial a soldier of Allans was obliged, 
as I am now, not only to eat the flesh from this 
bone, but even to tear oft' the inner skin, or fila- 
ment?" The hint was quite sufficient, and Mac- 
lean next morning, to relieve his followers from 
such dire necessity, undertook an inroad on the 
mainland, the ravage of which altogether effaced 
the memory of his former expeditions for the like 
purpose. 

Our officer of engineers, so often quoted, has 
given us a distinct list of the domestic officers who, 
independent o{ Lmcfit-tach, or gardes da corps,he- 
longed to the establishment of a higliland cliief 
These are, 1. 'T/ie Hench-man. See tliese notes, 
p. 169. 2. The Bard. Seep. 164. 3. BlacUer, or 
spokesman. 4. Oillin-more, or sword-bearer, al- 
luded to in the text. 5. Gillie-casjiue, who carried 
the cliief, if on fdot, over the fords. 6. Gi'Jie-coin- 
8traiiie,who leads tlie chief's horse. 7. GiUie-tni- 
shanarinsh, the baggage man. 8. The piper. 9. 
The j)iper's gillie, or attendant, wlio carries the 
bagpipe.* Although this appeared, naturally 
enough, verj' ridiculous to an English officer, who 
considered the master of such a retinue as no more 
than an English gentleman of 500/. a-year, yet in 
the circumstances of the chief, whose strengtii and 
importance consisted in thenumberand attaclinrkent 
of his followers, it was of the last consequence, in 
point of policy, to have in his gift subordinate of- 
ficers, which called immediately round his person 
those who were most devoted to him, and, being 
of value in their estimation, were also the means 
of rewarding them. 

NOTES TO CANTO IV. 

1. The taKhainn called; by which, afar. 

Our sirt'3 foivsaw the events of war. — P. 142. 

The highlanders, like all rude people, had va- 
rious superstitious modes of inquiring into futurity. 
One of the most noted was the taghairm, mention- 
ed in the text. A person was wrapped up in tlie 
skin of a newly slain bullock, and deposited beside 
a water-fall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or in 
some other strange, wild, and unusual situation, 
■where the scenery around him suggested nothing 
but objects of horror. In this situation, he revolved 
in his mind the question proposed, and whatever 
was impressed upon him by his exalted imagina- 
tion passed for the inspiration of the disembodied 
spirits, who haunt these desolate recesses. In some 
of the Hebrides, they attributed the same oracu- 
lar power to a large black stone by the sea-shore, 
whicli they approached with certain solemnities, 
and considered the first fancy which came into 
their own minds, after they did so, to be the un- 
doubted dictate of the tutelar deity of the stone, 
and as such, to be, if possible, punctually com- 
plied with. Martin has recorded the following 
curious modes of highland augury, in which the 
taghairm, and its eiffecls upon the person who 
■was subjected to it, may serve to illustrate the text. 

"It was an ordinary thing among the over-cu 
rious to consult an invisible oracle, concerning the 
fate of families and battles, &c. This was per- 
formed three difierent ways: the first was by a 



• Letters from Scotland, vol. ii, p. 15. 



company of men, one of whom, being detached by 
lot, w as afterwards carried to a river, w hich was 
the boundary between Iwo villages; four of the 
company laid bold on him, and, having shut his 
eyes, they took him by the legs and arms, and 
then tossing Kim to and again, struck his hips 
with force against the bank. One of them cried 
out. What is it you have got here? another an- 
swers, A log of birch-wood. The other cries again. 
Let his invisible friends appear from all quarters, 
and let them relieve him by giving an answer to 
our present demands: and in a few minutes after, 
a number of little creatures came from the sea, 
wiio answered the question, and disappeared sud- 
denly. The man was then set at liberty, and they 
all returned home, to take their measures accord- 
ing to the prediction of their false pro\)hets; but 
the poor deluded fools were abused, for tlieir an- 
swer was still ambiguous. This was always prac- 
tised in the night, and may literally be called the 
works of darkness. 

" I had an account from the most intelligent 
and judicious men in the Isle of Skie, that about 
sixty-two years ago, the oracle was thus consult- 
ed only once, and that was in the parish of Kil- 
martin, on the east side, by a wicked and mis- 
chievous race of people, who are now extinguish- 
ed, both root and branch. 

"The second way of consulting the oracle was 
by a party of men, who first retired to solitary 
places, remote from any house, and there they sin- 
gled out one of their number, and wrapt him iu abig 
cow's hide, which they folded about him; his whole 
body was covered with it except his head, and so 
left in this posture all night, until his invisible 
friends relieved him, by giving a proper answer 
to the question in hand; which he received, as he 
fancied, from several persons that he .found about 
him all that time. His consorts returned to him 
at the break of day, and then he communicated 
his news to them; which often proved fatal to those 
concerned ia such unwarrantable inquiries. 

" There w as a third way of consulting, which 
was a confirmation of the second above mentioned. 
The same company who put the man into the hide, 
took a live cat and put him on a spit; one of the 
number was employed to turn the spit, and one ol 
his consorts inquired of him, what are you doing? 
he answered, 1 roast this cat, until his friends an- 
swer the question; which must be the same that 
was proposed by the m<\n shut up in tlie hide. And 
afterwards a very big cat* comes, attended by a 
number of lesser cats, desiring to relieve the cat 
turned upon the spit, and then answers the ques- 
tion. If this answer proved the same that was given 
to the man in the hide, then it was taken as a con- 
firmation of the other, which, in this pase, was be- 
lieved infallible. 

" Mr. Alexander Cooper, present minister of 
North-Visit, told me that one .lohn Erach, in the 
Isle of Lewis, assured him, it was his fate to have 
been led by his curiosity with some w ho consulted 
this oracle, and that he was a night within tlie hide, 
as above mentioned; during which time be felt and 
heard such terrible things, that he could not ex- 
jiress them; the impression it made on him was 
such as could never go oft', and he said for a thou- 
sand worlds he would never again be concerned 
in the like performance, for this had disordered 



* The i-eader may have met with the story of the " King 
of the Cats,^" in lord Lyttleton's Letters. It is well known 
in the highlands as a nursery tale. 



176 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



him to a high degi-ee. He confessed it ingenuous- 
]y, and with an air of great remorse, and seemed 
to be very penitent under a just sense of so great 
a crime; he declared this about five years since, 
and is still living in the Lewis for any tbing 1 
know." — JJi'.tcrip'tion of the Jf'esteni Isles, p. 110. 
See also Peiuumfs Scottish Tour, vol. ii, p. 361. 

2. The choicest of the prey we had. 

When swept our merry-men GallaTigad.— P. 142. 
I know not if it be worth observing, that this pas- 
sage is taken almost litei-ally from the mouth of 
an old iiighland Kerne, or Ketteran, as they were 
called. He used to narrate the merry doings of 
the good old time when he was follower of Rob 
Roy Macgregor. Tliis leader, on one occasion, 
thought proper to make a descent upon the low- 
er part of the Loch-Lomond district, and summon- 
ed all tlie heritors and farmers to meet at the kirk 
of IJiymen, to pay him black-mail, i. e. tribute for 
forbearance and protection. As this invitation was 
supported by a band of thirty or forty stout fellows, 
only one gentleman, an ancestor, if I uiistake not, 
of the present IMr. Grahame, of Gartmore, ven- 
tured to decline compliance. Roh Roy instantly 
swept his land of all he could drive away, and 
among the spoil was a bull of the old Scottish wild 
breed, whose ferocity occasioned great pleasure to 
the Kelterans. " Bat ere M'e had reached the Row 
of Dennan," said the old man, "a child might 
have scratched his ears." The circumstance is ii 
minute one, but it paints the times when the poor 
beeve was compelled 

To hoof it o'er as many weai-y miles, 

With goading pikemen hollowing at his heels, 

As e'er the bravest antler of tlie woods. 

Ethwald. 

3. that huge cliff, whose ample verge 

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.— P. 143. 

There is a rock so named in the forest of Glen- 
finlas, by which a tumultuary cataract takes its 
course. This wild place is said in former times to 
liave afforded refuge to an outlaw, who was sup- 
plied with provisions h)^ a woman, who lowered 
them down from the brink of the precipice above. 
His water he procured for himself by letting down 
a flagon tied to a string, into the black pool heueath 
the fall. 

4. Or raven on the blasted oak. 

That, watching while the deer is broke. 
His morsel claims witli sullen croak. — P. 143. 
Every thing helonging to the chase was matter 
of solenuiity among our ancestors; hut nothing was 
more so than the mode of cutting up, or, as it was 
technically called, breaking the slaughtered stag. 
The forester had iiis allotted portion; the hounds 
had a certain allowance: and, to make the division 
as general aS possible, the very birds had their 
share also. " There is alittle gristle," says Tuber- 
ville, " which is upon the spoone of the hrisket, 
which we call the raven's bone; and 1 have seen 
in some places a raven so wont and accustomed to 
it, that she would never fail to croak and cry for 
it all the time you were in breaking up of the deer, 
and would not depart till she had it." In the very 
ancient metrical romance of sir Tristrem, that peer- 
less knight, who is said to have been tlie very de- 
viser of all rules of chase, did not omit this cere- 
mony: — 

" The raven he yaf his yiftes 
Sat on the fourched tree." 

Sir Tristrem, 2d ed. p. 34. 



The raven might also challenge iiis riglits by the 
book of saint Albans; for tiius says dame Juliana 
Berners: — 

— Slitteth anon 

The bely to the side from the corbyii bone; 
That is corbin's fee, at the death he will be. 
Jonson, in "The Sad Shepherd," gives a more 
poetical account of the same ceremony: 
Marian.— Hn that undoes him. 
Doth cleave the brisket bone, upon the spoon 
Of which a little gristle grows— you Call it — 
Rohin Hood.— The raven's bone. 

Marian. Now o'er head sat a raven 

On a sere bough, a grown, great bird and hoarse. 
Who, all thif tune the deer was breaking up. 
So croaked and cried for it, as all the huntsiAen, 
Especially old Scatlilocke, thought it ominous. 
5. Which spills the foremost foeman's life, 
That party conquers in the strife. — P. 143. 
Though this be in the text described as a re- 
sponse of the taghairm, or Oracle of the Hide, it 
was of itself an augury frequently attended to. 
The fate of the battle was often anticipated in the 
imagination of the combatants, by observing which 
party first shed blood. It is said that the high- 
landers under Montrose were so deeply imbued 
with this notion, that on the morning of the battle 
of Tippermoor, they murdeied a defenceless herds- 
man, whom they found in the fields, merely to se- 
cure an advantage of so much consequence to tlieir 
party. 

6. Alice Brand.— P. 144. 
This little fairy tale is founded upon a very cu- 
rious Danish ballad, which occurs in the Kiempe 
Viser, a collection of heroic songs, first published 
in 1591, and repi'inted in 1695, inscribed by Anders 
Safrensen, the collector and editor,to Sophia,queen 
of Denmark. I have been favoured with a literal 
translation of the original, b)' my learned friend, 
Mr. Robert Jamieson, whose deep knowledge of 
Scandinavian antiquities will, I hope, one day be 
dis[dayed in illustration of the history of Scottish 
ballad and song, for which no man possesses more 
aiTipIe materials. The story will remind the rea- 
ders of the Border Minstrelsy of tlie tale of Young 
Tamlane. But this is only a solitary and not very 
marked instance of coincidence, whereas several 
of the other ballads in the same collection, find 
exact counterparts in the Kiempe Viser. Which 
may have been the originals, will be a question for 
future antiquarians. Mr. Jamieson, to secia-e the 
power of literal translation, has adopted the old 
Scottish idiom, which approaches so near to that 
of the Danish, as almost to give word for word, as 
well as line for line, and iiuleed in many verses 
the orthography alone is altered. As Wester Ilaf, 
mentionetl in the first stanza of lbeballad,means the 
West Sea, in opposition to the Baltic, or East Sea, 
Mr. Jamieson inclines to be of opinion, that the 
scene of the disenchantment is laid in one of the 
Orkney, or Hcbride Islands. To each verse in the 
originid is added a burden, having a kind of mean- 
ing of its own, but not applicable, at least not uni- 
formly applicable, to the sense of the stanza to 
which it is subjoined: this is very common both in 
Danish and Scottish song. 

THE ELFIX GKAY. 

Translated from the Danish Kasmpe Viser, p. 143, 
and first published in 1591. 

Der ligger an void i Fester Haf, 

Vrr ii((ter en boiitle at biggc: 
Ham! Jorrr did liaadv liog og liund, 

(Jg agtcr tiar otn vintcrcii at tigge. 
^Dc vilde diur og diurcne udi stofveu.} 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



177 



There liggs a wold m Wester Haf, 

'I'here a liiisbande means to bigg. 
And thither he carries baith liawk and hound, 
There meaning the winter to ligg. 
(T/ie ivild deer and duen J' the shaiv-out.) 
2. 
* fte taks wi' him baith hound and cock, 
' The langer lie means to stay, 
The wild deer in the sliaws that are 
May sairly rue the day. 
{The wild deer, ire.) 
3. 
He's hewed the beech, and he's felled the aik, 

Sae has he the poplar gray: 
And grim in mood was the grousdme elf, 
That be sae bald he may. 
4. 
He hewed him kipples, he hewed him bawks 

Wi' mickle moil and haste; 
Syne speered the elfin the knock that bade, 
"Wha's hacking here sae fast:"' 
5. 
Syne up and spak the weiest elf, 

Creaned es an immert sma: 
" It's here is come a Christian man 
I'll fley hipi or he ga." 
6. 
It's up syne started the firsten elf, v 

And giowi-ed aliout sae grim: 
" It's we'll awa' to the husbande's house. 
And hald a court on him. 
7. . 
"Here hews he down baith skiigg and sliaw. 

And wirks us skaith and seoni: 
His huswife he shall gie to me, 
They's rue the day they were bom!" 
8. 
The elfen a' i' the knock that were 

Gaed dancing in a string: 
They nighed near the husbande's house: 
Sae lang their tails did hing. 
9. 
The hound he yowls i' the yard: 

The herd toots in his horn ; 
The eani scraichs, and the cock craws. 
As the husbande had gi'eu him his corn.* 
10. 
The elfen were five score and seven, 

Sae laidly and sae grim; 
And they the husbande's guests maun be. 
To eat and drink wi' him. 

11. 
The husbande out o' Villenshaw 

At his winnock the elves can see; 
" Help me, now, Jesu, Mary's son; 
Tlur elves they mint at me!" 
12. 
In every nook a cross he coost, 

In his chalmer maist ava: 
The elfen a' were fleyed thereat, 
And flew to the Avild-wood shaw. 
13. 
And some flew east, and some flew west. 

And some to the norwart Hew; 
Ami some they flew to the deep dale down. 
There still they are, I trow.f 
14. 
It was then the weiest elf, 
In at the door braids he; 
Agast was the husbande, for that elf 
For cross nor sigu wad flee. 
IS. 
The huswife she was a canny wife. 
She set the elf at the board; 



* This singular quatrain stands thus in the original: 
" Hundeii hand ^ior i gaarden; 

Hiorden tud^ i sit horn; 
CErnen skriger, og hanen galer, 

Som bonden liafd(5 gifvet sit kom." 
tin the Danish: 
" Somm^ floy^ osier, og somui^ floy^ vester, . 

Nogl6 floy^ nor paa; 
Nogl^ floy^ ned i dybein? dah'', 

Jcg ti-oer de crS der endnu," , 



She set afore him baith ale and meat, 
Wi' moiiy a well-waled word. 
16. 
" Hear thou, Gudeman o' Villenshaw, 

What now I say to thee; 
Wha bade thee bigig within our bounds, 
Without the leave o' me? 
17. 
" But. an thou in our bounds will bigg, 

And bide, as well as may be. 
Then thou tliy dearest huswife maun 
To me for a leimuan gie." 
18. 
Up spak the luckless husbande then. 

As God the grace him gae: 
" Eline she is to me sae dear. 
Her thou may nagate hae." 
19. 
Till the elf he answered as he couth: 

" Lat but my huswife be. 
And tak whate'er o' gude oi' gear 
Is mine, awa wi' thee." 
20. 
" Then I'll thy Eline tak, and thee 

Aueatli my feet to tread; 
And liide thy goud and white monic 
Aneatli my dwalling stead." 
21. 
The husbande and his household a' 

In sai-y rede they join: 
" Far better that slie be now forfairn, 
Nor that we a' should tyne." 
22. 
Up, will of rede, the husbande stood 

Wi' heart fu' sad and sair; 
And he has gi'en his huswil'e Eline 
Wi' the young elf to fare. 
23. 
Then blyth grew he, and sprang about; 

He took her in his arnj; 
The rud it left her comely cheek; 
Her heart was clemed wi' harm. 
24. 
A waefu' woman then she was ane. 

And the moody tears loot fa': 
" God rew on me, unseely wife. 
How hard a wierd I fa'! 
25. 
" My fay I plight to the fairest wight 

That man on mold mat see; 
M;iun I now r.jell wi' a laidly el. 
His light lemman to be.'" 
26. 
He minted ance— he minted twice, 
Wae waxed lier heart that syth; 
Sjaie the laidliest fiend he grew that e'er 
To mortal ee did kyth. 
27. 
When he the thirden time can mint. 

To Mary's son she prayed. 
And the laidly elf was ekan awa. 
And a fair knight in his stead. 
28. 
This fell under a linden green. 

That agaiit his shape he found; 
O' wae and care was thi^ word nae mair, 
A' were sae glad that stouiiu. 
29. 
" O dearest Eline, hear thou this. 

And ihow my wife sal be, 
And a' the goud in merry England 
Sae freely I'll gie thee! 
30. 
" Whan I was a little wee bairn. 

My mither died me frae; 
My stepmither sent me awa frae her: 
And turned till an eljin gray. 
■ 31. 
" To thy husliand I a gift Avill gie, 

Wi' mickle state and gear, 
As mends for Eliiii' his huswife; 
Thau's be my heartis dear." 
32. 
"Thou nobil knyght, we thank now God 
That lias freed us fr-ie skaith; 



irs 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



1 



Sae wed thou thee a maiden free, 

And joy attend ye baith! 
33. 
" S)Tie I to thee na maik can be, 

My dochter may be tliine; 
And thy gud will right to fulfil, 

Lat this be our propine." 
34. 
« I thank thee, Eline, thou wise woman; 

My praise thy worth shall hae; 
And tny love gin I fail to win, 

Thou here at hame shall stay." 
35. 
The husbande biggit now on his He, 

And nae ane wrought him wraiig; 
His dochter wore crown in Engeland 

And happy lived and lang. 
36. 
Now Eline the husbande 's huswife has 

Cour'd a' her grief and harms; 
She's mither to a noble queen 

That sleeps in a kingis arms. 



GtOSSABT. 



St. 1. Wold, a wood; 
woody fastness. 

Husbande, from the Dan. 
hos, witli, and bonde, 
a villain, orbondsinan, 
■who was a cultivator 
of the ground, and 
could not quit the es- 
tate to which he was 
attached, without the 
permission of his lord. 
This is the sense of 
the word, in the old 
Scottish records. In 
the Scottish " Burghe 
laws," translated from 
the Reg. Majest. 
(Auchinleck MS. in 
the Adv. Lib.) it is 
used indiscriminately 
■with the Dan. and 
Swed. bonde. 

Sigg, build. 

Ligg, lie. 

Dues, does. 

2. Shaw, wood. 
Sairly, sorely. 

3. Jlik, oak. 
Gi'on^ome, terrible. 
Bald, bold. 

4. Kipp!es, fcouples) 
beams joinecl at the 
top, for supporting a 
roof, in Ijuilding. 

Jiawks, balks; cross 
beams. 

JUoil, laborious indus- 
try. 

Sheered, asked. 

Knock, hillock. 

5. JVeiest, smallest. 

Crean'd, shrunk, dimi- 
nished; from the Gaii- 
lic, criuJi, very small. 

Jmmert, emmit; ant. 

Christian, used in the 
Danish ballads, kc. in 
contradistinction to 
demoniac, as it is in 
England , i n contradi s- 
tiaction to brute; in 



which sense, a person 
of the lower class in 
England, would call a 
Je^v or a Turk, a 
Christian. 
Fley, frighten. 

6. Glo%iir''d, stared. 
Hald, hold. 

7. Skiigg, shade. 
Skaiih, harm. 

8. JSTighed, approached. 

9. Yowls, howls. 
Toots — in the Dan. i2ule, 

is applied both to the 
howling of a dog, and 
the sound of a horn. 
Sc7^aichs, screams. 

10. Laidly, loathly; dis- 
gustingly ugly. 

Grim, fierce. 

11. li'innock, window. 
Mint, aim at. 

12. Coost, cast. 
Chalmer, chamber, 
JMaist, most. 
Jlva, of all. 

13. JVoi-wart, north- 
ward. 

Trotv, believe. 

14. Braids, strides 
quickly forward. 

Wad, would. 

15. Cariny, idroit. 
JMony, many. 
Waled, well chosen. 

17. An, if. 
Bide, abide. 
Lemnian, Mistress. 

18. JVogate, nowise. 

19. Couth, could, knew 
how to. 

Lat he, let alone. 
Gude, goods; property. 

20. Aneath, beneath. 
Dwal'.ing-stead, dwell- 
ing-place. 

21 . Sary, sorrowful. 
Rede, counsel; consulta- 
tion. 

For/aim, forlorn; lost; 
!{one. 



Tyne, (verb neut. ) be 
lost; perish. 

22. Will of rede, bewil- 
dered in thought; in 
the Danish original 
" vildraadige:'" l^at. 
"inops consilii;" Gr. 
etTTofcui. This expres- 
sion is left among the 
desiderata in the Glos- 
sarj' to Ritson's ro- 
mances, and has never 
been explained. It is 
obsolete in the Danish 
as well as in English. 

Fare, go. 

23. liud, red of the 
cheek. 

Clem''d, in the Danish, 
klemt; (which, in the 
north of England, is 
still in use, as the 
■word starved is with 
us;)brought to a dying 
state. It is used by 
our old comedians. 

Harm, grief; as in the 
original, and in the 
old Teutonic, En- 
glish, and Scottish po- 
etry. 

24. Waefu, -woeful. 
JMoody, strongly and 

wilfully passionate. 

Rew, take ruth; pity. 

Unseely, unhappy; un- 
blest. 

Weird, fate. 

Fa, (Isl. Dan. and 
Swed.) take; get; ac- 
quire; procure: have 
for nij'lot. — This Go- 
thic verb answers, in 

. its direct and second- 
ary significations, ex- 
actly to the Latin ca- 
pio; and Allan Ramsay 
was right in his de- 
finition of it. It is 
quite a different word 
from/a', an abbrevia- 
tion of full, or befall; 
and is the principal 
root in FA]S(»Ey, to 
fang, take, or lay hold 
of. 

-25. Fay, failli. 

JMold, mould; earth. 

Mat, mote; miglit. 

JMaun, must. 



JMell, mix, 

FJ, an elf. This term, 
intlie Welch, signifies 
what has in itself the 
power of motion; a 
moving principle an 
intelligence; ju spirit; 
an angel. In the He- 
brew, it bears the 
same import. 

26. Minted, attempted; 
meant; showed a 7n//»/, 
or intention to. The 
original is: 

"and mindte hende forst 
— og anden gang: — 

Hun giordis i hiortet sa 
vee: 

End blef hand den ledis- 
iedeifvel Mand kunde 
med oven see. 

Der hand vil de niinde 
den tredie gang,"&c. 

Syih, tide; time. 

Kyth, appear. 

28. &ow?if/, hour; time; 
moment. 

29. Merry, (old Teut. 
mere,) famous; re- 
nowned; answering, 
in its etymological 
meaning, exactly to 
the Latin mactus. 
Hence merry-men, as 
the address of a chief 
to hisfollowers;mean- 
ing, not men of mirth, 
but of renown. The 
term is found in its 
original sense in the 
Gael, mard, and the 
Welsh muwr, great; 
and in the oldest 
Teut. romances, mar, 
mer, and mere, have 
sometimes the same 
signification. 

31. Mends, amends; re- 
compense. 

33. Maik, match; peer; 
eipial. 

Propine, ] d < d ge ; gi ft. 

35. (ie, an island of the 
sec()/i(/ magnitude; an 
island o'i\\\efirst mag- 
nitude being called a 
land, and one of the 
third magnitude a 
holm. 

36. Cour'd, recovered. 



THE ghatst's warnixs.> 
Translated from the Danish KaempeViser, p. 721. 
By tUe permission of Mr. Jamicson, this Imllad is nilditl 
from the s(i?ne curious collection. It contains sonic pas- 
sages of great Jjathos. 

Svcnil Dijring hand rider sig op under od, 

(Vari^jcg sclvcr ting) 
Derjh-sic hand sig sna vcn en m'oe. 
(Mig lijster ttdi lundcn at ride,) <ire. 



THE LADY f)F THE LAKE. 



m 



Child Dyiiiig lias ridden bira up undei' oe,* 

(And Ogln iTvereijouiig.'J 
There wedded he him sae fairt a may. 
(r the greenwood it lists me to ride.) 

Thegither they liv'd for seven lang year, 

{JinHO,&c.) 
And they seven baims hae gotten in fere. 

fr the greenwood, <tyc.J 

Sae death's come there intill thatstead, 
And that winsome lily flower is dead. 

That swain he lias ridden liim up under oe, 
And syne he has manitd anither may. 

He's married a may, and he's fessen her hame; 
But she was a grim and a laidly dame. 

When into the castell co\irt drave she, 

The seven buirns stood wi' the teariu their ee. 

The baiiTjs they stood wi' dule and dout: 

■ Nor ale nor mead to thebairnies she gave; 
" But hunger and hate frae me ye's have." 

She took frae them the bowster blae. 
And said," Ye sail liggi'the barestrae!" 

She took frae them the groff wax light: 
Says, " Now ye sail ligg i' the mark a' night!" 

'Twas langi'the night, and the bairnies grat; 
Their miihershe under tliemoolslieard that; 

That heard the wife inidcr the eard that lay: 
"Forsooth maun I to my bairnies gae!" 

That wife can stand up at our lord's knee, 
And " may I gang and my bairnies see?" 

She priggf d sae sair, and she prigged sae lang. 
That he at the last gae her leave to gang. 

4 And thou sail come back when the cock does craw. 
For thou no langer sail bide awa." 

Wi' her banes sae stark, a bowt she gaej 
She's riven baith wa' and marble gray.^ 

Whan near to the dwalling she can gang. 
The dogs they wow'd till the lift it rang. 

When she came till the castell yett. 
Her eldest dochter stood thereat. 

" Why stand ye here, dear dochter mine? 
How are sma brithers and sisters thine!" 

*' Forsooth ye're a woman baith fair and fine; 

But ye are nae dear mither of mine." 

" Och! how should I be fine gr fair? 

My cheek it is pale, and the ground's my lair." 

" My mither was white, wi' lire sae red; 
But thou an wan, and liker ane dead." 
" Och! how should I be white and red, 
Sae lang as I've been cauld and dead?" 
When she cam til 1 the chalraer in, 
Down the bairns' cheeks the tears did rin. 

She buskit the tane, and she brush'd it there; 
She kem'd and plaited the tither's hair. 

The thirden she doodl'd upon her knee, 
And the fourthen » » » » 

She's ta'en the fifien upon her lap. 
And sweetly » » * » • 

Till her eldest dochter syne said she, 
" Ye bid Child Dyringcome here to me." 



* " Under iie."— The original expression has been pre- 
served here and elsewhere, because no other could be found 
to supply its place. There is just as much meaning in it in 
the translation as in the original; but it is a standard Dan- 
ish ballad phrase; and as such, it is hoped,will be allowed 
to pass. 

T " Fair." — The Dan. and Swed. tJen, vaen, or venne, 
and the Gael. 4(^/i,inthe obliquecases ohdnfvi'iu) is the 
origin of the Scottish bonnij, wliich has so much puzzled 
all the etymologists. 

f The original (^' tliis and the following stanza isveryjine. 
" Hun skiid op sine modigd been, 
Der revenedi) muur og graa marmorsteen." 
" Der hun gik igennem den by. 
De hundc de tude saa hojt i sky," 



Whan he cam till the chalmer in, 
Wi' angry mood she said to him: 

" I left you routh o' ale and bread; 
My bairnies quail for hunger and need. 
" I left ahind me braw bowsters blae; 
My bairnies are liggiu i' the bare strae. 

" I left ye sae TOony a grofF wax light; 
My bairnies ligg i' the mark a' night. 

" Gin aft I come back to visit thee, 
Wae, dowy, and weary thy luck shall be." 

Up spak little Kirstin in bed that lay: 
" To my bairnies I '11 do the best I may." 

Aye whan they heard the dog nirr and bell, 
Sae gae they the bainiies bread and ale. 

Aye whan the dog did wow, in haste 

They cross'd and sain'd themsells frae the ghaist. 

Aye whan the little dog yowl'd wi' fear, 

(And giti I were ijoutig!) 
Tliey shook at the thought that the dead was near. 
(i' the green-wood it lists me to ride.) 

or, 
(Fair roords sae motiy a heart they cheer.) 



GLOSSARY. 

bolt or arj'OTV from a 

bow. 
liiven, split asunder. 
Wa', wall. 
17. JTowUl, howled. 
Lift, sky, firmament} 



St. 1. Jiiay, maid. 
Ijists, pleases. 

2. Bairns, children. 
In fere, together. 

3. Stead, place. 
?r7Hso;ne,engaging; giv- 
ing joy, (old Tent.) 

4. Sipie, then. 

5. Fessen, fetched; 
brought. 

6. Drave, drove. 

7. Dule, sorrow. 
Dout, fear. 

9. Jiotuster, bolster; 
cushion; bed. 

Blae, blue. 
Strae, straw. 

10. Groff, great; large 
in girt. 

JMark, mirk; dark. 

11. Lang ?' the night, 
late. 

Grat, wept. 
JMoola, mould; earth. 
I'i. Eard, earth. 
Gae, go. 

14. Pngged, entreated 
earnestly and perse- 
veringly. 

Gang, go. 

15. Craiv, crow. 

16. Banes, bones. 
Stark, strong. 
Bowt, bolt; elastic 

spring, like that of a 

7. Uj) spoke the moody elfin king. 

Who won'd within the hill.— P. 144. 
In a long dissertation upon the fairy superstition, 
published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
the most valuahle part of whicli was supplied by 
my learned and indefatigable friend Dr. Jolui Ley- 
den, most of the circumslances are collected which 
can throw light upon the i)opular belief which even 
yet prevails respecting them in Scotland. Dr. Gra- 
hame, author of an entertaining work upon the 
scenery of the Perthshire higlilands, already fre- 
quently quoted, has recorded, with great accuracy, 
the peculiar tenets held by the highlanderson this 
topic, in the vicinity of Locii-Katrine. The learned 



18. Yett, gate. 

19. Sma, small. 

22. Lire, complexion. 

23. Cald, cold. 

24. Till, to. 
Hin, run. 

25. Buskit, dressed. 
Keni'd, combed. 
Tit/ier, the other. 

30. Jioittli, plentj'. 
Quail, are quelled; die. 
j\'eed, want. 

31. Jlhind, behind. 
Braw, brave; fine. 
33. Dowy, sorrowful. 

35. JVirr, snarl. 
Bell, bark. 

36. Sain'd, blessed; lite- 
rally, signed with the 
sign of the cross. Be- 
fore the introduction 
of Christianity, Riiiies 
were used in saining, 
as a spell against the 

• power of enchantment 

and evil genii. 
Ghaist, ghost. 



180 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



author is inclined to deduce the whole mythology 
from the driiidical system, — an opinion to which 
there are many objections. 

" The Daoine Shi\ or men of peace of the high- 
landers, though not absolutely malevolent, are be- 
lieved to be a peevish, repining race of beings, 
who, possessing themselves but a scanty portion 
of happiness, are supposed to envy mankind their 
more complete and substantial enjoyments. They 
are supposed to enjoy, in their -subterraneous re- 
cesses, a sort of shadowy happiness, — a tinsel gran- 
deur, which, however, they would willingly ex- 
change for the more solid joys of mortality. 

" They are believed to inhabit certain round 
grassy eminences, where they celebrate their noc- 
turnal festivities by the light of the moon. About 
a mile beyond the source of the Forth, above Loch 
Con, there is a place called CoirshPan, or the cove 
of tlie men of peace, which is still supposed to be 
a favourite place of their residence. In the neigh- 
bourhood are to be seen many round conical emi- 
nences; particularly one, near the head of the lake, 
by the skirts of wliich many are still afraid to pass 
after sunset. It is believed, that if, on hallow-eve, 
any person, alone, goes round one of these hills 
nine times, towards the left hand, (^siiiintrorstan,) 
a door shall open, by which he will be admitted 
into their subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, 
of mortal race have been entei'tained in their se- 
cret recesses. There they have been x-eceived into 
tiie most splendid apartments, and Vegaled with 
the most sumptuous banquets, and delicious wines. 
Their females surpass tlie daughters of men in 
beauty. The seemingly .happy inhabitants pass 
their time in festivity, and in dancing to notes of 
the softest music. But unhappy is the mortal who 
joins in their joys, or ventures to partake of their 
dainties. By this indulgence, he forfeits for ever 
the society of men, and is bound down irrevocably 
to the condition of a shi'ich or man of peace. 

" A woman, as is reported in the highland tra- 
dition, was conveyed, in days of yore, into the 
secret recesses of the men of peace. There she 
■was recognized by one who had formerly been an 
ordinary mortal, but who had, by some fatality, 
become associated with the shi'icbs. This ac- 
quaintance, still retaining some portion of human 
benevolence, warned her of her danger, and coun- 
selled her, as she valued her liberty, to abstain 
from eating and drinking with them, for a certain 
space of time. She complied wilii the counsel of 
her friend; and when the period assigned was 
elapsed, she found herself again upon earth, re- 
stored to the society of mortals. It is added, that 
when she examined the viands which had been 
presented to her, and which had appeared so tempt- 
ing to the eye, they were found, now that the en- 
chantment was removed, to consist only of the re- 
fuse of the earth."— P. 107—111. 

8. Why sounds yon stroke on beach and oak, 
Our moon-light circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer. 
Beloved of our ellin queen?— P. 144. 

It has been already observed, that fairies, if not 
])Ositively malevolent, are capricious, and easily 
oftended. They are, like other proprietors of fo- 
rests, peculiarly jealous of tiieir rights of rert and 
venison, as appears from the cause of oftence taken, 
in the original Danish ballad. Tiiis jealousy was 
also an attribute of the northern J)iicrg(ir, or 
dwarfs; to many of whose distinction.s tiie fairies 
seem to have succeeded, if, indeed, they are not 



the same class of beings. In the huge metrical re- 
cord of German chivalry, entitled the Helden- 
Buch, sir Hildebrand, and the other heroes of 
whom it treats, are engaged in one of their most 
desperate adventures, from a rasli violation of the 
rose-garden of an elfin, or dwarf king. 

There are yet traces of a belief in tliis worst and 
most malicious order of fairies, among the border 
wilds. Dr. Leyden has introduced such a dwarf into 
his ballad entitled the Cout of Keeldar, and has 
not forgot his characteristic detestation of the 
chase. 

The third blast that yomipf Keeldar blew, 

Still stood the limber fein, 
And a wee man, of swarthy hue. 

Upstarted by a cairn. 
His russet weeds were brown as heath, 

That clothes the upland fell; 
And the hair of his head w as frizzle red 

As the purple heather-bell. 
An urchin, clad in prickles red, 

Clung-cow'ring to his arm; 
The liounds they howled, and backward fled. 

As struck by fairy charm. 
" Why rises higli the stag-hound's ci-y, 

Whei-e slag-hound ne'er should be? 
Wily wakes that horn the silent morn. 

Without the leave of me?" 
" Brown dwarf, that o'er the tniiirland sti-ays, 

Thy name to Keeldar tell!" 
" The brown m-au of the Muirs, who stays 

Beneath the heather-bell. 
" 'Tis sweet beneath the heather-bell 

To live in autumn brown; 
And sweet to hear the lav'rock's swell 

Far, far from tower and town. 
But wo betide the shrilling horn. 

The chase's surly cheer! 
And ever that hunter is forlorn, 
Whom first at morn I hear." 

The poetical picture here given of the Duergar 
corresponds exactly with the following Northum- 
brian legend, with which I was lately favoured by 
my learned and kind friend, Mr. Surtees of Mains- 
fort, who has bestowed indefatigable labour upon 
the antiquities of the English border counties. 
The subject is in itself so curious, that the length 
of the note will, 1 hope, be pardoned. 

" I have only one record to offer of the appear- 
ance of our Northumbrian Duergar. My narratrix 
is Elizabeth Cockburn, an old wife of Offerton, in 
tliis county, whose credit, in a case of I'his kind, 
will not, I hope, be much impeached, when 1 add, 
that she is, by her dull neighbours, supposed to be 
occasionally insane, but, by herself, to be at those 
times endowed with a faculty of seeing visions, 
and spectral appearances, which sliun the common 
ken. 

" In the year before the great rebellion, two 
young men from Newcastle were sporting on the 
high moors above Elsdon,and after pursuing their 
game several hours, sat down to dine, in a green 
glen, near one of the mountain streams. After their 
repast, the younger lad ran to the brook for water, 
and after stooping to drink, was surprised, on i\ft- 
ing his head again, by tlie appearance of a brown 
dwarf, who stood on a crag covered with brackens, 
across the burn. This exlraordiiiary personage did 
not appear to be above half the stature of a conunon 
man, but was uncommonly stout and broad built, 
having the appearance of vast strength. His dress 
was entirely brown, the colour of the brackens, and 
his head covered with frizzled red hair. His coun- 
tenance was expressive of the most savage ferocity, 
and his eyes glared like a bull. It seems, he ad- 
dressed the young man first, threatening himwitb 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



181 



his vengeance, for having; trespassed on his de- 
mesnes, and asking him, if lie knew in whose pre- 
Bence lie stood ? The youth replied, that he now sup- 
posed him to be the lord of the moors; that he offend- 
ed tljrough ignorance; and offered to bring him the 
game hehad killed. The dwarf was a little molli- 
fied by this submission, but remarked, that no- 
thing could be more offensive to him than such an 
offer, as he considere<l the wild animals as his sub- 
jects, and never failed to avenge their destruction. 
He condescended further to inform him, that he 
was, like himself, mortal, though of years tar ex- 
ceeding the lot of common humanity; and (what I 
should not have had an idea of) that he hoped for 
salvation. He never, he added, fed on any thing 
that had life, but lived, in the summer, on whortle- 
berries, and in the winter, on nuts and apples, of 
which he had great store in the woods. Finally he 
invited his new acquaintance to accompany him 
home, and partake his hospitality; an offer which 
the youth was on the point of accepting, and 
was just going to spring over the brook (which 
if he had done, says Elizabeth, the dwarf would 
certainly have torn him to pieces,) when his foot 
was arrested by the voice of his companion, who 
thought he had tarried long; and on looking round 
again, ' the wee brown man was fled. ' The story 
adds, that he was imprudent enough to slight the 
admonition, and to sport over the moors, on liis 
way homewards; but soon after his return, he fell 
into a lingering disorder, and died within the year. " 

9. Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green. — P. 144. 

As the Daoine ShP, or men of peace, wore green 
Uabits, they were supposed to take offence when 
any mortals ventured to assume their favourite co- 
lour. Indeed, from some reason, which has been, 
perhaps, originally a general superstition, ^rewj is 
held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular tribes 
and counties. The Caithness men, who hold this 
belief, allege, as a reason, that their bands wore 
that colour when they were cut oft" at the bat- 
tle of Flodden; and for the same reason they^ avoi<l 
crossing the Ord on a Monday, being the day of 
the week on which their ill-omened array set forth. 
Green is also disliked by those of the name of 
Ogilvy: but more especially is it held fatal to the 
whole clan of Grahame. It is remembered of an 
aged gentleman of that name, that when his horse 
fell in a fox-chase, lie accounted for it at once, by 
observing that the whipcord attached to his lash 
was of this unlucky colour. 

10. For thou were cliristened man.— P. 144. 

The elves were supposed greatly to envy the 
privileges acquired by christian initiation, and 
they gave to those mortals who had fallen into 
their power, a certain precedence, founded upon 
this advantageous distinction. Tamlane, in the 
old ballad, describes his own rank in the fairy pro- 
cession: 

" For I ride on a milk-white steed. 

And aye neaitst the town; 
Because I was a christened knight, 
They give me that renown." 

I presume that, in the Danish ballad, the obsti- 
nacy of the " VVeiest Elf," who would not flee for 
cross or sign, is to he derived from the circum- 
stance of his having been " christened man." 

How eager the elves were to obtain for their off- 
spring the prerogatives of Christianity, will be 
proved by the following story: " In the district 
called Haga, in Iceland, dwelt a nobleman called 



Sigward Forster, who had an intrigue with one of 
the subterranean females. The elf became i)reg- 
nant, and exacted from her lover a firm promise 
that he would procure the baptism of the infant. 
At the appointed time, the mother came to the 
church-yard, on the wall of which she pLiced a 
golden cup, and a stole. for the priest, agreeable 
to the custom of making an offering at ba|)tism. 
She then stood a little apart. When tlie priest 
left the church, he inquired the meaning of what 
he saw, and demanded of Sigward, if he avowed 
himself the father of the child. But Sigward. 
ashamed of the connexion, denied the paternity. 
He was then interrogated if he desired that the 
child should be baptized: but this also he answer- 
ed in the negative, lest, by such request, he should 
admit himself to be the father. On which the child 
was left untouched and unbaptized. Whereupon the 
mother, in extreme wrath, snatched up the infant 
and the cup, and retired, leaving the priestly cope, 
of which fragments are still in preservation. IJut 
this female denounced and imposed upon Sigward 
and his posterity, to the ninth generation, a singu- 
lar disease, with which many of his descendants 
are afflicted at this day. " Thus wrote Einar Dud- 
mond, pastor of the parish of Garpsdale, in Iceland, 
a man profoundly versed in learning, from whose 
manuscript it was extracted by the learned Tor- 
faus. — Historia Hvolfi Krakii, Halfniie, 1715, pre- 
futio. . 

11. And gayly shines tlie fairy land — 

But all is glistening show.^P. 145. 

No fact respecting Fairy-land seems to be bet- 
ter ascertained tljan the fantastic and illusory na- 
lilre of their apparent pleasure and splendour. It 
has been already noticed, in the former quotations 
from Dt-. Grahame's entertaining volume, and may 
be confirmed by the following highland tradition: 
" A woman, whose new-born chUd had been con- 
veyed by them into their secret abodes, was also 
carried thither herself, to remain, however, only 
until she should suckle her infant. She, one dav 
during this period, observed the Shi'ichs busily 
employed in mixing various ingredients in a boil- 
ing caldron, and, as soon as the composition was 
prepared, she remarked that they all carefully 
anointed their eyes with it, laying the remainder 
aside for future use. In a moment when thev were 
all absent, she also attempted to anoint her eyes 
with the precious drug, but had time to apply it to 
one eye only, when the Ba.iiie Sid'' returned. But 
with that eye she was hencefortb enabled to see 
every thing as it really passed in their secret abodes: 
— she saw every object, not as she hitherto had 
done, in deceptive splendour and elegance, but in 
its genuine colours and form. The'gautly orna- 
ments of the apartment were reduced to the walls 
of a gloomy cavern. Soon after, having discharged 
her office, she was dismissed to her own home. 
Still, however, she retained the facultv of seeing, 
with her medicated eye, every thing that was done, 
any where in her presence, by the dece])tive art 
of the order. One day, amidst a throng of people, 
she chanced to observe the ShPich, or man of peace, 
in whose possession she had left her child, though 
to every other eye invisible. Fron<pted by mater- 
nal affection, she inadvertently accosted liim, and 
began to inquire after tlie welfare of her child. 
The man of peace, astonished at beingthus recog- 
nised by one of mortal race, <lemanded how she had 
been enabled to discover him. Awed by the ter- 
rible frown of hi« countenance, she acknnwledo-ed 



182 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■what she had done. He spat in her eye, and ex- 
tinguished it forever." — Gjiahame's Sketches, p. 
116 — lis. It is very remarkable, that tills story, 
translated by Dr. Graliame from popular Gaelic tra- 
dition, is to be found in the Otia Imperialia of 
Gervase of Tilbury. A work of great interest 
might be compiled upon the origin of popular fic- 
tion, and the transmission of similar tales from 
age to age, and from country to country. The my- 
thology of one period would then appear to pass 
into the romance of the next century, and that in- 
to the nursery-tale of tlie subsequent ages. Such 
an investigation, while it went greatly to diminish 
our ideas of the richness of human invention, would 
also show, that these fictions, however wild and 
childish, possesses such charms for the populace, 
as to enable them to penetrate into countries un- 
connected h)' manners and language, and having no 
apparent intercourse to aftbrd the means of trans- 
mission. It would carry me far beyond my bounds 
to produce instances of this community of fable, 
among nations who never borrowed from each 
other any thing intrinsically worth learning. In- 
deed, the wild diffusion of popular fictions may be 
compared to the facility with which straws and 
feathers are dispersed abroad by the wind, while 
valuable metals cannot be transported without 
trouble and labour. There lives, 1 believe, onlj' 
one gentleman, whose unlimited acquaintance with 
this subject might enable him Xo do it justice; 1 
mean my friend Mr. Francis Douce, of the Brit- 
ish Museum, whose usual kindness will, I hope, 
pardon my mentioning his name, while on a sub- 
ject so closely connected with his extensive and 
curious researches. 



-i sunk down in a sinful fiay, 



Ami, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away 
To the joyless elfin bower.— P. 145. 

The subjects of fairy land were recruited from 
the regions of humanity by a sort o^ crimping sys- 
tem, which extended to adults as well as to infants. 
Many of those who were in this world supposed 
to have discharged the debt of nature, had only 
become denizens of the " Londe of Faery. " In 
the beautiful fairy romance of Orfee Heurodiis 
(Orpheus and Eurydice) in the Auchinleck MS. is 
the following striking enumeration of persons thus 
abstracted from middle earth. Mr. Rilson unfor- 
tunately published this romance from a copy in 
which the following, and many other highly poeti- 
cal passages, do not occur: 

" Then he gan biholde ahoute al, 

And scighe full liggeantl within the wal, 

Of folk that wer thidder y-hrought, 

And thought dtdt- and nc're nought. 

Sum stodf withouten hidde; 

And sum none ainus nade; 

And sum thureh the bodi hedde woundc; 

And sum lay wode y-bounde; 

And sum armed on hors sete; 

And sum astrangled as thai ete; 

And sum war in water adrej-nt; 

And sum with fire al for-sclireynt; 

Wives ther lay on thilde bedde;. 

Sum dede, and sum awedde; 

And wonder fele ther lay bisides, 

Right as thai slepe her undertides; 

Ecne was thus in the warld y-nome, 

With fairt thider y-come." 

13. Though space and law the stag we lend, 

Who ever reeked where, how, or when, 

The prowling fox was trapped and slain.— P. 14S. 

St. John actually used this illustration when en- 
gaged in confuting the plea of law proposed for the 



unfortunate earl of Strafl'ord: "It was true, we 
give laws to hares and deer, because they are 
beasts of chase; but it was never accounted either 
cruelty or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on 
the head as they can be found, because they, are 
beasts of prey. In a word, the law and humanity 
were alike; tlie one being more fallacious, and the 
otlier more barbarous, than Jn any age had been 
vented in such authority." — Clarendon's /fts<o?-j 
of the Rebellion. Oxfor'd, 1702, fol. vol. p. 183. 

14. his highland cheer, 

Tlie liarilened flesh of mountain-deer. — P. 148. 

The Scottish highlanders, in former times, had 
a concise mode of cooking their venison, or rather 
of dispensing with cooking it, which ajipears great- 
ly to have surprised the French, whom chance 
made acquainted with it. The vidame of Chartres, 
when a hostage in England, during the reign of 
Edward VI, was permitted to travel into Scotland, 
and peneti-ated as far as to the remote highlands, 
fan Jin fond des scmvages.J After a great hunt- 
ing party, at which a most wonderful quantity of 
game was destroyed, he saw these Scottish savages 
devour a part of their venison raw, witliout any 
further preparation than compressing it betweeti 
two battons of wood, so as to force out the blood, 
and render it extremely hard. This they i-eckoneil 
a great delicacy; and when the vidame partook of 
it, his compliance with their taste rendered him 
extremely popular. This curious trait of manners 
was communicated by Mens, de Montmcirency, a 
great friend of the vidame, to Brantome, by whom 
it is recorded in Vies des Hommes lllnstres, Dis- 
cozirs, LXXXIX. art. 14. The process by which 
the raw venison was rendered eatable is described 
very minutely in the romance of Perceforest, where 
Estonne, a Scottish knight errant, having slain a 
deer, says to his companion Claudin; " Sire, or 
mangerez vous et moy aussi. A oire si nous anions 
de feu, (lit Claudius. Par I'ame tfe mon pere, dist 
Estonne, ie vous atourneray et cuiray alamaniere 
de iiostre puys tomitic pour cheualier errant. Lors 
lira son espee et sen vint a la branche dungarbre, 
et y fait vng grant trou, et puis fend al branche, 
bien deux piedzetboutelacuisseducerf entredeux, 
et puis prent le licol de son cheval et en lye la 
branche et destraint si forte que le sang et les hii- 
meurs de la chair saillent hors et demenre la chair 
doulce et seiche. Lors prent la chair el oste ius le 
cuir et la chair demeure aussi blanche comme si 
ce feust dung ehappon. Dont dist a Claudius, sire, ie 
la vous ay cuistealaguisede mon pays, vous en pou- 
ez manger hardyement, car ie mangeray premier. 
Lors met sa main a sa selle en vng lieu quil y au- 
oit, et tire hors sel et poudre de poiure el gingem- 
bre, mesle ensemble, et le iecte dessus, et le frote 
sus bien fort, puis le couppe a moytie, et en donne 
a Claudius I'une des pieces, et puis mort en i'autre 
aussi sauoureusement quil est aduis que il an feist 
la pouldre voUer. Quant Claudius veil quil le man- 
geoit de tel goust, il en print grant fain et com- 
mence a manger tresvoulentiers, et dist a Estonne: 
par I'ame de moy ie ne mangeay oncquesmais de 
chair atournee de telle guise: mais doresenauant ie 
ne me retourneroye pas hors de mon chemin par 
auoir la cuite. Sire, dist Estonne, quant ie suis 
en desers d'Escosse, dont ie suis seigneur, iecheu- 
aucheray huit iours ou quinze que ie n'entreray en 
chastel ne en maison, et si ne verray feu ne per- 
sonne viuantfors que bestes sauuages, et de celles 
mangeray atournces en ceste nianiere, et mieul.x 
me plaira que la viande de I'empercur. Ainsi sen 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



183 



vont mangeant et cheuauchant iusques adonc quilz 
arriuerent sur une moult belle fontaine que estoit 
en vne valee. Quant Eslonne la vit il (list a Clau- 
dius, allons boire a ceste fontaine. Or beuuons, 
dist Estonne, du boire que le grand dieu a pourueu 
a toutes gens, et qui me plaist mieulx que les ce- 
ruoises d'Angleterre. " — La Treselegante Hysto- 
ire (III tresnoble Roy Perceforest. Paris, 1531, tbl. 
tome i, fol. Iv, vers. 

After all, it may be doubted whether hx chair 
nostree, for so the French called the venison thus 
summarily prepared, was any thing more than a 
mere rude'kind of deer-ham. 



NOTES TO CANTO V. 

1. Not then claimed sovei-eignty his due. 
While Albany, with feeble hand. 

Held borrowed truncheon of command. — P. 149. 
There is scarcely a more disorderly period in 
Scottish history than that which succeeded the bat- 
tle of Flodden, and occupied the minority of James 
V. Feuds of ancient standing broke out like 
old wounds, and every quarrel among the inde- 
pendent nobilitv, which occurred daily, and al- 
most hourly, gave rise to fresh bloodslied. "There 
arose," says Pitscottie, " great trouble and deadlj- 
feuds in many parts of Scotland, botli in the north 
and the west parts. The master of Forbes, in the 
north, slew tlie laird of Meldrum under tryst, (i. 
e. at an agreed and secured meeting:) Likewise, 
the laird of Drummelzier slew the lord Fleming 
at the hawking; and, likewise, there was slaughter 
among many other great lords." p. 121. Nor was 
the matter much mended under the government of 
the earl of Angus: for though he caused the king to 
ride through all Scotland, " under pretence and 
colour of justice, to punisii thief and traitor, none 
were found greater than were in their own com- 
pany. And none at tliat time durst strive with a 
Douglas, nor yet witli a Douglas's man,for iftliey 
did, they got the worse. Therefore, none durst 
plainzie of no extorsion, theft, reiff, nor slaughter, 
done to them by the Douglasses, or their men; in 
that cause they were not heard, so long as the 
Douglasses had the coui-t in guiding.*' — Ibid. p. 
133. 

2. The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. — P. 149. 

The ancient highlanders verified in their prac- 
tice the lines of Gray; — 

An iron race the mountain cliffs maintain, 
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain; 
For where unwearied sinews must be found, 
With sidelong plough to quell the flinty ground; 
To turn the torrent's swifl-descending flood; 
To tame the savage rushing fiom the wood; 
What wonder if, to patient valour train'd. 
They guard with spirit what by strength they gain'd; 
And while their rocky ramparts round they see 
The rough abode of want and liberty, 
(As lawless force from confidence will grow) 
Insult the plenty of the vales beloW? 
Fragment on the alliance of Education and Government. 

So far, indeed, was a Creagh, or foray, from 
being held disgraceful, that a young chief was al- 
ways expected to show his talents for command so 
soon as he assumed it, by leading his clan on a 
successful enterprise of this nature, either against 
a neighbouring sept, for which constant feuds usu- 
ally furnished an apology, cr against the Sasse7i- 
ach, Saxons, or lowlanders, for which no apology 
was necessary. The Gael, great traditionauiisto- 
14 



rians, never forgot that the lowlands had, at some 
remote period, been the property of their Celtic 
forefathers, which furnished an ample vindication 
of all the ravages that they could make on the un- 
fortunate districts which lay within their reach. 
Sir James Grant of Grant is in possession of a let- 
ter of apology from Cameron of Lochiel, whose 
men had committed some depredations upon a 
farm called Moines, occupied by one of the Grants. 
Lochiel assures Grant, that, however the mistake 
had happened, his instructions were precise, that 
the party should foray the province of Moray, (a 
lowland district,) where, as he coolly observes, 
" all men take their prey." 



-I only meant 



To show the i-eed on which you leant. 
Deeming this path you might pursue. 
Without a pass from lloderitk Dhu.— P. 150. 

This incident, like some other passages in the 
poem, illustrative of the character of the ancient 
Gael, is not imaginary, but borrowed from fact. 
The highlanders, with the inconsistency of most 
nations in the same state, were alternately ca- 
pable of great exertions of generosity, and of 
cruel revenge and perfuly. The following story 
I can only quote from tradition, but with such 
an assurance from those by whom it was com- 
municated, as permits me little doubt of its au- 
thenticity. Early in the last centurj', John Gunn, 
a noted Cateran, or highland robber, invested In- 
verness-shire, and levied black mail up to the walls 
of the provincial capital. A garrison was then 
maintained in the castle of that town, and their 
pay (country banks being unknown) was usually 
transmitted in specie, under the guard of a small 
escort. It chanced that tlie officer who command- 
ed this litle party was unexpectedly obliged to 
halt, about thirty miles from Inverness, at a mi- 
serable inn. About night fall, a stranger, in the 
highland dress, and of very prepossessing appear- 
ance, entered the same house. Separate accom- 
modation being impossible, the Englishman of- 
fered the newly arrived guest a part of his supper, 
which was accepted with reluctance. By the con- 
versation he found his new acquaintance knew well 
all the passes of the country, which induced him 
eagerly to request his company on the ensuing 
morning. He neither disguised his business and 
charge, nor his apprehensions of that celebrated 
freebooter, John Gunn. The highlander hesitat- 
ed a moment, and then frankly consented to be 
his guide. Forth ihey set in the morning; and in 
ti-avelling through a solitary and dreary glen, the 
discourse again turned on John Gunn. "Would 
you like to see him?" said the guide; and, without 
waiting an answer to this alarming question, he 
whistled, and the English officer, with his small 
party, were surrounded by a body of highlanders, 
whose numbers put resistance out of question, and 
who were all well armed. " Stranger," resumed 
the guide, " I am that very John Gunn by whom 
you feared to be intercepted, and not without cause; 
for 1 came to the inn last night with the express 
purpose of learning your route, that 1 and my fol- 
lowers might ease you of your charge by the road. 
But I am incapable of betraying the trust you re- 
posed in me, and, having convinced you that you 
were in my power, I can only dismiss you unplun- 
dered and uninjured." He then gave the officer 
directions for his journey, and disappeared with 
his party, as suddenly as they had presented them 
selves. 



184 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



4. On Bochastle tlie mouldeiine: lines, 
Where Rome, the empress of the world. 
Of yore her e;ig:le wings unfurled.— P. ]50. 
The torrent which discharges itself from Loch- 
Vennachar, tlie lowest and easlniost of the three 
lakes which form tlie scenery adjoining to the 
Trosachs, sweeps through a flat and extensive 
moor, called Bochastle. Upon a small eminence, 
called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on the 
plain itself, are some entrenchments which have 
been thouglit Roman. There is adjacent, to Cal- 
lander, a sweet villa, the residence of captain Fair- 
fowl, entitled the Roman camp. 

5. See, here, all vantagelesg I stand. 

Armed, like thyself, with single brand.— P. 150. 

The duelists of former times did not always 
stand upon those punctilios respecting equality 
of arms, which are now judged essential to fair 
conibat. It is true, that in formal combats in the 
lists, the parties were, by the judges of the field, 
put as nearly as possible in the same circum- 
stances. But in private duel it was often otlierwise. 
In that desperate combat which was fought between 
Quelus, a minion of Henry 111 of France, and An- 
traguet, with two seconds on each side, from 
•which only two persons escaped alive, Quelus com- 
plained that his antagonist liad over him the ad- 
vantage of a poniard which he used in parrying, 
vhile his lelthand, which he was forced to employ 
for the same purpose, was cruelly mangled. When 
he charged Antraguet with this odds, " Thou hast 
done wrong," answered he," to forget thy dagger 
at home. We are here to fight, and not to settle 
punctilios of arms." In a similar duel, however, a 
younger brother of the house of Aubanye, in An- 
goulesme, behaved more generously on the like oc- 
casion, and at once threw away his dagger, when 
his enemy chidlenged it as an undue advantage. 
But at this time hardly any thing can be conceived 
more horridly brutal and savage, than the mode in 
which private quarrels were conducted in France. 
Those who were most jealous of the point of honour, 
and acquired the title of Ruffines, did not scruple 
to take every advantage of strength, numbers, sur- 
prise, and arras, to accomplish their revenge. The 
sieur de Brantome, to whose discourse on duels 1 
am obliged for these particidars, gives the follow- 
ing account of ihe death and principles of his friend, 
the baron de Vitaux: 

" J'ay oui conter a un tireur d'armes, qui ap- 
prit a Millaud a entirer, lequel s'appelloit seigneur 
le Jacques Ferron, de la ville d'Ast, qui avoit este 
k moy, il fut depuis tue a Sainct-Basille en Gas- 
cogne, lors que monsieur du Mayne I'assiegea, liii 
servant d'ingenieur; et de malheur, je I'avois 
adresse audit baron quelques troismoisauparavant, 
pour i'exercer a tirer, bien qu'il en ^geust prou; 
mais il n'en fit conte: et le laissant, Millaud s'en 
servit, et le rendit fort adroit. Ce seigneur Jacques 
done me raconta, qu'il s'estoit monle sur un noyer, 
assez loing, pour en voir le combat, et qu'il ne vist 
jamais homme y aller plus bravement, ny plus re- 
solument, ny de grace plus assuree ny determinee. 
II commenga de marcher de cinquante pas vers son 
ennemy, relevant souvent ses moustaches en kaut 
d'une main; et estant k vingtpas de son ennemy, 
(non plustost) il mit la main k I'espee qu'il tenoit 
en la main, non qu'il I'eust tire encore; mais en 
marchant, il fit voUer le fourreau en I'air, en le 
secouant, ce qui est le beau de cela, et qui mon- 
stroit bien une grace tie combat bien assieuree et 
froide, et nuUemeul temeraire, comme il y ea a 



qui tirent leurs espees de cinq cents pas de I'enne- 
ray, voire de mille, comme j'en ay veu ancuns. 
Ainsi mourut ce brave baron, le paragon de France, 
qu'on nommoit tel, a bien venger ses quereles, 
par grandes et determinees resolutions. 11 n'estoit 
pas seulement eslime en France, mais en Italie, 
Espaigne, Allemaigne, en Boulogne et Angleterre; 
et desiroient fort les estrangers, venant en France, 
le voir; car je I'ay veu, tant sa renommee volloit. 
11 estoit fort petit de corps, mais fort gr.ind de 
courage. Ses ennemies disoient qu'il ne tuoit pas 
bien ses gens, que par advantages et supercheries. 
Certes, je tiens des grands capitaines, et raesmes 
d'ltaliens, qui sont estez d'auires fois les premiers 
vengeurs du monde, in ogni modo, disoient-ils, 
qui ont tenu cette maxime, qu'une supercherie ne 
se devoit payer que par semblable monnoye, et 
n'y alloit point la de deshonneur. " — (Euvres de 
Brantome, Paris, 1787-8. Tome viii, p. 90-92. 
It m.ay be necessary to inform tlie reader, that this 
paragon of France was the most foul assassin of 
his time, and had committed many desperate mur- 
ders, chiefiy by the assistance of his hired banditti; 
from which it may be conceived how little the 
point of honom- of the period deserved its name. I 
have chosen to give the heroes, who are indeed ot 
an earlier period, a stronger tincture of the spirit 
of chivalry. 

6. Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw.— P. 151. 
A round target of light wood, covered with strong 
leather, and studded with brass or iron, was a ne- 
cessary part of a highlander's equipment. In charg- 
ing regular troops, they i-eceived the thrust of the 
bayonet in this buckler, twisted it aside, and used 
the broadsword against the encumbered soldier. 
In the civil war of 1745, most of tlie front-rank df 
tlie clans were thus armed; and captain Grose in- 
forms us, that, in 1747, the privates of the 4'id 
regiment, then in Flanders, were for the most part 
permitted to carry targets, jyiilitary Antiqtiilies, 
vol. i, p. 164. A person thus armed had a consid- 
erable advantage in priv.ate fray. Among verses 
between Swift and Sheridan, lately published by 
Dr. Barrett, there is an account of such an encoun- 
ter, in which the circumstances, and consequently 
the relative superiority of the combatants, are pre- 
cisely the reverse of those in the text: 
A highlander once fought a Frenchman at Margate, 
The Weapons, a x'apier, a back-sword, and target; 
Brisk monsieur advanced as fast as he could. 
But all his fine pushes were caught in the wood, 
And sawny, with back-sword, didslash him and nick him, 
While t'other enraged that he could not once prick him, 
Cried, " Sirrah, you rascal, you son of a whore. 
Me will fight you, be gar! if you'll come from your door." 
7. For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 

Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. — P. 151. 
The use of defensive armour, and particularly 
of the buckler or target, was general in queen 
Elizabeth's time, although that of the single rapier 
seems to have been occasionally practised much 
earlier.* Rowland Yorke, however, who betrayed 
the fort of Zutphen to the Spaniards, for which 
good service he was afterwards poisoned by 
them, is said to have been the first who brought 
the rapier-fight into general use. Fuller, speak- 
ing of the swash-bucklers, or bullies of queen Efi- 
zabelh's time, says, " West Smithfield was for- 
merly called Rufiian's Hall, where such men usu- 
ally met, casually or otherwise, to try masteries 
with sword and buckler. More were frightened 



' See Douee's Illustrations of Shakspeare, vol. ii, p. 61. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



185 



than hurt, more hurt than killed therewith, it be- 
ing accounted unriianly to strike beneath the knee. 
But since that desperate traitor Rowland Yorke 
first introduced thriistins; with rapiers, sword and 
buckler are disused." lu"The Two An!;ry Women 
of Abinp;don,"acomedy, printed in 1599, we have 
a pathetic complaint; — " Sword and buckler figiit 
bei^ins to grow out ot'use. I am sorry for it: I 
shall nmer see good manhood again. If it be once 
gone, this poking fight of rapier aiid dagger will 
come up; then a tall man, and a good sword and 
buckler man, will be spitted like a cat or rabbit." 
But the rapier had upon the continent long super- 
seded, in private duel, the use ot sword and shield. 
The masters of the noble science of defence were 
chiefly Italians. They made great mystery of their 
art and mode of instruction, never suffered any 
person to be present but the scholar who was to be 
taught, and even examined closets, beds, and other 
places of possible concealment. Their lessons of- 
ten gave the most treacherous advantages; for the 
challenger, having the right to choose his wea- 
pons, frequently selected some strange, unusual, 
and inconvenient kind of arms, the use of which 
he practised under these instructors, and thus kill- 
ed at his ease his antagonist, to whom it was pre- 
sented for the first time on the field of battle. See 
Jiraniome's discourse on Duels, and the work on 
the same subject, " si geiitement ec)7Y,"by the ve- 
nerable Dr. Paris de Puteo. The highlanders 
continued to use broadsword and target until dis- 
armed after the aft'air of 1745-6. 



8. Like momit.iin-cat who g'uards her young;. 
Full at Fitz-,Iuraes'3 throat lie sprung.— P. 151. 

1 have not ventured to render this duel so sa 
vagely desperate as that of the celebrated sir Ewan 
of Lochiel, chief of the clan Cameron, called, from 
his sable complexion, Ewan Dhu. He was the last 
man in Scotland who maintained the royal cause 
during the great civil war, and his constant incur- 
sions rendered him a very impleasant neighbour 
to the republican garrison at Inverlochy, now Fort 
William. The governor of the fort detached a 
party of three hundred men to lay waste Lociiiel's 
possessions, and cut down his trees; but, in a sud- 
den and desper.ate attack, made upon them by the 
chieftain, with very inferior numbers, they were 
almost all cut to pieces. The skirmish is detail- 
ed in a curious memoir of sir Ewan's life, printed 
in the Appendix of Pennant's Scottish Tour. 

" In this engagement, Lochiel himself had se- 
veral wonderful escapes. In the retreat of the En- 
glish, one of the strongest and bravest of the offi- 
cers retired behind a bush, when he observed Lo- 
chiel pursuing, and seeing him unaccompanied 
■with any, he leaped out, and thought hira his prey. 
They met one another with equal fury. The com- 
bat was long and doubtful: the English gentleman 
had by far the advantage in strength and size; but 
Lochiel exceeding him in nimbleness and agility, 
in the end tript the sword out of his hand: they 
closed, and wrestled, till both fell to the ground, 
in each other's arms. The English officer got above 
Lochiel, and pressed him hard, but stretching forth 
his neck, by attempting to disengage himself, Lo- 
chiel, who by this time had his hands at liberty, 
■with his left hand seized him by the collar, and 
jumping at his extended throat, he bit it with his 
teeth quite through, and kept such a hold of his 
grasp, that he brought away his mouthful: this, he 
said, was the sweetest bit he ever had in his life- 
time." — Vol. i, p. 375. 



9. —Ye lowers! within whose circuit dread 
A Doujjlas by his sovereign bltd, 
And thou, O sad and fatal mound! 
I'hat oft hast heard the death-axe sound.— P. 152. 
Stirling was often polluted with noble blood. 
It is thus apostrophized by J. Johnston: 

Discordia tristis 

Heu quoties procerum saiiffuine tinxit humum! 
Hoc uno iufelix, et felix csetera, nusquam 
L;etior aut cteli frous geniusve soli. 
The fate of William, eighth earl of Douglas, 
whom .Tames IT stabbed in Stirling caslle with his 
own band, and while under bis royal safe-con (hict, 
is familiar to all who read Scottish histon'. Mur- 
dack duke of Albany, Duncan earl of Lennox, his 
fathei^in-law, and his two sons, Walter and Alex- 
ander Stuart, were executed at Stirling, in 1425. 
They were beheaded u])nn an eminence without 
the castle walls, but making part of the same hill, 
from whence they could behold their strong caslle 
of Doune, and their extensive possessions. This 
" heading hill, "as it was sometimes termed, bears 
commonly the less terrible name of Hurly-hacket, 
from its having been the scene of a courtly amuse- 
ment alluded to by Sir David Lindsay, who says 
of the pastimes in which the young king was en- 
gaged, 

" Some harled him to the Hurly-hacket;" 
which consisted in sliding, in some sort of chair 
it may be supposed, from top to bottom of a smooth 
bank. The boys of Edinburgh, about twenty years 
ago, used to play at the hurly-hacket on the'Cal- 
ton-hill, using for their seat a horse's skull. 

10. The burghers hold their sports to-day.— P. 152. 
Eveiy burgh of Scotland, of the least note, but 
more especially the considerable towns, had their 
solemn play, or festival, when feats of archery 
were exhibited, and prizes distributed to those 
who excelled in wrestling, hurling the bar, and 
the other gymnastic exercises of the period. Stir- 
ling, a usual place of royal residence, was not like- 
ly to be deficient in pomp upon such occasions, 
especially since James V was very partial to them. 
His ready participation in these popular amuse- 
ments was one cause of his acquiring the title of 
king of the Commons, or Hex Plebeiorum, as Les- 
ley has latinized it. The usual prize to the best 
shooter was a silver arrow. Such a one is pre- 
served at Selkirk and at Peebles. At Dumfries, 
a silver gun was substituted, and the contention 
transferred to fire-arms. The ceremony, as there 
performed, is the subject of an excellent Scottish 
poem, by Mr. John Mayne, entitled the Siller 
Gun, 1808, which surpasses the efforts of Fergu- 
son, and comes near those of Burns. 

Of James's attachment to archery, Pitseottie, 
the faithful, though rude I'ecorder of the manners 
of that period, has given us evidence: 

" In this year there came an ambassador out of 
England, named lord William Howard, witli^ a 
bishop with him, with many other gentlenaen, to 
the number of threescore horse, which were all 
the able men and waled (picked) men for all kind 
ofgames and pastimes, shooting, louping, running, 
wrestling, and casting of the stone, but they were 
well 'sayed (essayed or tried) ere they past out of 
Scotland, and that by their own provocation; but 
ever they tint: till at last, the queen of Scotland, 
the king's mother, favoured the English-men, be- 
cause she was the king of England's sister: and 
therefore she took an enterprise of archery upon 
theEnglish-raen's hands, contrary her son the king. 



186 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and any six in Scotland that he would wale, either 
gentlemen or yeomen, that the English-men should 
shoot against them, either at pricks, revers, or 
buts, as the Scots pleased. 

" The king hearing this of hi smother, was con- 
tent, and gart her pawn a hundred crowns, and a 
tun of wine, upon the English-men's hands; and he 
incontinent laid down as much for the Scottish- 
men. The field and ground was chosen in St. An- 
drews, and three landed men and three yeomen 
chosen to shoot against the English-men, to wit, 
David Wemyss of that ilk, David Arnot of that 
ilk, and Mr. John Wedderburn, vicar of Dundee; 
the yeomen, John Thomson, in Leith, Steven 
Tabiirner, with a piper, called Alexander Bailie; 
they shot very near, and warred (worsted) the En- 
glish-men of the enterprise, and wan the hundred 
crowns and the tun of wine, which made the king 
very merry that his men wan the victory." — P. 147. 

11. Robin Hood.— P. 152, 

The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his 
band was a favourite frolic at such festivals as we 
are describing. This sporting, in which kings did 
not disdain to be actors, was prohibited in Scot- 
land upon the lleformation, by a statute of the 6th 
parliament of queen Mary, c. 61, A. D. 1555, 
which ordered, under heavy penalties, that " na 
manner of person be chosen Robert Hude, nor 
Little John, Abbot of Unreason, queen of May, nor 
otherwise." But 1561, "the rascal multitude," 
says John Knox, " were stirred up to make a Ro- 
bin Hude, whilk enormity was of mony years left 
and damned by statute and act of parliament; yet 
would they not be forbidden." Accordingly they 
raised a very serious tumult, and at length made 
prisoners the magistrates who endeavoured to sup- 
press it, and would not release them till they ex- 
torted a fofmal promise that no one should be 
punished for his share of the disturbance. It would 
seem, from the complaints of the general assem- 
bly of the kirk, that these profane festivities were 
continued down to 1592.* Bold Robin was, to say 
the least, equally successful in maintaining his 
ground against the reformed clergy of England 
for the simple and evangelical Latimer complains 
of coming to a country church, where the people 
refused to hear him, because it was Robin Hood's 
day; and his mitre and rochet wei-e fain to give 
way to the village pastime. Much curious infor- 
mation on this subject may be found in the preli- 
minary Dissertation to the late Mr. Ritson's edi- 
tion of the songs respecting this memorable out- 
law. The game of Robin Hood was usually acted 
in May; and he was associated with the morrice- 
dancers, on whom so much illustration has been 
bestowed by the commentators on Shakspeare. 
A very lively picture of these festivities, contain- 
ing a great deal of curious information on the sub- 
ject of the private life and amusements of our an- 
cestors, was thrown, by the late ingenious Mr. 
Strutt, into his romance entitled Queen-Hoo-Hall, 
published, after his death, in 1808. 
12. Indifferent as to archer wight. 

The monarch gave the arrow bright.— P. 153. 
The Douglas of the poem is an imaginary per- 
son, a supposed uncle of the earl of Angus. But 
the king's behaviour daring an unexpected inter 
view with the laird of Kilspinde, one of the ban 
ished Douglasses, under circumstances similar to 
those in the text, is imitated from a re^al stlry 

* Book of the universal kirk, p. 414. 



told by Hume of Godscroft. I would have avail* 
ed myself more fully of the simple and affecting 
circumstances of the old history, had they not been 
already woven into a pathetic ballad by my friend 
Mr. Einlay.* 

" His (the king's) implacability (towards the 
family of Douglas) did also appear in his carriage 
towards Archibald of Kilspindie, whom he, when 
he was a child, loved singularly well for his ability 
of body, and was wont to call him his Gray-Steill.f 
Archibald being banished into England, could not 
well comport with the humour of tliat nation, wliich 
lie thought to be too proud, and that they had too 
high a conceit of themselves, joined with a contempt 
and despising of all others. Wlierefore, being 
wearied of that life, and remembering the king's 
favour of old towards him, he determined to try 
the king's mercifulness and clemency. So becomes 
into Scotland, and, taking occasion of the king's 
hunting in the park at Stirling, be casts himself to 
be in his way, as he was coming home to the cas- 
tle. So soon as the king saw him afar off, ere he 
came near, he guessed it was he, and saiil to one 
of his courtiers, yonder is my Gray-Steill, Archi- 
bald of Kilspindie, if he be alive. The other an- 
swered, that it could not be he, and that he durst 
not come into the king's presence. The king ap- 
proaching, he fell upon his knees and craved par- 
don, .and promised from thenceforward to abstain 
from meddling in public affairs, and to lead a quiet 
and private lite, 'i'he king went by, without giving 
him any answer, and trotted a good round pace up 
the hill. Kilspindie followed, and, though he wore 
on him a secret, w shirt of mail, for bis particular 
enemies, was as soon at the castle-gate as the king. 
There he sat him down upon a stone without, and 
entreated some of the king's servants for a cup 
of di'ink, being weiiry and thirsty; but they, fear- 
ing tiie king's displeasure, durst give him none. 
When the king was set at his dinner, he asked 
what he had done, what he had said, and whither 
he had gone? It was told him that he had desired 
a cup of drink, -and had gotten none. The king re- 
proved tliem very sharply fortheir discourtesy, and 
told them, that if he had not taken an oath that no 
Douglas should ever serve him, he would have re- 
ceived him into his service, for he had seen him 
some time a man of great ability. Then he sent 
him word to go to, Leith, and expect his further 
pleasure. Tlien some kinsman of David Falconer, 
the canonier that was slain at Tantallon, began to 
quarrel with Archibald about the matter, wherewith 
the king showed himself not well pleased when he 
heard of it. Then he commanded him to go to 
France for a certain space, till he heard further 
from him. And so he did, and died shortly after. 
This gave occasion to tiie king of England (Henry 
VIll) to blame his nepliew, alleging the old say- 
ing, Tiiat a king's face should give grace. F'or 
this Ai'chibald (whatsoever were Angus's or sir 
George's fault) had not been principal actor of 
any thing, nor no counsellor nor stirrer up, but 
only a follower of his friends, and tiiat noways 
cruelly disposed." — Hume of Godscroft, ii, 107. 

13. Prize of the wrestling match, the kin^ 
To Douglas gave a golden lijig.— P. 153. 

The usual prize of a wrestling was a ram and a 



* See Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads, Glas- 
gow, 1808, vol. ii, p. 117, 
t A champion of popular romance. See Ellis's Romances, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



187 



ring, but the animal would have embarrassed my 
story. Thus in the Coke's Tale of Gamelyn, as- 
cribed to Chaucer; 

There happed to be there beside 

Tryed a wrestling; 
And therefore there was y-setten 

A ram and als a ring. 

Again the Litil Geste of Robin Hood: 



-By a bridge was a wrestling, 



And there taryed was he, 
And there was all the best yemen 

Of all the west countrey. 
A full fayre game there was set up, 

A white bull up y-pight, 
A great courser wiili saddle and brydle. 

With gold burnished full bryght; 
A payre of glo*es, a red ^olde iing, 

A pipe of wyne, good lay; 
Wliat man berclh him best I wis, 

I'he prise sliall bear away. 

Ritson's Robin Hood, vol. i. 



NOTES TO CANTO VI. 
1. These drew not for their fields the sword, 
Like tenants of a feudal lord. 
Nor owned the patriarchal claim 
Of chieftain in their leader's name; 
Adventurers they, P. 155. 

The Scottish armies consisted chiefly of the no- 
bility and barons, with their vassals, who held 
lands under them, for military service by them- 
selves and their tenants. The patriarchal influence 
exercised by the heads of clans in the highlands 
and borders was of a different nature, and some- 
times lit variance with feudal principles. It flow- 
ed from the patria potestas exarcised by the chief- 
tain, as representing the original father of the 
whole name, and was often obeyed in contradic- 
tion to the feudal superior. James V seems first 
to have introduced, in addition to tlie militia fur- 
nished from these sources, the service of a small 
number of mercenaries, wlio formed a body-guard, 
called the foot-band. The satirical poet, sir Da- 
vid Lindsay (or the person who wrote the prologue 
to his play of the " Three Estaites,") lias intro- 
duced Finlay of the foot-band, who, after much 
swaggering upon the stage, is at length put to flight 
by tlie fool, who terrifies him by means of a sheep's 
skull upon a pole. I liave rather chosen to give 
them the harsh features of the mercenary soldiers 
of the period, than of tliis Scottish Thraso. These 



Peter his brother. When all that was done, then 
Gefiraye spake agayne, and sayd: Nowe, sirs, ye 
have obeyed to my pleasure, I canne you great 
thanke: wherefore, sirs, 1 wyll ye have parte of 
that ye have holpen to conquere. I say unto you, 
that in yonder chest that ye se stande yonder, there- 
in is to the sum of xxx thousand frankes, — I wyll 
give them accordynge to m)' consc)"ence. Wyll ye 
all be content to fulfil my testament; liowe say 
ye' — Sir, quod they, we be ryghte well contente 
to fulfyl youF commaundement. Thane first, quod 
he, 1 wyll and give to the chapell of saynt George, 
here in this castell, for the reparacions thereof, a 
thousande and five hundrede frankes: and 1 give to 
my lover, who hatli truly served me, two thousand 
and five hundrede frankes: and also I give to Aleyne 
Roux, your new capitayne, four thousande frankes: 
also to the varieties of my chambre I gyve fyve 
hundrede frankes. To mine ofFycers I give a thou- 
sande and five hundrede frankes. The rest I gyve 
and bequeth as 1 shall show you. Ye be upon a 
thj Ttie companyons all of one sorte: ye ought to 
be brethrene, and all of one alyaunce, without de- 
bate, ryotte, or stryfte ainong you. All this that 
I liave showed you ye shall fynde in yonder chesie. 
1 wjlle that ye departe all the residue equally and 
truelly bitwene you thyrtie. And it ye be nat thus 
contente, but that the de\') He wyll set debate bi- 
twene you, than beliolde yonder is a strong axe, 
breke up the coffer, and get it who can. — To these 
words every one ansuered and said, sir, and dere 
maister, we are and shall be all of one accorde. 
Sir, we have so much loVed and doaled you, that 
we will breke no coff\;r, nor breke no poynt of that 
ye have ordayned and commanded." — Lord Beh- 
NERs' I'roissart. 

3. Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! 
Get thee an apCj and truilge the land. 
The leader of ajuggler band.— P. 156. 

The jongleurs, or jugglers, as we learn from the 
elaborate work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports 
and pastimes of the people of England, used to 
call in the aid of various assistants, to render these 
performances as captivating as possible. The glee- 
maiden was a necessary atteiulant. Her duty was 
tumbling and dancing: and therefore the Anglo- 
Saxon version of saint Mark's gospel states He- 
rodias to have vaulted or tumbled before king 
Herod. In Scotland, these poor creatures seem, 



partook of the character of the adventiirous com- even at a late period, to have been bondswomen 



panions of Froissart, or the Condottieri of Italy. 

One of the best and liveliest trails of such man- 
ners is the last will of a leader, called Geft'roy 
Tele Noir, who having been slightly wounded in 
a skirmish, his intemperance brought on a mortal 
disease. When he found himself dying, he sum- 
moned to his bed-side the adventurers whom he 
commanded, and thus addressed tliem: 

" Fayre sirs, quod Geffray, 1 knowe well ye 
have al wayes served and honoured me as men ought 
to serve their soveraygne and capitayne, and 1 shal 
be the gladder if ye will agre to have to your ca- 
pitayne one that is descended of my blode. Behold 
here Aleyne Roux, my cosyn, and I'eter his bro- 
ther, who are men of armes and of ray blode. I 
require you to make Aleyne your capitayne, and 
to swere toliim faythe, obeysaunce, love, and loy- 
alle, here in my presence, and also to his brother: 
howe be it, I will that Aleyne have the soverayne 
charge. — Sir, quod they, we are well content, for 
ye hauve right well chosen. There all the compa- 
nyons made theyra servyant to Aleyne Roux and to 



to their masters, as appears from a case reported 
by Founlainhall. " Reid the mountebank pursues 
Scott of Harden and his lady, for stealing away 
from him a little girl, called the tumbling-lassie, 
that danced upon his stage; and he claimed da- 
mages, and produced a contract, whereby he bought 
her from her mother, for 30/. Scots. But we have 
no slaves in Scotland, and mothers cannot sell 
their bairns; and physicians attested, the employ- 
ment of tumbling would kill her; and Iter joints 
were now grown stiff', and she declined to return; 
though she was at least a 'prentice and so coukl 
not run away from her master; yet some cited Mo- 
ses's law, that if a servant sheltered himself with 
thee, against his master's cruelty, thou shalt surely 
not deliver him up. Thalovds, reiutenieca7icel/a7iO, 
assoilzied Harden on the 27tli of January, (1687.)" 
— FowitainhaWs Decisions, vol. i, p. 439.* 



* Though less to my purpose, I cannot help noticing a 
circumstance respecting another of this Mr. Keid's at- 
tendants, which occurred during James It's zeal for ca- 
tholic proselytism, and is told by Fountaiiihall, with dry 



188 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The facetious (jualities of the apu soon rendered 
him an acceptable addition to tiie strolling band 
of the jongleur. Ben Jonson, in his splenetic intro- 
duction to the comedy of " Bartholomew Fair," 
IS at pains to inform the audience that " he has 
ne'er a sword and buckler man in his fair, nor a 
juggler, with a well educated ape, to come over 
the chaine for tlie king of England, and back again 
for the prince, and sit still on his haunches for the 
pope and the king of Spain." 

3. That stirrings air that peals on high. 
O'er Derinid's race our victory. 
Strike it! P. 157. 

There are several instances, at least in tradition, 
of persons so much attached to particular tunes, as 
to require to hear them on their death-bed. Such 
an anecdote is mentioned by the late Mr. Riddell, 
of Glenriddell, in his collection of border tones, 
respecting an air called the " Dandling of the 
Bairns," for which a certain Gallovidian laird is 
said to have evinced this strong mark of partiality. 
It is popularly told of a famous freebooter, that he 
composed the tune known by the name of Mac- 
pherson's rant while under sentence of death, and 
played it at the gallows-tree. Some spirited words 
have been adapted to it by Burns. A similar story 
is recounted of a Welsh bard, who composed and 
played on his death-bed the air called DaJ'tjddy 
Garregg Wen. 

But the most curious example is given hy Bran- 
tome, of a maid of honour at the coiu-t of France, 
entitled, Mademoiselle de Limueil. " Durant sa 
maladie, dont elle trespassa, jamais elle ne cessa, 
ains causa tousjours: car elle. estoit forte grande 
parleuse, brocardeuse, et tres-bien et fort a propos, 
et tres-bellc avec cela. Quand I'iieure de sa fin fut 
venne, tile fit venir ^ Soy son valet, (ainsi que les 
fillesde la cour en ont chacuneun,) qui s'appeloit 
Jnlien, et scavoittr^s-bien jouer duviolon. ' Julien, 
luy dit elle, prenez vostre violon, et sonnez moy 
tousjours jusques a ce que me voyez morte (car jo 
m'y en vais) la defaite dt;s Suisses, et le mieu.v 
que vous pourrez, et quand vous serez sur le mot, 
' Tout est perdu,' sonnez le par quatre ou cing fois, 
le plus piteusement que vous pourrez,' ce qui fit 
I'autre, et elle-mesme luy aidoit de la voix, et 
quand ce vint ' tout est perdu,' elle le reitera par 
deux fois; et se tournant de I'autre coste du chevet, 
elle dit a ses compagnes; ' Tout est perdu k ce coup, 
et a bon escient;' et ainsi deceda. Yoila une morte 
joyeuse et plaisante. Je tiens ceconte de deux de ses 
compagnes, dignesde fois, quivirentjouer ce mys- 
tere. " — (Euvres de Brantome, iii, 507. 

The tune to which this fair lady chose to make 
her final exit was composed on the defeat of the 
Swiss at Marignano. The burden is quoted by 
Panurge, in Rabelais, and consists of these words, 
imitating the jargon of the Swiss, which is a mix- 
ture of French and German: 

" Tout est vtlore 
La Tintelore. 
Tout est velore by Got!" 

4. Battle of Beal' an Duine.— P. 157. 

A skirmish actually took place at a pass thus 

called in the Trosachs, and closed with the re 



Scottish irony. " January 17th, 1687.— Reid the mounte- 
bank is received into the popish church, and one of liis 
blackaraores was persuaded to accept of Ijaptism from the 
p.jpish priests, and to turn clirislian papist; whicli was a 
j^r. 'it tiophy: he was called J.imes, after the king and 
eiiaiiceilo.-, and the Apostle James."— Ibid, p. 440. 



markable incident mentioned in the text. It was 
greatly posterior in date to the reign of James V. 

" In this roughly-wooded island,* the country 
people secreted their wives and children, and their 
most valuable effects, fjom the rapacity of Crnm- 
well's soldiers, during their inroad into this coun- 
try, in the time of tiie republic. These invaders, 
not venturing to ascend by the ladders, along the 
side of the lake, took a more circuitous road, 
through the heart of the Trosachs, the most fre- 
quented path at that time, which penetrates the 
wilderness about half way between Bmean and 
the lake, by a tract called Yea-chilleach, or the 
Old Wife's Bog. 

"In one of tlie defiles of this hy-road, the men 
of the country at that time hang upon the rear of 
the invading enemy, and shot one of Cromwell's 
men, whose grave marks the scene of action, and 
gives name to that pass.f In revenge of this insult, 
the soldiers resolved to plunder the island, to 
violate the women, and put the children to death. 
With this brutal intention, one of the party more 
expert than the rest, swam towards the island, to 
fetch the boat to his comrades, wiiich had carried 
the women to their asylum, and lay moored in 
one of the creeks. His companions stood on the 
shore of the main land, in full view of all that was 
to pass, Nvaiting anxiously for ids return with the 
boat. But, just as the swimmer had got to the 
nearest point of the island, and was laying hold of 
a black rock, to get on shore, a heroine. Mho stood 
on the very point where he meant to land, hastily 
snatching a dagger from below her apron, with 
one stroke severed his head from the body. His 
party seeing tills disaster, and i-elinquishing all 
future hope of revenge or conquest, made the best 
ot tlieir way out of their perilous situation. This 
amazon's great-grandson lives at Bridge of Turk, 
who, besides others, attests tlie anecdote." — Sketch 
of tlie Scenerij near Cullender. Stirling, 1806, p. 
yO. I have only to add to this accouut, that the 
heroine's name was Helen Stuart. 

5. And Snowdoun's knight is Scotland's king.— P. 160. 

This discovery will probably remind tlie reader 
of tlie beautiful Arabian tale of 11 JBondocani. 
Yet the incident is not borrowed from that elegant 
story, but from Scottish tradition. James Y, of 
whom we are treatiug; was a monarch whose good 
and benevolent intentions often rendered his ro- 
mantic freaks venial, if not respectable, since, 
from his anxious attention to the interests of the 
lower and most oppressed class of his subjects, he 
was, as we have seen, popularly termed the king 
of tlie comnons. For the purpose of seeing that 
justice was regularly administered, and frequently 
from the less justifiable motive of gallantry, he 
used to traverse the vicinage of his several palaces 
in various disguises. The two excellent comic 
songs, entitled "The Gaberlimzie Man," and 
" We'll gae nae mair a roving," are said to have 
been founded upon the success of his amorous ad- 
ventures when travelling in the disguise of a beg- 
gar. The latier is perhaps the best comic ballad 
in any language. 

Anotheradventivre, which had nearly cost James 
his life, is said to have taken jilace at the village 
of Cramond, near Edinbui'gh, where he had 
rendered his addresses acceptable to a pretty girl 
of the lower rank. Four or five persons, whether 

* That at theeasiern extremity of Loch Katrine, so of- 
ten niintioned in tlie text, 
t Beallach an Uuine. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



189 



relations or lovers of his mistress is uncertain, be- 
set the disguised monarch, as he relumed from his 
rendezvous. Naturally gallant, and an admirable 
master of his weapon, the king took post on the 
higii and narrow bridge over the Almond river, 
and defended himself bravely with his sword. A 
peasant, who was threshing in a neighbouring barn, 
came out upon the noise, and, whether moved by 
compassion or by natm-al gallantry, took the weak- 
er side, and laid about wilii his flail so eftectually, 
as to disperse the assailants, well threshed, even 
according to the letter. He then conducted the 
king into his barn, where his guest requested a 
basin and towel, to remove the stains of the broil. 
This being procui-ed with difficulty, James em- 
ployed himself in learning what was tlie summit 
of his deliverer's earthly wishes, and found that 
they were bounded by the desire of possessing, in 
property, the farm of Braehead, upon which he 
laboured as a bondsman. The lands chanced to 
belong to the crown; and James directed him to 
come to the palace of Holj-Rood, and inquire for 
the gudeman (z. e. farmer) of Ballenguich, a name 
by which he was known in his excursions, and 
■which answered to the. 11 Bondocani of Haroun Al- 
raschid. He presented himself accordingly, and 
found, with due astonishment, that he had saved 
his monarch's life, and that he was to be gratified 
with a crown-charter of the lands of Braehead, un- 
der the service of presenting an ewer, basin, and 
towel, for the king to wash his hands, when he 
shall happen to pass the bridge of Cramohd. 
This person was ancestor of tlie Howisons, of 
Braehead, in Mid-Lothian, a respectable family 
who continue to hold the lands (now passed into 
the female line) under the same tenure. 

Anotiier of James's frolics is thus naixated by 
Mr. Campbell, from the Statistical Account. "Be- 
ing once benighted when out a hunting, and separat- 
ed from his attendants, he happened to enter a cot- 
tage in the midst of a moor, at the foot of the 
Ochil hills, near Alloa, where, unknown, he was 
kindly received. In order to regale their unex- 
pected guest, the gudeman [i. e. landlord, farmer) 
desired the gudewife to fetch the hen that roosted 
nearest the cock, which is always the plumpest, 
for-the stranger's supper. The king, highly pleas- 
ed with his night's lodging and hospitable enter- 
tainment, told mine host, at parting, that he should 
be glad to return his civility, and requested that 
the first time he came to Stirling he would call at 
the castle, and inquire for \.\\e gudeman of Ballen- 
guich. Donaldson, the landlord, did not fail to 
call on ihe giidernan of Ballenguich, when his as- 
tonishment at finding that the king had been his 
guest afforded no small amusement to the merry 
monarch and his courtiers; and, to carry on the 
pleasantry, he was thenceforth designated by James 
with the title of king of the moors, which name 
and designation have descended from father to son 
ever since, and they have continued in possession 
of the identical spot, the property of Mr. Erskine, 
of Mar, till very lately, when this gentleman, with 
reluctance, turned out the descendant and repre- 
sentative of the king of the moors, on account of 
his majesty's invincible indolence, and great dis- 
like to reform or innovation of any kind, although, | 
from the spirited example of his neighbour tenants 
on the same estate, he is convinced similar exer- 
tion would promote his advantage." 

The author requests permission yet farther to 
verify the subject of his poem, by an extract from 



the genealogical work of Bnchanan of Auchraar> 
upon Scottish surnames. 

"This John Buchanan of Atichmar and Arnpry- 
or was afterwards termed king of Kippen,* upon 
the following account: King James \ , a very so- 
ciable, debonair prince, residing at Stirling, in 
Buchanan of Arnpryor's time, carriers were very 
frequently passing along the common road, being 
near Arnpryor's house, with necessaries for the 
use* of the king's family; and he, having some ex- 
traordinarj' occasion, ordered one of tliese carriers 
to leave his load at his house, and he would pay 
him for it: which the carrier refused to do, telling 
him he was the king's carrier, and his load for his 
majesty's use; to which Arnpryor seemed to have 
small regard, compelling the carrier, in the end, to 
leave his load, telling him, if king James was king 
of Scotland, he was king of Kippen, so that it was 
reasonable he should share with his neighbour king 
in some of these loads, so frequently carried that 
road. The carrier representing this usage, and 
telling the story, as Arnpryor spoke it, to some 
of the king's servants, it came at length to his ma- 
jesty's ears, who, shortly thereafter, with a few at- 
tendants, came to visit his neighbour king, who 
was in the mean time at dinner. King James hav- 
idg sent a servant to demand access, was denied 
the same by a tall fellow with a battle-axe, who 
stood porter at the gate, telling, there could be no 
access till dinner was over. This answer not sa- 
tisfying the king, he sent to demand access a se- 
cond time; upon which he was desired by the por- 
ter to desist, otherwise he would find cause to re- 
pent his rudeness. His majesty finding this method 
would not do, desired the porter to tell his master 
that tlie goodman of Ballageigh desired to speak 
with the king of Kippen. The porter telling Arn- 
pryor so much, he, in all humble manner, came and 
received the king, and having entertained him with 
much sumptuousnessandjollitj', became so agree- 
able to king James, that he allowed him to take so 
much of any provision he found carrying tliat road 
as he had occasion for; and seeing he made the first 
visit, desired Arnpryor in a few days to return him 
a second to Stirling, which he performed, and con- 
tinued in vei-y much favour with the king, always 
thereafter being termed king of Kippen while he 
lived." — BucHANAJf's Essay upon the fanuly of 
Buchanan. Edin. 1775, 8vo. p. 74. 

The readers of Ariosto must give credit for the 
amiable features with which he is represented, 
since he is generally considered as the prototype 
of Zei-bino, the most interesting hero of the Orlan- 
do Furioso. 

6. Stirling's tower 

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. — P. 160. 

William of Worcester, who wrote about the 
middle of the fifteenth century, calls Stirling cas- 
tle Snowdoun. Sir David Lindsay bestows the same 
epithet upon it in his complaint of the Papingo: 

Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towers high, 
Thy chapel-ioyal, park, and table round; 
May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee, 
AVere I a man, to hear the birdis sound, 
Whilk doth again' thy royal rock rebound. 

Mr. Chalmers, in his late excellent edition of 
sir David Lindsay's works, has refuted the ciiime- 
rical derivation of Snawdoun from snedding, or 
cutting. It was probably derived from the roman- 
tic legend which connected Stirling with king Ar- 
thur, to which the mention of the Round Table 



' A small district of Perthshire. 



190 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



gives countenance. The ring within which justs 
were formerly practised, in the castle park, is still 
called the Round Table. Snawdoun is the official 
title of one of the Scottish heralds, whose epithets 
seem in all countries to have been fantastically 
adopted from ancient history or romance. 

It appears from the preceding note, that the real 
name by which James was actually distinguished 
in his private excursions, was the goodraan of Bal- 
lenguich; derived from a steep pass leading up' to 
the castle of Stirling, so called. But the epithet 



would not have suited poetry, and would besides 
at once, and prematurely, have announced the plot 
to many of my countrymen, among whom the tra- 
ditional stories above mentioned are still current. 



The author has to apologise for the inadvertent 
appropriation of a whole line from the tragedy of 
Douglas, 

" I hold die first who strikes, my foe." 



ixo'^tm 



A POEM. 



TO JOHN B. S. MORRITT, Esa. 



THIS POKM, THE SOTOT. OF WHICH IS tAID IN HIS BEAUTEFUL DEMESNE OF HOKEBT, IS INSCHIBEP, 
IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BT WALTER SCOTT. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The scene of the poem is laid at Rokeby, near 
Greta-bridge, m Yorkshire, and shifts to the] 
adjacent fortress of Barnard castle, and to other 
places in that vicinity. . 

The time occupied by the action is a space ot 
five days, three of which are supposed to elapse 
between the end of the fifth and beginning of the 
sixth canto. . . ,. . , 

The date of the supposed events is immediately 
subsequent to the great battle of Marston-moor, 
3d July, 1644. This period of public contusion 
has been chosen, without any purpose of combin- 
ing the fable with the military or political events 
of the civil war, but only as affording a degree of 
probability to the fictitious narrative now presented 
to the public. 

ROKEBY. 

CANTO I. 
I. 

The moon is in her summer glow. 

But hoarse and high the breezes blow. 

And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 

Varies the tincture of her shroud; 

On Barnard's towers,' and Tees's stream, 

She changes as a guilty dream. 

When conscience, with remorse and fear, 

Goads sleeping fancy's wild career. 

Her light suemed now the blush of shame, 

Seemetl now fierce anger's darker ftame. 

Shifting that shade, to come and go. 

Like apprehension's hurried glow; 

Then sorrow's livery dims the air. 

And dies in darkness, like despair. 

Such varied hues the warder sees 

Reflected from the woodland Tees,. 

Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth, 

Sees ihe clouds mustering in the north. 

Hears, upon turret-roof and wall. 

By fits the plashing rain-drop fall. 

Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 

And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 



II, 

Those towers, which, in the changeful gleam, 
Throw murky shadows on the stream. 
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest. 
The emotions of whose troubled breast, 
In wild and strange confusion driven, 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied. 
Oft had he changed his weary side. 
Composed his limbs, and vainly sought 
By eflfort strong to banish thovight. 
Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true and fancies vain, 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast. 
The expected future with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time. 
Already rues the unacted crime. 
And calls her furies forth, to shake 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake; 
While her poor victim's outward throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes. 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 

III. 

Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping face. 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moon-beams tinge the Teeii. 
There might be seen of shame the blush. 
There anger's dark and fiercer flush. 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seemed grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 
Relaxed that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
The tear in the half-opening eye. 
The pallid cheek and brow, confessed 
That grief was busy in his breast; 
Nor paused that mood— a sudden start 
Impelled the life-blood from the heart; 
Features convulsed, and mutterings dread. 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead; 
I That pang the painful slumber broke. 
And Oswald, with a start, awoke. 



ROKEBY. 



191 



IV. 

He woke, and feared again to close 
His evelids in such dire repose; 
He w'olce, — to Avatch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle bell, 
Or listen to the owlet's cry. 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by, 
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the time, 
And envying think how, when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couched on his straw, and fancy free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 

V. 

Far townward sounds a distant tread. 
And Oswald, starting from his bed,i 
Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
Unsharpened by revenge and fear, 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank,2 
Until it reached the castle-bank. 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears, 
The warder's challenge now he hears. 
Then clanking chains and levers tell. 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell, 
And, in the castle court below, 
Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
As marshalling the stranger's way. 
Straight for the room where Oswald lay; 
The cry was — " Tidings from the host. 
Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
Stifling the tumult of his breast. 
His answer Oswald thus expressed — 
" Bring food and wine, and trim the fire; 
Admit the stranger, and retire." — 

VI. 

The stranger came with heavy stride; 
The morion's plumes his visage hide, 
And the buff coat, in ample fold. 
Mantles his form's gigantic mould. 3 
Full slender answer deigned he 
To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 
But marked, by a disdainful smile. 
He saw and scorned the- petty wile. 
When Oswald changed the torch's place. 
Anxious that on the soldier's face 
Its partial lustre might be thrown. 
To show his looks, yet hide his own. 
His guest, the while, laid slow aside 
The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, 
And to the torch glanced broad and clear 
The corslet of a cuirassier. 
Then from his brows the casque he drew, 
And from the dank plume dashed the dew, 
From gloves of mail relieved his hands. 
And spread them to the kindling brands, 
And, turning to the genial board, 
Without a health, or pledge, or word 
Of meet and social reverence said. 
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed; 
As free from ceremony's sway. 
As famished wolf that tears his prey. 

VII. 

With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His liost beheld him gorge his cheer, 
And quaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
i^ow paced the room with hasty stride. 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern, 



Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 
Yet, viewing with alarm, at last, 
The end of that uncpulh repast, 
Almost he seemed their haste to rue, 
As, at his sign, his train withdrew. 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and shame. 

Vlll. 

Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
To justify suspicious fears. ■ 
On his dark face a scorching clime. 
And toil, had done the work of time,* 
Roughened the brow, the temples bared, 
And sable hairs with silver shared. 
Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame. 
The full-drawn lip that upward curled. 
The eye, that seemed to scorn the world. 
That lip had terror never blanched; 
Ne'er in that eye bad tear-drop quenched 
The flash severe of swarthy glow, 
That mocked at pain, and knew not wo; 
Inured to danger's direst form. 
Tornado and earthquake, flood and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow. 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow, 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball. 
Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all. 

IX. 
But yet, though Bertram's hardened look, 
Unmoved, could blood and danger brook, 
Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart Ijrow and callous face; 
For evil passions, cherished long. 
Had ploughed them with impressions strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
Light folly, passed with youth away. 
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour. 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 
And yet the soil in which they grew, 
Had it been tamed when life was new, 
Had depth and vigour to bring forth 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kindlier tone; 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chastened mind, 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'ei\ fair virtue for its guide. 

X. 
E'en now, by conscience vmrestrained. 
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained. 
Still knew his daring soul to soar. 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard. 
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove, by many a winding train. 
To lure his stiUen guest to show. 
Unasked, the news he longed to know, 
While on fitr other subject hung 
His heart, than faltered from Jus tongue. 
Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain. 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort. 
Returned him answer dark and short. 



192 



SCOTT'S iPOF.TICAL WORKS. 



Or started from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wihl and strange, 
And forced the embairassed host to buy, 
By query close, direct reply. . 

XI. 

Awhile he glozed upon the cause 

Of commons, covenant, and laws, 

And churcli reformed — but felt rebuke 

Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 

Then stammered — " Has a field been fought? 

Has Bertram news of battle brought? 

For sure a soldier, famed so far 

In foreign fields for feats of war, 

On eve of fight ne'er left the host. 

Until the field were won or lost. " 

" Here, in your towers by circling Tees, 

You, Oswald Wyclifte, rest at ease; 

Why deem it strange that others come 

To share such safe and easy home. 

From fields where danger, death, and toil, 

Are the reward of civil broil?" 

" Nay, mock not, friend ! — since well we know 

The near advances of the foe. 

To mar our northern army's work. 

Encamped before beleaguered York; 

Thy horse witli valiant Fairfax lay. 

And must have fought — how went the day?" 

xn. 

" Wouldst hear the tale? — On Marston heath 

Met, front to front, the ranks of death ;5 

Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now 

Fired was each eye, and fluslied each brow; 

On eithiT side loud clamours ring, 

' God and the cause! — God and the king!' 

Right English all, they rushed to blows, 

With nought to win, and all to lose. 

I could have laughed — but lacked the time — 

To see, in phrenezy sublime. 

How the fierce zealots fougiit and bled, 

For king or state, as humour led; 

Some for a dream of public good. 

Some for church-tippet, gown, and hood, 

Draining their veins; in death to claim 

A patriot's or a martyr's name. — 

Led Bertram Risingham the hearts. 

That countered thei-e on adverse parts, 

No superstitious fool had I 

Sought El Dorados in the skj' ! 

Chili had heard me through her states, 

And Lima oped her silver gates. 

Rich Mexico 1 had marched through, 

And sacked the splendours of Peru, 

Till sunk Pizarro's daring name, 

And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame." 

— " Still from the purpose wilt thou stray! 

Good gentle friend, how went the day?" 

xni. 

" Good am I deemed at trumpet-sound. 
And good where goblets d.ince the round, 
Though gentle ne'er was joined, till now. 
With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. — 
But 1 resume. The l)attle's rage 
Was like the strife which currents wage. 
Where Orinoco, in his pride, 
Rolls to the main no tribute tide. 
But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 
A rival sea of roaring war; 
While, in ten thousand eddies driven. 
The billows fling their foam to heaven. 
And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 
Where rolls the river, where the main. 



E'en thus, upon the bloody field, 

The eddying tides of conflict wheeled 

Ambiguous, till that heart of flame. 

Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, 

Hurling against our spears a line 

Of gallants, fiery as their wine; 

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal, 

In zeal's despite began to reel. 

What wouldst thou more' — in tumult tost, 

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 

A thousand men, who drew the sword 

For both the houses and the word. 

Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and down 

To curb the crosier and the croM'n, 

Now, stark and stift", lie stretched in gore, 

And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 

Thus fared it, when 1 left the fight. 

With the good cause and commons' right." 

XIV. 

"Disastrous news!" dark Wyclifle said; 

Assumed despondence bent his head. 

While troubled joy was in his eye. 

The well-feigned sorrow to belie. — 

"Disastrous news! — when needed most, 

Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? 

Complete the woful tale, and say, 

W^ho fell upon that fatal day; 

What leaders of repute and name 

Bought by their death a deathless fame. 

If such my direst foeman's doom. 

My tears shall dew his honoured tomb. — 

No answer? — Friend, of all our host. 

Thou know'st whom I should hate the most; 

Whom th )U too once were wont to hate. 

Yet leav'st me doubtful of his fate."' — 

With look unmoved, — "Of friend or foe, 

Auglit," answered Bertram, "wouldst thou know 

Demand in simple terms and plain, 

A soldier's answer shalt thou gain; 

For question dark, or riddle high, 

Ihave nor judgment nor reply." 

XV. 

The wrath his art and fear suppressed 
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe's breast; 
And brave from man so meanly born, 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
— " Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt? 
Philip of Mortham, lives he yet? 
False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Trait'rous or perjiu-ed, one or both. 
Slave! hast thou kept thy promise plight, 
To slay thy leader in the fight?" — 
Then from his seat the soldier si)rung. 
And Wyclift'e's hand he strongly wrung; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of ntail. 
Forced the red blood-drop from the nail— 
" A health!" he cried; and, ere he quaffed. 
Flung from him Wyclitte's hand, and laughed 
— " Now, Oswald Wyclifte, speaks thy heart! 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear. 
Like me to roam a buccaneer. 
What reck'st thou of the cause divine. 
If Morlham's wealth and lands be thine' 
What car'st thou for beleaguered York, 
If this good hand have done its woi'k? 
Or what though Fairfax and his best 
Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast. 
If Philip Mortham with them lie, 
Lending his life-blood to the dye* 



ROKEBY. 



193 



Sit then! and as 'mid comrades free 
Carousing after victory, 
AViien talcs are told of blood and fear, 
Tiiat bovs and women slirink to hear, 
From iioinl to point I frankly tell 
The deed of death as it befel. 

xvr. 

" "Wlien purposed vengeance I forego. 

Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe; 

AntI when an insult 1 forgive, 

Then brand me as a slave, and live! — 

Philip of Mortliam is with those 

Whom Bertram Kisingham calls foes; 

Or whom more sure revenge attends, 

If numbered with ungrateful friends. 

As was his wont, ere battle glowed. 

Along the marsiialled ranks he rode, 

And wore his vizor up the while. 

I saw his melancholy smile, 

M'hen, full opposed in front, he knew 

Where Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 

* And thus,' he said, ' will friends divide!' — 

1 heard, and tflought how, side by side, 

We two had turned tlie battle's tide, 

In many a well debated field. 

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 

1 thougiit on Darien's deserts pale, 

Where death ))estrides the evening gale. 

How o'er my friend my cloak 1 threw, 

And fenceless faced the deadly dew; 

1 thought on Qaariana's clifT, 

Where, rescued from our foundering skiff. 

Through the white breakers' wrath 1 bore 

Exhausted Mortham to liie shore; 

And when his side an arrow found, 

I sucked tlie Indian's venomed wound. 

These thoughts like torrents rushed along. 

To sweep away my purpose strong. 

XVII. 

"Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent; 

Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 

When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 

Be near him in the battle's roar, 

1 scarcely saw the spears laid low, 

I scarcely heard the trumpets blow; 

Lost was the war in inward strife, 

Debating Mortham's death or life. 

'Twas then I tbouglit, how, lured to come 

As partner of his wealth and home, 

Years of piratic wandering o'er. 

With him I sought our native shore. 

But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 

From the bold hearts with whom he ranged; 

Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears. 

Saddened and dimmed descending vears; 

The wily priests their victim sought. 

And damned each freeborn deed and thought. 

Then must 1 seek another home. 

My license shook his sober dome; 

If gold he gave, in one wild day * 

1 revelled thrice the sum awa)-. 

An idle outcast then 1 strayed. 

Unfit for tillage or for trade. 

Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance. 

Useless and dangerous at once. 

The women feared my hardy look. 

At my approacii the peaceful shook: 

The merchant saw my glance of flame. 

And locked his hoards when Bertram came; 

Each child of coward peace kept far 

From the neglected son of war. 



XVIII. 

" But civil discord gave the call. 
And made my trade the trade of all. 
JJy MprthaiTi urged, 1 came again 
His vassals to the fight to train. 
W hat guerdon waited on my care? 
I could not cant of creed or prayer; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtained. 
And [, dishonoured and disdained. 
Gained but the high and happy lot, 
In these poor arms to front the shot!— 
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell; 
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
'Tis honour bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 

XIX. 

" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
As my spur pressed my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortiiam's c^iuse was tried. 
And, ere the charging squadrons mixed, 
His plea was cast, his doom was fixed. 
I watched him through the doubtful fray, 
That changed as INlarch's moody day. 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank. 
Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank. 
'Twas then, 'midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
Where each man fought for death or life, 
'Twas then I fired my petronel. 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast. 
Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 
Think not that there I stopped to view 
What of the battle should ensue; 
But ere I cleared that bloody i)ress. 
Our northern horse ran masterless; 
Monckton and Mitton told the news. 
How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast. 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past. 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. ^ 
Yet when I reached the banks of Swale, 
Had rumour learned another tale; 
With his barbed horse, fresh tidings say 
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day:' 
But whether false the news, or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as you. " — 

XX. 

Not then by Wycliffe might be shown. 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which his complice, fierce and free. 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms his speech he wove 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love; 
Promised and vowed in courteous sort. 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay! 
No, scarcely till the rising day: 
Warned by the legends of my youth, 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
Trained forward to his bloody fall, 
Bv Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall?8 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side. 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
Tiie moated mound*of Kisingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees. 
Sweet Woodburn's cottages and trees. 



194 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone;^ 
Unmatched in strengtii, a giant he, 
With quivered back, and kirlled knee; 
Ask liow he died, that hunter bold, 
The tameless monarch of tlie wold, 
And age and infancy can fell. 
By brother's treachery he fell. — 
Thus warned by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI. 

••'Wlien last we reasoned of this deed, 
Nought, I bethink me, was agreed. 
Or by what rule, or when, or where. 
The wealtii of Mortham we should share; 
Then list, while I the portion name. 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne. 
Her rules of heritage must own; 
They deal ihee, as to nearest heir. 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair, 
And these I yield: — do thou revere 
The statutes of the buccaneer. 'O 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are borne. 
When falls a mate in battle broil. 
His comrade heirs his portioned spoil; 
When dies in fight a daring foe. 
He claims his wealth who struck the blow; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark, 
Ciialice and plate from churches borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn. 
Each string of pearl, each silver bar, 
And all the wealth of western war; 
I go to search, where, dark and deep^ 
Those transatlantic treasures sleep. 
Thou must along — for, lacking thee. 
The heir will scarce find entrance free: 
And then farewell, I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy; 
When cloye(l each wisli, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword. "— 

XXII. 

An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite liis craft, he lieard with awe 
This ruffian stabber fix the law; 
While his own troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear. 
Joyed at the soul that Bertram flies. 
He grudged the murderer's mighty prize, 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone, 
And feared to wend witli him alone. 
At length, that middle course to steer. 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
" His charge," he said, " would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now; 
Wilfred on Bertram should attend. 
His son should journey with his friend." 

XXIll. 
Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 
And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 
" Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me. 
Whichever bears the golden key. 
Yet think not but I mark, and smile 
To mark, thy poor and selfish* wile! 
If injury from me you fear, 
What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here? 



I've sprung from walls more high than these, 

I've swam ihrougli deeper streams than TeeSi 

Might I not stab thee, ere one yell 

Could rouse the distant sentinel? 

Start not — it is not my design. 

But, it it were, weak fence were thine; 

And, trust me, that, in time of need. 

This, hand hath done more desperate deed.— • 

Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son; 

Time calls, and I must needs be gone." 

XXIV. 

Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart; 
A heart, too soft from early life 
To hold with fortune needful strife. 
His sire, while yet a hardier race 
Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace. 
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand. 
For feeble heart and forceless liand; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 
Were centered in her sickly boy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
Showed the elastic spring of bloody 
Hour after hour he loved to pore 
On Siiakspeare's rich and varied lore. 
But turned from martial scenes and light. 
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight. 
To ponder Jacques's moral strain. 
And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain; 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 

XXV. 

In youth, he sought not pleasures found 
By youth in horse, and hawk, and liound. 
But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake; 
In Deepdale's solitude to lie. 
Where all is clift", and copse, .ind sky: 
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak. 
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
Such was his wont; and there his dream 
Soared on some wild fantastic theme. 
Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring, 
Till contemplation's wearied wing 
Tlie enthusiast could no more sustain, 
And sad he sunk to earth again. 

XXVI. 

He loved — as many a lay can tell, 
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell; 
For iiis was minstrel's skill, he taught 
The art unteachable, untaught; ■ 
He loved — his soul did nature frame 
For love, and fancy nursed the tlame; 
Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 
Of such soft mould is loved again; 
Silent he loved — in every gaze 
Was passion, friendsiiip in iiis phrase. 
So mused his life away — till died 
His brethren all, their father's pride. 
Wilfrid is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care. 
And destined, darkling, to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 

XXVII. 

Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
Matilda, heir of llokeby's kniglit. 
To love her was an easy best. 
The secret empress of iiis breast; 
To woo her was a liarder task 
To one that durst not hope or ask; 



ROKEBY. 



195 



Yet all Matilda could she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave; 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward! 
She read the tales his taste approved, 
And sung the lays lie framed or loved; 
Yet, lotli to nurse the fatal flame 
Of ho])eless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The favouring glance to friendship due, 
Then grieved to see her victim's pain. 
And gave the dangerous smiles again. 

xxviir. 

So did the suit of Wilfrid stand, 
When war's loud summons waked the'land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The wo-foreboding peasant sees. 
In concert oft they braved of old 
The bordering Scot's incursion bold; 
Frowning defiance in their pride. 
Their vassals now and lords' divide. 
From his fair hall on Greta banks. 
The knight of Rokeby led his ranks, 
To aid the valiant northern earls. 
Who di'ew tlie sword for royal Charles; 
Mortham, by marriage near allied,— 
His sister had been llokeby's bride, 
Though long before the civil fray. 
In peaceful grave-the lady lay, — 
Philip of Mortham raised his band. 
And marched at Fairfax's command; 
While Wycliffe, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave ihi; bloody field. 
Made Barnard's battlen ents his shield. 
Secured them witli his Lunedale powers, 
And for the commons held the towers. 

XXIX. 

The lovely heir of llokeby's knight 
Waits in his halls the event of fight; 
For England's war revered the claim 
Of every unpi'otected name, 
And spared, amid its fiercest rage, 
Childhood, and womanhood, and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby 's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego. 
By Greta's side, in evening gray, 
To steal upon Matilda's way. 
Striving, with fond hypocrisy. 
For careless step and vacant eye; 
Calming each anxious look and glance. 
To give the meeting all to chance. 
Or framing as a tair excuse, 
The book, the pencil, or the muse; 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the longed-for minutes last, — 
Ah! minutes quickly over past! — 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless courtesy, 
Each friendly Igok, each softer tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 
All this is o'er but still, unseen, 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green, 
To watch Matilda's wonted round, 
While springs his heart at every sound. 
She comes! — 'tis but a passing sight. 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night: 
She comes not — he will wait the hour, 
VVhea her lamp lightens in the tov^er; 



'Tis something yet, if, as she past. 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" What is my life, my hope?" he said; 
"Alas! a transitory shade." 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love. 
Forcing upon his thouglits tlie sum 
Of present wo and ills to come. 
While still he turned impatient ear 
From truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued. 
In all but this, unmoved he viewed 
Each outward change of ill and good: 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild. 
Was fancy's spoiled and wayward child; 
In her bright car she bade him ride. 
With one fair form to grace his side, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat, 
P'lung her high spells around his seat, 
Bathed in her dews his languid head. 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread. 
For him her opiates gave to flow, 
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego. 
And placed him in her circle, free 
From every stern reality, 
Till, to the visionar)', seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 

XXXI. 

Wo to the youth whom fancy gains. 
Winning from reason's hand tlie reins. 
Pity and wo! for such a mind 
Is soft, contemplative, and kind; 
And wo to those who train sucli youth, 
And spare to press the rights of truth, 
The mind to strengthen and anneal. 
While on the stithy glows the steel! 
O teach him, while your lessons last. 
To judge the present by the past; 
Remind him of each wish pursued. 
How rich it glowed with promised good; 
Remind him of each wish enjoyed. 
How soon his hopes possession cloyed! 
Tell him, we play unequal game, 
When'er we shoot by fancy's aim; 
And, ere he strip him for tier race. 
Show the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters by the goal are set. 
Cold disappointment and regi'et; 
One disenchants the winner's eyes, 
Aiul strips of all its worth the prize, 
While one augments its gaudy show. 
More to enhance the loser's wo; 
The victor sees his fairy gold 
Transformed, when won, to drossy mould; 
But still the vanquished mourns his loss. 
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 

XXXII. 

More would'st thou know — yon tower survey, 
Yon couch unpressed since parting day. 
Yon untrimmed lamp, whose yellow gleam 
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam. 
And yun thin form! the hectic red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread; 
The head reclined, the loosened hair. 
The limbs relaxed, the mournful air. 
See, he looks up; a woful smile 
Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while; 
'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought, 
To gild the ruins she has wrought; 



196 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain, 
She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 
Now to tiie lattice turn his eyes. 
Vain hope! to see the sun arise. 
The moon vitli clouds is still o'ercast, 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast; 
Another hour must wear awaj', 
Ere the east kindle into day. 
And hark! to waste that weary hour. 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 

XXXIII. 

SONG TO THE MOOX. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye! 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below. 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and wo! 
Fair queen! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side. 
Each little cloud that dimmed thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide; 
And of the shades I then could chide. 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
For, while a softer strain I tried. 

They hid my blush and calmed my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was formed to light some lonely dell, 
By two fond lovers only seen. 

Reflected from the crystel well; 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell. 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night! 

XXXIV. 

He starts — a step at this lone hour! 
A voice! his father seeks the tower. 
With hagard look and troubled sense, 
Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
" Wilfrid! what, not to sleep addrest? 
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor; 
Bertram brings warrant to secure 
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 
For the state's use and public good. 
The menials will thy voice obey; 
Let his commission have its way, 
In every point, in every word." 
Then, in a whisper, " take thy sword! 
Bertram is — what I must not tell. 
1 hear his hasty step — farewell ! " 

CANTO ir. 

I. 

Far in the chambers of the west. 
The gale had sighed itself to rest; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear. 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The thin gray clouds waxed dimly light 
On Brusleton and Houghton height; 
And the rich dale, that eastward lay. 
Waited the wakening touch of day. 
To give its woods and cultured plain. 
And towers and spires, to light again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell. 
And Lunedale wild, and Keiton-fcll, 



And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar; 
Wliile, as a livelier twilight falls. 
Emerge proud Barnard's bannered walls. 
High crowned he sits, in dawning pale. 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

II. 

What prospects from his watch-tower high, 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye! 
Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,^ 
And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapours from the stream; 
And ere he pace his destined hour 
By Brackwnbury's dungeon-tower. 
These silver mists shall melt away. 
And dew the woods with glittering spray. 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That miglity trench of living stone. 
And each iiuge tnmk that, from the side, 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide. 
Where Tees, full many a fatliom low. 
Wears with liis rage no common foe; 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here. 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career. 
Condemned to mine a channelled way. 
O'er solid slieets of marble gray. 

III. 
Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright, 
Shall rush upon the ravished sight; 
But many a tributary stream. 
Each from its own dark dell shall gleam; 
Staindrop, who, from her sylvan bowers. 
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers; 
The rural brook of Eglistone, 
And Balder, named from Odin's son; 
And Greta, to whose banks ere long 
We lead the lovers of the song; 
And silver Lune, from Slanmore wild. 
And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child; 
And last and least, but loveliest still. 
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 
Who in that dim-wood glen hath strayed. 
Yet longed for Roslin's magic glade? 
Who, wandering there, had sought to change 
E'en for that vale so stern and strange. 
Where Cartland's crags, fantastic rent. 
Through her green copse like spires are sent? 
Yet, Albyn, yet the praise be thine. 
Thy scenes and story to combine! 
Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays. 
List to the deeds of other days; 
'Mid Cartland's crags tliou show'st the cave, 
The refuge of thy champion brave. 
Giving eacli rock its storied tale. 
Pouring a lay for every dale, 
Knitting, as with a moral band. 
Thy native legends with thy land, 
To lend each scene the interest high 
Which genius beams from beauty's eye. 

IV. 

Bertram awaited not the sight 

Which sunrise shows from Barnard's height, 

But from the towers, preventing day. 

With Wilfrid early took his way. 

While misty dawn, and moon-beam pale, 

Still mingled in the silent dale. 

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone. 

The southern bank of Tees they won; 

Their winding path then eastward cast, 

And Eglistone's gray ruins^ past; 



ROKEBY. 



U7 



Each on his own deep visions bent, 
Silent and sad they onward went. 
Well may you think that Bertram's mood 
I'd Wilfrid savage seemed and rude; 
Well may you think, bold Risinghani 
'• Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame: 
' ♦ And small the intercourse, I ween, 
Such uncongenial souls between. 

V. 

Stern Bertram shunned the nearer way. 
Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay. 
And, skirting high tiie valley's ridge. 
They crossed by Greta's ancient bridge. 
Descending wMfere her waters wind 
Free tor a space and uncontined, 
As, 'scaped from Brignal's dark wood glen. 
She seeks wild Morltiam's deeper den. 
There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound, 
Raised by that legion long renowned, 
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim. 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame,^ 
"Stern sons of war!" sad Wilfrid sighed, 
" Behold the boast of Roman pride! 
What now of all your toils are known? 
A grassy trencii, a broken stone!" 
This to himself, for moral strain 
To Bertram were addressed in vain. 

VI. 

Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets higM 
Were northward in the da'.vning seen 
To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
O then, though Spencer's self had strayed 
Beside him througR the lovely glade, 
Lending his richSuxuriant glow 
Of fancy, all its «liarms to show. 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
As captive set at liberty. 
Flashing her sparkling waves abroad. 
And clamouring joyful •on her road; 
Pointing where, ilp the sunny banks, 
The trees retire in scattered ranks. 
Save where, advanced before the rest. 
On knoll or hillock realms his crest — 
Lonelyjfldittige, the giant oak — 
i^giM^K^, when their bahd is broke, 
^mHHRi to guard the rearward post, 
TMSwwark of the scattered host — 
J^^lnis, and more, might Spencer say, 
"Vet waste in vain his magic lay. 
While \yiifrid eyed the distant tower, 
Whosepftice lights Matilda's bower. 

VII. 

The open vale is soon past o'er, 

Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more: 

Sinking 'mid Greta's thickets deep, 

A wild and darker course they keep, 

A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 

As e'er the foot of minstrel trode '.^ 

Broad shadows o'er their passage fell. 

Deeper and narrower grew the dell; 

It seetaed some mountain, rent and riven, 

A channel for the stream had given. 

So high the cliffs of limestone gray 

Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way. 

Yielding, along their rugged base, 

A flinty footpath's niggard space. 

Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave. 

May hear the headlong torrent rave. 

And like a steed in frantic fit. 

That flings the froth from curb and bit. 



May view her chafe her waves to spray, 
O'er every rock that bars her way. 
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride. 
Thick as the schemes of human pride. 
That down life's current drive amain. 
As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 

VTII. 

The cliffs, that rear the haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed, 
Were now all naked, wild, and gray. 
Now waving all with greenwood spray; 
Here trees to every crevice clung, 
And o'er the dell their branches iiung; 
And there, all splintered and uneven. 
The shivered rocks ascend to heaven. 
Oft, too, the iv)' swathed their breast. 
And wreathed its garland round their crest. 
Or from their spires bade loosely flare 
It? tendrils in tiie middle air, 
As pennons wont to wave of old. 
O'er the high feast of baron bold. 
When revelled loud the feudal rout. 
And the arciied halls returned their shout. 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar. 
And such the echoes from her shore. 
And so the ivied banner's gleam 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks i-ecede. 

But leave between no sunny mead. 

No, nor the spot of pebblj^ sand. 

Oft found by such a mountain strand. 

Forming such warm and dry retreat. 

As fancy deems the lonely seat. 

Where hermit, wandering from his cell. 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here, 'twixt rock and river grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew. 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 

Seemed that the trees their shadows cast, 

The eartli that nourished them to blast. 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love; 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower, 

Arose within its baleful bower; 

The dank and sable earth receives 

II s only carpet from the leaves. 

That, from the witiiering branches cast. 

Bestrewed the ground with every blast. 

Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 

Inthis dark spot 'twas twilight still. 

Save that on Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copse-wood glide. 

And wild and savage contrast made 

That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 

With the bright tints of early day, 

Whicli, glimmering through the ivy spray, 

On the opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lated peasant shunned the dell. 

For superstition wont to tell 

Of many a grisly sound and sight. 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Christmas logs blaze high and wide. 

Such wonders speed the festal tide. 

While curiosity and fear. 

Pleasure and pain, sit crouching near, 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village maidens lose the rose. 



198 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The thrilling interest rises higher, 

The circle closes nigh and nigher, 

And shuddering glance is cast hehind. 

As louder moans the wintry wind. 

Believe, that fitting scene was laid 

For such -wild tales in Mortham's glade; 

i'or who had seen on Greta's side, 

By that dim light, fierce Bertram stride; 

In such a spot, at such an hour, 

If touched by superstition's power. 

Might well have deemed that hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 

While Wilfrid's form had seemed to glide 

Like his pale victim by his side. 

XI. 

Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known; 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind. 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barred, 
Have quaked like aspin leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a talc 
Of wonder in his native dale. 
That in his secret soul retained 
The credence they in childhood gained; 
Nor less his wild and venturous youth 
Believed in every legend's truth. 
Learned when beneath the tropic gale 
Full swelled the vessel's steady sail. 
And the broad Indian moon her light 
Poured on the watch of middle night, 
When seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell; 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore,s 
How whistle rash bids tempest roar;' 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite, 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ;« 
Or of that phantom ship, whose form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm. 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lowered is every topsail yard. 
And canvass, wove in earthly looms. 
No more to brave the storm presumes! 
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and top-gallant hoisted high. 
Full-spread and crowded every sail. 
The demon-frigateS braves the gale; 
And well the doomed spectators know, 
The harbinger of wreck and wo. 

XII. 

Then too were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own; 
How, by some desert isle or key,'" 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty, 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood. 
Strange nigiitly sounds of wo and fear 
Appalled the listening buccaneer. 
Whose light-armed shallop anchored lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
Ring from the moonlight groves of cane; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies memory for a prayer. 
Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail. 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 



xm. 

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child. 
Trained in the myotic and the wild, 
With this on Bertram's soul at times 
Rushed a dark feeling of his crimes; 
Such to his troubled soul their form. 
As the pale death-sliip to the storm, 
And such their omen dim and dread. 
As shrieks and voices of the dead. 
That pang, whose transitory force 
Hovered 'twixt horror and remorse; 
That pang, perchance, his bosom pressed. 
As Wilfrid sudden he addressed. 
" Wilfrid, this glen is never trod • 
Until the sun rides high abroad; 
Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
A form that seemed to dog our way; 
Twice from my glance it seemed to flee, 
And shroud itself by clift'or tree; 
How think'st thou? is our palli waylaid. 
Or hath they sire my trust betrayed ? 
If so" — Ere, starting from his dream, 
That turned upon a gentler theme, 
Wilfrid had roused iiim to reply, 
Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 
" What'er thou art, thou now shalt stand!' 
And forth he darted, sword in hand. 

XIV. 

As bursts the levin in its wrath. 

He shot him down the sounding path: 

Rock, wood, and stream, rung wildly out. 

To his loud step and savage snout. 

Seems that tiie object of his race 

Hath scaled the clifl's; his frantic chase 

Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent 

Right up the rock's tall battlement; 

Straining each sinew to ascend. 

Foot, hand, and knee their aid must lend. 

Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay. 

Views from beneath his dieadful way; 

Now to the oak's warped roots he clings. 

Now trusts his weight to ivy strings; 

Now, like the wild goat, must he dare 

An unsupported leap in air; 

Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 

You mark him by the crashing boiigh. 

And by his corslet's sullen clank. 

And by the stones spurned from the bank, 

And by the hawk scared from her nest. 

And ravens croaking o'er their guest. 

Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 

The tribute of his bold essay. 

XV. 

See, he emerges ! — desperate now 

All farther course — yon beetling brow. 

In craggy nakedness sublime. 

What lieart or foot shall dare to climb? 

It bears no tendril for his clasp, 

Presents no angle to his grasp; 

Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 

Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 

Balanced on such precarious prop, 

He strains his grasp to reach the top. 

Just as the dangerous stretch he makes. 

By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes! 

Beneath his tottering i)ulk it bends. 

It sways, it loosens, it descends! 

And downward holds its headlong way, 

Crashing o'er rock and copse-wood spray. 

Loud thunders shake the echoing dell' 

Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 



ROKEBY. 



199 



Just on the very verge of fate, 
The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands, 
And on the top unharmed he stands ! 

XVI. 
Wilfrid a safer path pursued, 
At intervals where, roughly hewed. 
Rude steps ascending from the dell 
Renilered the cliffs accessible. 
Bv circuit slow he thus attained 
The height that Risingham had gained, 
And when he issued from tiie wood. 
Before the gate of Mortham stood." 
'Twas a fair scene ! tiie sunbeam lay 
On battled tower and portal gray. 
And from the grassy slope he sees 
The Greta flow to meet the Tees, 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern red, 
And through the softening vale below 
Rolled her bright waves in rosy glow, 
All blushing to her bridal bed. 
Like some shy maid in convent bred, 
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay, 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII, 

'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay. 
That summer morn slione blith and gay, 
But morning beam, and wild bird's call 
Awaked not Mortham's silent hall. 
No porter, by the low-browed gate. 
Took in the wonted niche his seat; 
To the paved court, no peasant drew. 
Waked to their toil no menial crewj 
The maiden's carol was not heard, 
As to her morning task she fared; 
In the void offices around. 
Rung not a hoof, nor bayed a hound. 
Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh. 
Accused the lagging groom's delay; 
Untrimraed, undressed, neglected now. 
Was alleyed walk and orcliard bough; 
All spoke the master's absent care. 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South of the gate an arrow flight. 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite. 
As if a canopy to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead; 
For their huge bouglis in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise. 
With many a scutcheon and device: 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pondering by tUe tomb. 

XVIII. 

'• It vanished, like a flitting ghost! 
Behind this tomb," he said, " 'twas lost — 
This tomb, where oft I deemed, lies stored 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth, the hoard. 
'Tis true, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid; 
But weightier reasons may be guessed 
For their lord's strict and stern behest. 
That none should on his steps intrude. 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
An ancient mariner I knew, 
What lime I sailed with Morgan's crew. 
Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 
Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake; 
Adventurous hearts! who bartered bold 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 

15 



Trust not, would his experience say. 
Captain or comrade with your prey: 
But seek some cbarnel, when, at full. 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull; 
There dig, and tomb your precious heap. 
And bid the dead your treasure keep;'2 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task compel. 
Lacks there such cbarnel!— kill a slave. 
Or prisoner, on the treasure grave; 
And bid his discontented ghost 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween, 
Is in my morning visior seen." 

XIX. 

Wilfrid, who scorned the legend wild. 

In mingled mirth and pity smiled. 

Much marvelling that a breast so bold 

In such fond tale belief should hold; 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition's form and jhow. 

The power within the guilty breast. 

Oft vanquished, never quite suppressed. 

That unsubdi^d and lurking lies 

To take the felon by surprise, '3 

And force him, as by magic spell, 

In his despite his guilt to tell. 

That po./er in Bertram's breast awoke; 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke: 

" 'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head! 

His morion, with the plume of red, 

His shape, his mien, 'twas Mortham right. 

As when 1 slew him in the fight." 

" Tiiou slay him? thou"' With conscious start 

He heard, then manned his hauglity heart. 

" I slew him! I! I had forgot. 

Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 

But it is spoken; nor will I 

Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 

I slew him, I! for thankless pride; 

'Twas by this hand that Mortham died." 

XX. 

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart. 

Averse to every active part. 

But most averse to martial broil. 

From danger shrunk, and turned from toil; 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nursed one brave spark of noble fire; 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong. 

His blood beat high, his hand waxed strong. 

Not his the nerves that could sustain. 

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain; 

But when that spark blazed forth to flame. 

He rose superior to his frame. 

And now it came, that generous mood; 

And, in full current of his blood, 

On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 

Placed firm his foot, and'drew his brand. 

" Siiould every fiend to whom thou'rt sold. 

Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 

Arouse there, ho! take spear and sword! 

Attack the murderer of your lord!". 

XXI. 

A moment, fixed as by a spell. 

Stood Bertram — it seemed mii-acle. 

That one so feeble, soft, and tame, 

Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 

But when he felt a feeble stroke. 

The fiend within the ruffian woke! 

To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand. 

To dash him headlong on the sand, 



200 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Was but one moment's work, — one more 

Had drenched the hliide in Wilfrid's gore; 

But, in the instant it arose, 

To end his life, his love, his woes, 

A warlike form, that marked the scene, 

Presents his rapier sheathed between, 

Parries the fast-descending blow. 

And steps 't\i ixt Wilfrid and his foe; 

Kor tiien unscabbanled his brand, 

But steridy pointing with his hand, 

With monarch's voice forbade the fight, 

And motioned Bertram from his sight. 

" Go, and repent," he said, " while time 

Is given thee; add not crime to crime." 

XXLl. 

Mute and uncertain, and amazed, 

As on a vision, Bertram gazed! 

'Twas Morlham's bearing bold and high, 

His sinewy frame, his falcon eye, 

His look and accent of command, 

The martial gesture of Ijis hand, 

His stately form, spare-built and tall, 

His war-bleached locks, 'twas Mortham all. 

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 

A thousand tliouglits, and all of fear. 

His wavering faith received not quite 

The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 

But more he feared it, if it stood 

His lord, in living flesh and blood — 

What spectre can the charnel send, 

So dreadful as an injured friend? 

Tlien, too, the habit of command, 

Used by the leader of the band, 

When Ilisingliani, for many a day. 

Had marched and fought beneath his sway, 

Tamed him — and, with reverted face, 

Backward he bore his sullen pace. 

Oft stopped, and oft on Mortliam stared, 

And dark as rated mastiff glared; 

But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 

Plunged in the glen, and disappeared. 

Nor longer there the warrior stood. 

Retiring eastwai'd through the wood; 

But first to WiltVid warning gives, 

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives." . 

XXllI. 
Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear, 
Hinting he knew not what of fear, 
When nearer came the coursers' tread. 
And, with his father at their head. 
Of horsemen armed, a gallant power 
Reined up their steeds before the tower. 
" Whence these pale looks, my son?" he said; 
" Where's Bertram? why that naked blade?" 
Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 
(For Mortham's charge his honour tied,) 
" Bertram is gone — the villain's word, 
Avouched him murderer of his lord! 
E'en now we fouglit — but, when your tread 
Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 
In Wyclift'e's conscious eye appear 
A guilty hope, a guilty fear; 
On his pale brow the dew-drop broke. 
And his lip quivered as he spoke. 

XXIV. 
" A murderer! Philip Mortham died 
Amid tlie battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you! 
Yet grant such strange confession true, 
Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 



A gallant youth rode near his side, 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate. 
And followed now in WyclifFe's train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arched and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
Chafed not against the curb more high 
Than he at Oswald's cold reply; 
He bit his lip, implored his saint, 
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint. 

XXV. 
" Yes!— I beheld his bloody fall. 
By that base traitor's dastard ball. 
Just when I thought to measm'e sword. 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the murderer 'scape, who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true? 
Escape! while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace? 
No! ere the sun that dew shall dry, 
False Risingham shall yield or die. 
Ring out the castle larum bell! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime, disperse — ride, gallants, ride! 
Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be. 
That honours Mortham's memory. 
Let him dismount and follow me! 
Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name!" 

XXVL 
Instant to earth j'oung Redmond sprung; 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band. 
Who waited not their lord's command. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from his shoulder threw. 
His pistols in his belt he placed. 
The greenwood gained, the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark!" — and in he bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
"Suspicion! j'es — pursue him — fly — 
But venture not, in useless strife, 
On ruffian desperate of his life. 
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead! 
Five hundred nobles for his head." 

XXVII. 

The horsemen galloped, to make good 

Each pass that issued from the wood. 

Loud from the tliickets rung tiie shout 

Of Redmond and his eager route; 

With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire, 

And envying Redmond's martial fire, 

And emulous of fame. But where 

Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir? 

He, bound by honour, law, and faith, 

Avenger of his kinsman's death? 

Leaning against the elmine tree. 

With drooping head and slackened knee. 

And clenched teeth, and close clasped hands, 

In agony of soul he stands! 

His downcast eye on earth is bent, 

His soul to every sound is lent. 

For in each shout that cleaves the air 

May ring discovery and despair 

XXVIIl. 
What 'vailed it him, that brightly played 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade? 



ROKEBY. 



201 



All seems in giddy round to ride. 

Like objects on a stormy tide, 

Seen eddying by tbe moonliglit dim, 

Imperfectly to sink or swim. 

Wliat 'vailed it, that the fair domain, 

Its battled mansion, iiill, and plain, 

On which the sun so brightly shone, 

Envied so long, was now his own? 

The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 

Of Brackenbury's dismal tower,i4 

Had been iiis choice, could such a doom 

Have opened Mortham's bloody tomb! 

Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 

To eacli surmise of hope or fear, 

INIurmured among tlie rustics round, 

"Who gathered at tlie larum sound. 

He dare not turn his head away. 

E'en to look uj) to heaven to pray; 

Or call on hell, iu bitter mood, 

For one sharp deatli-shot from the wood ! 

XXIX. 

At length o'erpast that dreailful space. 
Back straggling came the scattered chase; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
Returned the troopers, one by one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 
All trace was lost of Fiertram's wny. 
Though Redmond still, up Bri*iial wood, 
The hopeless quest in vain pursued. 
O fatal doom of human race! 
What tyrant passions passions chase! 
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone. 
Avarice and pride resume their throne; 
T|ie pang of instant terror by, 
They dictate thus their slave's reply. 

XXX. 
*' Ay — let him range like hasty hound! 
And if the grim wolf's lair be found. 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond or with Risingham. 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy! 
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 
To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 
Thy ditties will she freely praise. 
And pay thy pains witii courtly phrase; 
In a rough patii will oft command — 
Accept at .least — thy friendly hand; 
His she avoids, or, urged and prayed, 
Unwilling takes his proffered aid. 
While conscious passion plainly speaks 
In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 
Whene'er he sings will she glide nigh. 
And all her soul is in her eye. 
Yet doubts she still to tender free 
Tlie wonted words of courtesy. 
These are strong signs! yet wherefore sigh. 
And wipe, efteminate, thine eye' 
Thine shalt she be, if thou attend 
The counsels of thy sire and friend. 

XXXI. 
" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light 
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 
Brave Cromwell turneil the doubtful tide. 
And conquest blest the rightful side; 
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold manjuis fled; 
Nobles and knights, so proud of late. 
Must fine for freedom and estate. 
Of these committed to my charge, 
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large; 



Redmond, his page, arrived to say 

He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. 

Right heavy shall his ransom be. 

Unless that maid compound with thee!i5 

Go to her now — be bold of cheer, 

While her soul floats 'tvvixt hope and fear: 

It IS the very change of tide, 

When best the female heart is tried-— 

Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 

Are in the current swept to sea. 

And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 

May lightly row his bark to shore." 

CANTO iir. 
I. 

The hunting tribes of air and earth- 
Respect the brethren of their birth; 
Nature, who loves tlie claim of kind. 
Less cruel chase to each assigned. 
The falcon poised on soaring wing, 
Watclies the wild-duck by the spring; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair. 
The greyhound jiresses on the hare; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb. 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam; 
E'en tiger fell, and sullen bear. 
Their likeness and their lineage spare. 
Man, onl)^, mars kind nature's plan. 
And turns the fierce pursuit on man; 
Plying war's desultory trade. 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade. 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son. 
At first the bloody game begun. 

II. 

The Indian, prowling for his prey. 

Who hears the settlers track his way,i 

And knows in distant forest far 

Camp his red brethren of the war; 

He, when each double and disguise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries, 

Low crouching now his head to hide, 

Where swampy streams through rushes glide. 

Now covering with the withered leaves 

The foot-prints which the dew i-eceives; 

He, skilled in every sylvan guile. 

Knows not, nor tries, such various wile. 

As Risingham, when on the wind 

Arose the loud pursuit behind. 

In Redesdale his youtii had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared, 2 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high. 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry. 

Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear. 

And Lid'sdale riders in the rear; 

And well his venturous life had proved 

The lessons that his childhood loved. 

111. 

Oft had he shown, in climes afar. 
Each attribute of roving war; 
The shar|)ened ear, tlie piercing eye, 
The quick resolve in danger nigh; 
The speed, that, in the flight or chase, 
Outstripped the Carib's rapid race; 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim; 
The iron frame, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air, 
Nor less confirmed to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
These arts he proved, his life to save. 
In peril oft by land and wave. 



202 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



On Arawaca's desert shore, 
Or where La Plata's billows roar, 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Tracked the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare tried, 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 

IV. 

'Twas then, in hour of utmost need. 

He proved his courage, art, and speed.. 

Now slow he stalked with stealthy pace, 

Now started forth in rapid race. 

Oft doubling back in mazy train, 

To blind the trace the dews retain; 

Now clombe the rocks projecting high. 

To baffle the pursuer's eye. 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 

The echo of his footsteps drowned. 

But if the forest verge he nears. 

There trample steeds and glimmer spears; 

If deeper down the copse he drew, 

He heard the rangers' loud halloo. 

Beating each cover while they came. 

As if to start the sylvan game. 

'Twas then — like tiger close beset 

At every pass with toil and net. 

Countered, wliere'er he turns his glare. 

By clashing arms and torches' flare, 

\Viio meditates, with furious bound. 

To burst on liuut(>r, horse, and hound, — 

'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose. 

Prompting to rush upon his foes: 

But as that crouching tiger, cowed 

By brandished steel and shouting crowd. 

Retreats beneatii the jungle's siu'oud, 

Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 

And couches in the brake and fern. 

Hiding his face, lest foeraen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye.3 

V. 

Then Bertram might the bearing trace 

Of the bold youth who led the ciiase, 

Who paused to list for every sound. 

Climbed every height to look around. 

Then rushing on with naked sword, 

Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 

'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye; 

'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 

Disordered from his glowing cheek; 

Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak. 

A form more active, light, and strong. 

Ne'er shot the ranks of war along: 

The modest, yet the manly mien, 

Might grace the court of maiden queen; 

A face more fair you well might And, 

For Redmond's knew the sun and wind. 

Nor boasted, from their tinge when free. 

The charm of regularity; 

But every feature had the power 

To aid the expression of the hour: 

Whether gay wit, and humour sly, 

Danced laughing in his light-blue eye- 

Or bended brow, and glance of fire. 

And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire; 

Or soft and saddened glances show 

Her ready sympathy with wo; 

Or in that wayward mood of mind, 

When various feelings are combined, 

When joy and sorrow mingle near. 

And hope's bright wings are ciieck'd by fear, 

And rising doubts keep transport down. 

And auger lends a short-lived frown; 



In that strange mood which maids approve. 
E'en when they dare not call it lo\e. 
With every change his features played. 
As aspens show the light and shade. 

Well Risingham young Redmond knew; 
And much he marvelled that the crew. 
Roused to revenge bold Morlham dead, 
Were by that Mortham's foeman led; 
For never felt his soul the wo, 
That wails a generous foeman low, 
Far less that sense of justice strong. 
That wreaks a generous foeman 's wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause; 
Redmond is first whate'er the cause; 
And twice that Redmond came so near. 
Where Bertram couched like hunted deer, 
The very boughs his steps displace, 
Rustled against the ruffian's face,* 
Who, desperate, twice prejiared to start, 
And plunge his dagger in his heart! 
But Redmond turned a difterent waj'. 
And the bent boughs resumed their sway. 
And Bertram held it wise, unseen. 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the brake. 
Watches with red '^nd glistening eye. 
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh. 
With foiked tongue and venomed iang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang; 
But if the intruders yrn-n aside. 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
•And through the deep savannah wind. 
Some undisturbed retreat to find. 

vn. 

But Bertram, as he backward drew. 
And heard the loud pursuit renew. 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind. 
Oft muttered in his savage mind — 
" Redmond O'Neale! were thou and 1 
Alone this day's event to trj'. 
With not a second here to see. 
But the gray cliff and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so Irtud, 
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud! 
No!, nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower," — 
Eluded, now behind him die. 
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry; 
He stands in Scargill wood alone. 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry. 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild. 
The summer sun in quiet smiled. 

vin. 

He listened long with anxious heart. 
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start. 
And, while his stretched attention glows. 
Refused his weary frame repose. 
'Twas silence all — he laid him down. 
Where purple heath profusely strowa 
And throatwort with its azure bell,* 
And moss and thyme his cushion swell. 
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 
'I'lie course of Greta's playful tide; 
Beneath her banks now eddying dun, 
Now bi-igiitly gleaming to the sun. 
As, <lancing over rock and stone, 
In yellow light her current shoue, 



ROKEBY. 



303 



Matching in hue the fovouille gc-m 

Of Albyn's mountain diadem. 

Then, tired to watch tlie current's play, 

He turned tiis weary eyes away, 

To wliere the bank opposing showed 

Jts huge square clift's tiirough shaggy wood. 

One, prominent above the rest, 

Reared to tiie sun its pale gray breast; 

Around its brolten summit grew 

The hazel rude, and sable yew; 

A thousand various lichens died 

Its waste and weather beaten side, 

And round its rugged bases lay, 

By time or thunder rent away, 

J'ragments, tliat, from its frontlet torn, 

Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 

Such was the scene's wild majesty. 

That filled stern Bertram's gazing eye. 

IX. 
In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
Revolving, in his storm\' mind, 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt. 
His patron's blood by treason spilt; 
A crime, it seemed, so dire and dread, 
That it had power to wake the dead. 
Then pondering on his life betrayed 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade. 
In treacherous purpose to withhold. 
So seemed it, Mortham's promised gold, 
A deep and full revenge he vowed 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud; 
Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire! 
If, in such mood (as legends sa)% 
And well believed that simple day) 
The en^my of man has power 
To profit by the evil hoiir, 
ilere stood a wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge !' 
But though his vows, with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made. 
As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the grove embrowned. 
No nether thunders shook the ground; 
The demon knew his vassal's heart. 
And spared temptation's needless art. 

Oft mingled with the direfulr theme. 

Came Mortham's form— was it a dream? 

Of had he seen, in vision true, 

That very Mortham whom he slew? 

Or had in living flesh appeared 

The only man on earth he feared? — 

To try the mystic cause intent. 

His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 

Countered at once a dazzling glance. 

Like sunbeam flashed from sword or lance. 

At once he started as for fight, 

But not a foeman was in sight; 

He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse. 

He heard the river's sounding course, 

The solitary woodlands lay. 

As slumbering in the summer ray. 

He gazed, like lion roused, around. 

Then sunk again upon the ground. 

'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam. 

Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream; 

Then plunged him in his gloomy train 

Of ill-connected thoughts again, 

UTitil a voice behind him cried, 

" Bertram! well met on Greta-side." 



XI. 



Instant his sword was in his hand. 

As instant sunk the ready brand; 

Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 

To him that issued from the wood: — 

" Guy Denzil! is it thou?" he said; 

" Do we two meet in Scargill shade' — 

Stand back a space !-^thy jjurpose show. 

Whether thou comest as friend or foe. 

Report hath said that Denzil's name 

From Rokeby's band was razed with shame." 

" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 

Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 

Of my marauding on tlie clowns 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs. — <> 

I reck not. In a war to strive. 

Where, save the leaders, none can thrive. 

Suits ill my mood; and better game 

Awaits us both, if thou'rt tlie same 

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 

Who watched with me in midnight dark. 

To snatch a deer from Rokehy-park. 

How tbink'st thou'" — " Speak thy purpose out; 

I love not mysteiy or doubt. " 

XII. 

" Then list. — Not far there lurk a crew. 

Of trusty comrades, stanch and true. 

Gleaned from both factions — roundheads, freed 

From cant of sermon and of creed ; 

And cavaliers, whose souls, like mine. 

Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 

Wiser we judge, by dale and wold, 

A warfare of our own to hold. 

Than breathe our last on battle-down. 

For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 

Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 

A chief and leader lack we yet. — 

Thou art a wanderer, it is said. 

For Mortham's death thy steps waylaid. 

Thy head at price — so say our spies. 

Who ranged the valley in disguise — 

Join then with us; though wild debate * 

And wrangling rend our infant state. 

Each, to an equal loth to bow. 

Will yield to chief renowned as thou." 

Xlll. 

" E'en now," thought Bertram, " passion-stirred, 

I called on hell, and hell has heard ! 

What lack L, vengeance to command. 

But of stanch comrades such a baud! 

This Denzil, vowed to eveiy evil. 

Might read a lesson to the devil. 

Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 

Shall serve as my revenge's tool." — 

Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, 

But tell me where thy comrades lie." 

" Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said; 

" Descend and cross the river's bed, 

Where rises yonder cliff so gray." 

" Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the way." 

Then muttered, " It is best make sure; 

Guy Denzil's faith was never pure."— 

He followed down the steep descent. 

Then through the Greta's streams they went. 

And, when they reached the farther shore. 

They stood the lonely cliff before. 

XIV. 

With wonder Bertram heard within 
The flinty rock a murmured din; 
But when Guy pulled the wilding spray 
And brambles from its base away. 



204 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He saw, appearing to the air, 
A little entrance low and square. 
Like opening cell of hermit lone, 
Dark winding through the living stone. 
Here entered Denzil, Bertram here, 
And loud and louder on their ear. 
As from the bowels of the earth, 
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 
Of old, the cavern straight and rude 
In slaty rock the peasant hewed; 
And Brignal's woods, and Scargill's, ■wave 
E'en now o'er many a sister cave,'' 
Where, far within the darksome rift. 
The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
But war had silenced rural trade. 
And the deserted mine was made 
The banquet hall, and fortress too. 
Of Denzil and his desperate crew. 
There Guilt his anxious revel kept; 
There on his sordid pallet slept 
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drained 
Still iu his slumbering grasp retained; 
Regret was there, his eye still cast 
With vain repining on the past; 
Among the feasters waited near, 
SoiTow, and unrepentant Eear, 
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,. 
Willi his own crimes reproaching heaven; 
While Bertram showed, amid tlie crew. 
The master-fiend that Alilton drew. 

XV. 
Hark! the loud revel wakes again. 
To greet the leader of the train. 
Behold the group by the pale lamp. 
That strugg'es wiih the earthy damp. 
By what strange features Vice hath known 
To single out and mark her own ! 
Yet some there are, whose brows retain 
Less deeply stamped, her brand and stain. 
See yon pale stripling! when a boy, 
A motlier's pride, a father's joy ! 
Now', 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, 
An early image fills his mind: 
The cottage, once his sire's, he sees. 
Embowered upon the banlcs of Tees; 
He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 
And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 
A tear is springing — but the zest 
Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, 
Hath to loud laughter stirred the rest. 
On him they call, the aptest mate 
For jovial song and merry feat; 
Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air. 
As one victorious o'er despair, 
He bids the ruddy cup go round. 
Till sense and sorrow both are drowned. 
And soon in merry wassail he, 
The life of all their revelry. 
Peals his loud song! — The muse has found 
Her blossoms on tlie wildest ground, 
'Mid noxious weeds at random strewed. 
Themselves all profitless and rude. — 
With desperate merriment he sung. 
The cavern to the cliorus rung; 
Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
Remorse's bitter agony. 

XVI. 

SONG. 

O Brignal banks are wild and fair, 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queen. 



And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 
CHonus. 
" O, Brignal banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there. 

Than reign our English queen." — 

" If, maiden, thou would'st wend with me. 

To leave both tower and town. 
Thou first must guess what life lead we. 

That dwell by dale and down. 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may. 
Then to the green- 'vood shall thou speed, 

As blith as queen of May. " 

CHORUS. 

Yet snng^ she, " Brignal banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are green: 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 

Than reign our English queen. 

XVII. 

" I read you, by your bugle horn. 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn. 

To keep the king's green- wood."— 
" A ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'lis at peep of light; 
His blast is heard at merry morn, 

And mine at dead of niglit." — 
CHOHrs. 
Y'^et sung she, " Brignal banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay, 
I would I were with I^lmund tnere, • • 

To reign his queeA of May ! 

" With burnished brand and musquetoon. 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." 
" I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum, 

My comrades take tiie spear. 
CHonus. 
" And O! though Brignal banks be fair, 

Arid Greta woods be gay. 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare. 

Would reign my queen of May! 
XVIll. 
" Maiden! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I'll die; 
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 

Were better mate than 1! 
And when I'm willi my comrades met. 

Beneath the green-wood bough. 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. 

CHonus. 
*' Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gailier garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queen." 

When Edmund ceased his simple song. 
Was silence on the sullen throng. 
Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But, far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan. 



ROKEBY. 



205 



Of import foul and fierce, designed, 
While still on Bcrtrani's gi-asping mind 
The wealth of murdered Mortham hung; 
Though half he feared his daring tongue. 
When it should give his wishes birth. 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 

XIX. 

At length his wond'rous tale he told. 

When scornful smiled his comrade bold; 

For, trained in license of a court. 

Religion's self was Denzil's sport; 

Then judge in what contempt he held 

The visionary tales of eld! 

His awe for Bertram scarce repressed 

The unbeliever's sneering jest. 

" 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seep 

To spell the subject of your fear; 

Nor do I boast the art renowned, 

Vision and omen to expound. 

Yet, faith, if I must needs aftbrd 

To spectre watching treasured hoard, 

As ban-dog keeps his master's roof. 

Bidding the plunderer stand aloof. 

This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 

Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt; 

For why his guard on Morthani hold, 

When Rokeby castle hatli the gold 

Thy patron won on Indian soil. 

By stealth, by piracy, and spoil?" 

XX. 

At this he paused — for angry shame 

Lowered on the brow of Risingliam. 

He blushed to think that he should seem 

Assertor of an airy dream. 

And gave his wrath another theme. 

«' Denzil," he says, " though lowly laid. 

Wrong not the memory of the dead; 

For, while he lived, at jNIortham's look 

Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook! 

And when he taxed thy bi-eacli of word 

To yon fair rose of Allenford, 

I saw thee crouch like chastened hound. 

Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. 

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 

The spoil of piracy or stealth; 

He won it bravely with his brand, 

When Spain waged warfare with our land. 8 

Mark too — 1 brook no idle jeer. 

Nor couple Bertram's name with fear; 

Mine is but h:df tlie demon's lot, 

For I believe, but tremble not. — 

Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 

Thou deem'st at Rokeliy castle stored ! 

Or think'st that Mortham would bestow 

His treasure with his faction's foe?" 

XXI. 

Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed mirth: 

Rather he would h.ave seen the earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 

Than venture to aw.ake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submiss he answered, — " Mortham's mind. 

Thou know'sl, to joy was ill inclined. 

In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he; 

But since returned from over sea, 

A sullen and a silent mood 

Hath numbed the cun-ent of his blood. 

Hence he refused each kindly call 

To Rokeby's hospitable hall. 



And our stout knight, at dawn of morn, 

Who loved to hear the bugle-horn. 

Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned. 

To see the ruddy cup go round, 

Took umbrage that a friend so near 

Refused to share his chase and cheer; 

Thus did the kindred barons jar, 

Ere they divided in the war. 

Yet trust me, friend, Matilda fair 

Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." 

XXIL 

" Destined to her! to yon slight maid ! 
The prize my life h.ad well nigh paid. 
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, 
I fought, my patron's wealth to save! — 
Denzil, I knew him long, but ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier, 
Wliom youthful friends and early fame 
Called soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man he sought our crew. 
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew; 
And rose, as men with us must rise, 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he roved. 
As danger for itself he Ibved; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine; 
111 was the omen if he smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild; 
But when he laughed, each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 
Foremost he fought in every broil. 
Then scornful turned liim from the spoil; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey; 
Preaching, e'en then, to such as we. 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and humanity! 
XXIII. 
" I loved him ^vell — his fearless part. 
His gallant leading, won my heart. 
And, after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I tliat Avrangleil for his right. 
Redeemed his portion of the prey 
That greedier mates had torn away; 
In field and storm thrice saved his life. 
And once amid our comrades' strife. — 9 
Yes, I have loved thee ! well hath proved 
My toil, my danger, how 1 loved! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise, if thou canst!" he looked around. 
And sternly stamped upon the ground — 
" Rise, with thy bearing proud and high. 
E'en as this morn it met mine eye. 
And give me, if thou dar'st, the lie!" 
He paused — then, calm and passion-freed. 
Bade Denzil with his t;de proceed. 

XXIV. 

" Bertram, to thee 1 need not tell 
What thou hast cause to wot so well. 
How superstition's nets were twined 
Around the lord of Mortham's mind;. 
But since he drove tliee from his tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bower. 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved. 
Remembrance of the wife he loved; 
But lie would gaze upon her eye. 
Till his mood softened to a sigh. 



206 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He, whom no living mortal sought 
To question of his secret thought, 
Now, everj' thought and care confessed 
To his fair niece's faithful breast; 
Nor was there aught of rich or rare, 
In earth, in ocean, or in air. 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound him >into life; 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials bore, by his commands, 
Three coffers with their iron bands. 
From Mortham's vault at midnight deep, 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride, 
His gift, if he in battle died." — 

XXV. 
" Then Denzil, as 1 guess, lays train. 
These iron-banded chests to gain; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here, 
Where many a peril waits him near. 
For all his feats of war and peace. 
For plundered boors and harts of gi-eece ?* 
Since through the hamlets as he fared. 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, , 
Or where the chase that hath not rung 
With Denzil's bow at midnight strung?" 
— " 1 hold my wont — vny rangers go 
E'en now to track a milk-white doe.i" 
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbours fair. 
And when my huntsman marks her way, 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey? 
Were Rokeby's daughter in our power. 
We rate her ransom at her dower!" 

XXVI. 
" 'Tis well! — there's vengeance in the thought! 
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought. 
And hot-brained Redmond, too, 'tis said, 
Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
Bertram she scorned — if met by chance. 
She turned from me her shuddering glance, 
Like a nice dame, that will not brook 
On what she hates and loathes to look; 
She told to Mortham, she could ne'er 
Behold mc without secret fear, 
Foreboding evil; — she may rue 
To find her prophecy fall true ! 
The war has weeded Rokeby's train, 
Few followers in his halls remain; 
If thy scheme miss, then, briet and bold. 
We are enow to storm the hold. 
Bear off the plunder and the dame, 
And leave the castle all in flame. " — 

XXVII. 
" Still art thou valour's venturous son I 
Yet ponder first the risk to run; 
The menials of the castle, true. 
And stubborn to their charge, though few; 
The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 
The wicket-grate — the inner fosse" — 
— " Fool! if we blench for toys like these, 
On what fair guerdon can we seize? 
Our hardjest venture, to explore 
Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 
And the best prize we bear away. 
The earnings of his sordid day." — 
— "Awhile thy hasty taunt forbear: 
In sight of road more sure and fair. 
Thou would'st not choose, in blindfold wrath. 
Or wantonness, a desperate path? 



Deer in season. 



List then: — for vantage or assault. 
From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 
Each path of Rokeby-hoiise I know: 
There is one postern dark and low. 
That issues at a secret spot. 
By most neglected or forgot. 
Now, could a spial of our train 
On fair pretext admittance gain. 
That sall3-port might be unbarred; 
Then, vain were battlement and ward ! " 

XXVIII. 
" Now speak'st thou well; — to me the same, 
If force or art shall urge the game; 
Indifferent if like fox I wind, • 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But hark! our meri'y-men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay. " 

SONG. 

" A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine! 
A lightsome eje, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

IS o more of me you knew. 

My love ! 

No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain, 
But she shall bloom in winter snow. 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turned his charger as he spake,'* 

Upon the river shore. 
He gave his bridle reins a shake. 
Said, " Adieu for evermore. 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — 
XXIX. 
" Wliat youth is this your band among, — 
The best for minstrelsy and song? 
In hi'S wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
" Edmund of Winston is his name; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
Now ccnteied all in Brignal cave! 
I watch him well — his wayward course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse: 
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart. 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful; — of the rest 
By fits the darling and the jest. 
His harp, his story, and his lay, 
Oft aid the idle hours away; 
When unemployed, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — again 
He wakes them, with a blither strain." 
XXX. 

SOSTG. AI.LEN-A-DAI.E. 

Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, 
AUen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Yet Allen-a-Uale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my i-iddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 
The baron of Ravensworth'2 prances in pride, 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, ai\d the land for his game, 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame; 



ROKEBY. 



2or 



Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to lord Dacre than Allan-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a kniglit. 

Though his spur be as sharp, s\nd his blade be as 
bright; 

Allen-a-liale is no baron or lord, 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at iiis word; 

And the best of our nobles his Ijonnet will vail. 

Who at Rerc-cross on Slanmore'^ meets Allen- 
a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come; 

The mother, she asked of his household and home; 

" Tho' the castle of Richmond stands fair on the 

hill; 

My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter 
still; 

'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so 
pale, 

And with all its bright spangles!" said Allen-a- 
Dale. 

The father was steel, and the mother was stone; 

They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone! 

But loud on the morrow, their wail and their cry ! 

He had laughed on the lass with his bouuy black 
eye, 

And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale. 

And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale. 
XXXI. 

" Thou seest that, whether sad or gay, 

Love mingles ever in his lay. 

But when his boyish wayward fit 

Is o'er, he liath address and wit; 

O! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 

Each dialect, each various shape." 

*' Nay, then, to aid thy project. Gay — 

Soft! who comes here'" — "My trusty spy. 

Speak, Hamlin! hast thou lodged our deer?"'"* 

" 1 have — but two fair stags are near; 

1 watched her as she slowly strayed 

From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade: 

But Wilfrid WyclifFe sought her side. 

And then young Redmond in his pride 

Shot down to meet them on their way; 

Much, as it seemed, was theirs to sa^': 

There's time to pitcli both toil and net, 

Before their path be homeward set." 

A hurried and a whispered speech 

Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach. 

Who, turning to the robber band. 

Bade four the bravest take the brand. 

CAJfTO IV. 

I. 
Whbx Denmark's raven soared on high, 
Triumphant through Northumbriau sky. 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke,'- 
And tlie broad shadow of her wing 
Blackened each cataract and spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source. 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force;2 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fixed on each vale a Runic name,3 
Reared high their altars' rugged stone. 
And gave their gods the land they won. 
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 
And Woden's croft did title gain 
From the stern father of the slain! 
But to the monarch of the mace, 
That held in fight the foremost place. 



To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse. 
Near Startforth high they \md their vows. 
Remembered Thor's victorious fame, 
And gave the dell the thunderev's n&me. 

II. 

Yet scald or kemper erred, I ween. 

Who gave that soft and quiet scene, 

With all its varied light and shade, 

And every little sunny glade. 

And the blilh brook that strolls along 

Its pebbled bed with summer song. 

To the grim god of blood and scar. 

The grisly king of northern war. 

O better were its banks assigned 

To spirits of a gentler kind ! 

For, where the thicket-groups recede, 

And the rathe primrose decks the mead, 

The velvet grass seems carpet meet 

For the light fairies' lively feet. 

Yon tufted kuoU, with daisies strown. 

Might make proud Oberon a throne. 

While, hicUlen in the thicket nigh. 

Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly; 

And where profuse the wood-veitch clings 

Round ash and elm in verdant rings, 

Its pale and azure pencilled flower 

Should canopy Titauia's bower. 

III. 

Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade. 

But skirting every sunny glade, 

In fair variety of green 

The woodland lends its sylvan screen. 

Hoary, yet haughty, fi-owns the oak. 

Its boughs by M'eight of ages broke; 

And towers erect, in sable spire. 

The pine-tree scathed by lightning fire; 

The drooping ash and birch, between, 

Hang their fair tresses o'er the green. 

And all beneath at random grow. 

Each coppice dwarf of varied show. 

Or round the stems profusely twined. 

Fling summer odours on the wind. 

Such varied group Urbino's hand 

Round him of Tarsus nobly planned. 

What time he bade proud Athens own 

On Mars's mount the God unknown! 

Then gray Philosophy stood nigh. 

Though bent by age, in spirit high; 

There rose the scar seamed veteran's speur, 

There Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 

While childhood at her foot was placed. 

Or clung delighted to her waist. 

IV. 

" And rest we here," Matilda said. 
And sate her in the varying shade. 
" Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 
To friendship due from fortune's power. 
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, nmst lenil 
Tliy counsel to thy sister friend; 
And Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
No forther urge thy desperate quest. 
For to my care a charge is left. 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft. 
Well nigh an oi-phan, and alone. 
Captive her sire, her house o'ertlirown." 
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced. 
Beside her on the turf slie placed; 
Then paused, with downcast look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 
Her conscious diffidence he saw. 
Drew backward as in modest awe, 



208 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



And sate a little space removed, 
Unmarked to gaze on her he loved. 

V. 
Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 
Half hid Matilda's forehead fair, 
Half hid and half revealed to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. ■ 
■ The rose, with faint and feeble streak, 
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 
That you had said her hue was pale; 
But if she faced the summer gale. 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved. 
Or heard the praise of those slie loved. 
Or when of interest was expressed 
Augiit that waked feeling in her breast, 
The mantling blood in ready play 
Rivalled the blush of rising day. 
Tl\ere was a soft and pensive grace, 
A cast of thought upon her face. 
That suited well the forehead high. 
The eye-lash dark and downcast eye; 
The mild expression spoke a mind 
In duty firm, composed, resigned; 
'Tis that which Roman art has given. 
To mark their maiden queen of heaven. 
In hours of sport, that mood gave way 
To Fancy's light and frolic play; 
And when the dance, or tale, or song, 
In harmless mirth sped time along. 
Full oft her doating sire would call 
His Maud the merriest of them all. 
But days of war, and civil crime, 
Allowed but ill such festal lime, 
And her soft pensiveness of brow 
Had deepened into sadness now. 
In Marston field her father ta'en, 
Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain. 
While every ill her soul foretold, 
From Oswald's tliirst of power and gold, 
And boding thoughts that she must part 
With a soft vision of her heart, — 
All lowered around the lovely maid, 
To darken lier dejection's shade. 

VI. 
Who has not heard — while Erin yet 
Strove 'gainst the Saxons' iron bit — 
Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 
In English blood imbrued his steel, •* 
Against St. George's cross blazed high 
The banners of his tanistry. 
To fiery Essex gave the foil, 
And I'eigned a i)rince in Ulster's soil? 
But chief arose his victor pride. 
When that brave marshal fought and died 5 
And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 
His billows, red with Saxon gore. 
'Twas first in that disastrous fight, 
Rokeby and Mortham proved their might. 
There had they fallen amongst the rest, 
But pity touched a chieftain's breast; 
The tanist he to great O'Neale, o 
He checked his followers' bloody zeal, 
To quarter took the kinsmen bold, 
And bore them to his mountain hold. 
Gave them each sylvan joy to know, 
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could show; 
Shared with them Erin's festal cheer. 
Showed them the chase of wolf and deer. 
And, when a fitting time was come, 
Safe and unransomed sent them home. 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love. 



VII. 

Years sped away. On Rokeby 's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed; 
Calm he enjoyed, by Greta's wave. 
The peace which' .Tames the peaceful gave, 
While Mortham, far beyond the main, 
Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. 
It chanced upon a wintry night. 
That whitened Stanmore's stormy height. 
The chase was o'er, the stag was killed, 
In Rokeby-hall the cups Were filled. 
And, by the huge stone chimney, sate 
The knight, in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late. 
When a loud summons shook tlie gate. 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent prayed; 
The pru'ter answered to the call. 
And instant rushed into the hall 
A man, whose aspect and attire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 

VIIT. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread'' 

Around his bare and matted head; 

On leg and thigh, close stretched and trim, 

His vesture showed the sinewy limb: 

In saftVon died, a linen vest 

Was frequent folded round his breast; 

A mantle long and loose he wore. 

Shaggy with ice, and stained with gore. 

He clasped a burthen to his heart, 

And, resting on a knotted dart, 

The snow from hair and beard he shook, 

And round him gazed with wildered look; 

Then up the hall, with staggering pace. 

He hastened by the blaze to place, 

Half lifeless from the bitter air. 

His load, a boy of beauty rare. 

To Rokeby, next, he louted low. 

Then stood erect his tale to show, 

With wild majestic port and tone. 

Like envoy of some barbarous throne:^ 

" Sir Richard, lord of Rokeby, hear! 

Turlough O'Neale salutes tiiee dear; 

He graces thee, and to thy care 

Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 

He bills thee breed him as thy son, 

For Turlough's days of joy are done;. 

And other lords have seized his land. 

And faint and feeble is his hand, 

.A.nd all the glory of Tyrone 

Is like a morning vapour flown. 

To bind the duty on thy soul. 

He bids thee think of Erin's bowl; 

If any wrong the young O'Neale, . 

He bids thee think on Efin's steel. 

To Mortham first this charge was due. 

But, in his absence, honours you. 

Now is my master's message by. 

And Ferraught will contented die." 

IX. 

His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale, 

He sunk when he had told his tale; 

For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 

A mortal wound was in his side. 

Vain was all aid — in terror wild. 

And sorrow, screamed the orphan child. 

Poor Ferraught raised liis wistful eyes. 

And faintly strove to sooth his cries; 

All reckless of his dying pain. 

He blest, and blest him o'er again! 



ROKEBY. 



209 



And kissed the little hands outspread, 
And kissed and crossed the infant head, 
And, in his native tongue and phrase. 
Prayed to eacli saint to watch his days; 
Then all ids strength together drew, 
Tlie chai'ge to liokeby to renew. 
When iiaif was faltered from his bi-east, 
And half by dying signs expressed, 
" Bless thee, O'Neill" he faintly said. 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 

X. 

'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the ciiild to end the tale; 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had been forced to roam. 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strengtii to draw the brand, 
The brand of Lenaugli More the red. 
That hung beside tlie gray wolf's head. 
'Twas from his broken phrase descried, 
His foster-father was liis guide,^ 
Who, in ids cliarge, fron^ yister bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store; 
But ruffians met them in the wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood. 
Till wounded and o'ei'powered at length, 
And stripped of all, his failing strength 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renewed again his moaning wild. 

XL 

The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, 

Is like the dew-drop on the rose; 

When next the summer breeze comes by, 

And waves the bush, tiie flower is dry; 

Won by their care, the orphan child 

Soon on his new protectors smiled. 

With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 

Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 

Bnt blithest laughed that cheek and eye, 

When Rokeby's little maid was nigh; 

'Twas his, with elder brother's pride, 

Matilda's tottering steps to guide; 

His native lays in Irisii tongue. 

To sooth her infant ear, he sung. 

And primrose twined with daisy fair. 

To form a chaplet for her hair. 

By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand. 

The children still were hand in hand, 

And good sir Ricliard smiling eyed 

The early knot so kindly tied. 

XIL 

But summer months bring wilding shoot. 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit; 
And years draw on our human span. 
From child to boy, from boy to man; 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to wake the felon boar. 
In his dark haunt on (Jreta's shore. 
And loves, against the deer so dun. 
To draw tlie shaft, or lift the gun; 
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb. 
And down its clustered stores to hail. 
Where young Matilda holds her veil. 
And she, whose veil receives the shower, 
Is altered too, and knows her power; 
Assumes a monitress's pride. 
Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide, 
Yet listens still to hear him tell 
How the grim wild-boar fought and fell, 



How at his fall the bugle rung. 

Till rock and green-wood answer flung; < 

Then blesses her, that man can find 

A pastime of such savage kind! 

XIII. 
But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
So well with praise of wood and dale. 
And knew so well each point to trace, 
Gives living interest to the chase. 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
His spirit's wild romantic glow. 
That, while she blamed, and while she feared. 
She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 
To bower and hall their steps restrain, 
Togetlier they explored the page 
Of glowing bard or gitted sage; 
Oft, placed the evening fire beside. 
The minstrel art alternate tried. 
While gladsome harp and lively lay 
Bade winter-night flit fast away: 
Thus from their childhood l)lending still 
Their sport, their study, and their skill, 
A union of the soul they prove. 
But must not think that it was love. 
But, though they dared not, envious Fame 
Soon dared to give lliat union name; 
And when so often, side by side. 
From year to year the pair she eyed. 
She sometimes blamed the good old knight. 
As dull of ear and dim of sight, 
Sometimes his purpose would declare. 
That young O'Neale should wed his heir. 

XIV. 
The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes; 
'Twas (dain that Oswald, for his son, 
Had Rokeby's favour well nigh won. 
Now must they meet with change of cheer, 
With mutual looks of shame and fear; 
Now must Matilda stray apart. 
To scliool her disobedient heart; 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
Tlie love he never can subtkie. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware. 
No rebel's son should wed his heir; 
And Redmond, nurtured while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild, 
Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
To cherish there a happier dream. 
Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
As in the regions of romance; 
And count the heroes of his line. 
Great Nial of the pledges nine,'" 
Shane-Dyraas wild,'' and Geraldine,'^ 
And Connan-More, who vowed his race 
For ever to the fight and chase, 
And cursed him, of his lineage born. 
Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn, 
Or leave the mountain and the wold. 
To shroud himself in castle hold. 
From such examples hope he drew. 
And brightened as the truitipct blew. 

XV. 
If brides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid. 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife. 
On Rokeby's lord bestowed his life. 
And well did Rokeby's generous knight 
Young Redmond for 'he deed requite. 



210 



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Nor was his liberal care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost: 
Seek the North Riding broad and wide, 
Like Redmond none could steed bestride; 
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
Like Redmond none coiUd wield a brand; 
And then, of humour kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy. 
There never youth was formed to steal 
Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 

XVI. 

Sir Richard loved him as his son. 
And when the days of peace were done, 
And to the gales of war he gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguished by his care. 
He chose that honoured flag to bear, '3 
And named his p' ge, the next degree 
In that old time to chivalry.''' 
In five pitched fields he well maintained 
I'he honoui-ed place his worth obtained, 
And high was Redmond's youthful name 
Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smiled on Marston fight, 
The eve had seen him dubbed a knight; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife. 
Of Rokeby's lord he saved the life; 
But when he saw him prisoner made, 
He kissed, and then resigned his blade, 
And yielded him an easy prey 
To those who led the knight away. 
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove, 
In prison, as in fight, his love. 

XVIL 

When lovers meet in adverse hour, 

'Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 

A watery ray an instant seen 

The darkly closing clouds between. 

As Redmond on tlie turf reclined, 

Tlie past and present filled his mind; 

" It was not thus," Aft'ection said, 

" I dreamed of my return, dear maid ! 

Not thus, when, from thy trembling hand, 

I took the banner and the brand. 

When round me, as the bugles blew. 

Their blades three hundred warriors drew, 

And, while the standard I unrolled. 

Clashed their bright arms with clamour bold. 

Where is that banner nowi' — its pride 

Ijies whelmed in Ouze's sullen tide! 

Wiiere now these warriors? — in their gore, 

Tiiey cumber Marston's dismal moor! 

And what avails a useless brand. 

Held by a captive's shackled hand, 

That oidy would his life retain, 

To aid thy sire to bear his chain!" 

Thus Redmond to himself apart. 

Nor lighter was his rival's heart; 

For Wilfrid, while his generous soul 

Disdained to profit by control, 

By many a sign coulimark too plain. 

Save wit!) such aid, his hopes were vain. 

Hut now Matilda's accents stole 

On tlie dark visions of their soul. 

And bade their mournful musing fly. 

Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 

XVllI. 

" 1 need not to my friends recal 

How Mortham shunned my father's hall; 



A man of silence and of wo. 

Yet ever anxious to bestow 

On my poor self wliate'er could prove 

A kinsman's confidence and love. 

My feeble aid could sometimes chase 

The clouds of sorrow for a space. 

But, oftener, fixed beyond my power, 

I marked his deep despondence lower. 

One dismal cause, by all unguessed, 

His fearful confidence confessed; 

And twice it was my hap to see 

Examples of that agony. 

Which for a season can o'erstrain 

Atid wreck the structure of the brain. 

He had the awful power to know 

The approaching mental overthrow, 

And while his mind had courage yet 

To struggle with the dreadful fit. 

The victim writhed against its throes, 

Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 

This malady I well could mark. 

Sprung from some'direful cause and dark; 

But still he kept its source concealed. 

Till arming for the civil field; 

Then in my charge he bade me hold 

A treasui-e huge of gems and gold. 

With this disjointed dismal scroll 

That tells the secret of his soul. 

In such wild words as ott betray 

A mind by anguish forced astray. 

XIX. 

mohtham's histoht. 
" Matilda! thou hast seen me start, 
As if a dagger thrilled my heart. 
When it has happ'd some casual phrase 
Waked memory of my former days. 
Believe, that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past. 
But I! — my youth was rash and vain. 
And blood and I'age my manhood stain. 
And my gray hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend! 
E'en tiiou, Matilda, wilt disown 
Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 
And must I lift the bloody veil, 
That hides my dark and fatal tale? 
I must — 1 will — pale phantom, cease! 
Leave m e one lit tle hour in peace! 
Thus liaunted, tbink'st thou I have skill 
Thine own commission to fulfil? 
Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce, 
Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse. 
How can I paint thee as thou wert, 
So fair lu'face, so warm in heart! 

XX. 

"Yes, she was fair! Matilda^ thou 
Hast a soft sadness on~tliy brow; 
But her's was like the sunny glow. 
That laughs on earth and all below ! 
We wedded secret — there was need — 
Differing in country and in creed; 
And when to Mortliam's tower slie came. 
We mentioned not her race and name, 
Until thy sire, who fought afar. 
Should turn him home from foreign war, 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To sooth her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we lived retired, unknown 
To all but one dear friend alone. 
One darling friend — I spare his siianie, 
I will not write the villain's name! 



ROKEBY. 



211 



Mv trespasses 1 miglit forget, 
And sue in vengeance for ihe debt 
Due bv a brother worm to me, 
TTtigratefnl to God's clemencj'. 
That spared me penitential time, 
Nor cut me off amid my crime. 

XXI. 

" A kindly smile to all she lent, • 

But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 

So kind, that, from its harmless glee, 

The wretch misconstrued villany. 

Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 

A vengeful snare the traitor wove. 

Alone we sate — tlie flask had flowed, 

Mv blood witli heat unwonted glowed. 

When through the alleyed walk we spied 

With hurried step my Edilli glide. 

Cowering beneath the venhuit screen, 

As one unwilling to be seen. 

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile 

That curled the traitor's clieek the while! 

Fiercely 1 questioned of the cause; 

He made a cold and artful pause. 

Then prayed it might not chafe my mood- 

' There w'as a gallant in the wood!' 

We had been shooting at the deer; 

]My cross-bow (evil chance) was near. 

That ready « eapon of my wrath- 

I caught, and, hastening up the path. 

In the yew-grove my wife I found, 

A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 

I marked his heart — the bow I drew — 

1 loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true ! 

1 found my Edith's dying charms 

Locked in her murdered brother's arms! 

He came in secret to inquire 

Her state, and reconcile her sire. 

XXII. 

" All fled my rage — the villain first. 
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed; 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my goilt to none: 
Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
I know not what — of shaft misaimed; 
And even from those the act who knew, 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 
Untouched by liuman laws I stood. 
But God had heard the cry of blood! 
There is a blank upon my mind, 
A fearful vision ill-defined. 
Of raving till my flesh was torn. 
Of dungeon bolts and fetters \\ orn — 
And when I waked to wo more mild. 
And questioned of my infant child — 
( Have 1 not written, that she bare 
A boy, like summer morning fair?) — 
With looks confused mj' menials tell. 
That armed men in Morlham dell 
Beset the nui se's evening way. 
And bore her, with her charge, away. 
My faithless friend, and none but he, 
Could profit by tiiis villany, 
Him, then, I sought, with purpose dread 
Of treble vengeance on his head! 
He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound 
Some faint relief from wandering found. 
And over <tistant land and sea 
1 bore my load of misery. 



xxni. 

" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 

Among a daring crew and dread, 

With M hom full oft my hated life 

I ventured in such desperate strife. 

That e'en my fierce associates saw 

My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 

Much then I learned, and much can show, 

Of human guilt and human wo. 

Yet ne'er have, in my wanderlngB, known 

A wretch, whose sorrows matched my own! 

It chanced, that after battle fray, 

Upon the blood}^ field we lay; 

The yellow moon her lustre shed 

Upon the wounded and the dead. 

While, sense in toil and wassail drowned, 

My ruftian comrades slept around. 

There came a voice — its silver tone 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 

' Ah vvretchl' it said, ' wliat liifkest thou here, 

While unavenged my bloody bier. 

While unprotected lives mine heir. 

Without a father's name and care!' 

XXIV. 
" I beared — obeyed — and homeward drew; 
The fiercest of our desperate crew 
I brought, at time of need, to aid 
My purposed vengeance, long delayed. 
But, humble be my tlianks to heaven, 
Tiiat better hopes and thoughts Ras given. 
Anil by our Lord's dear prayer has taught, 
Mercy by. mercy must be bought! 
Let me in misery rejoice — 
I've seen his face — I've heard his voice-r 
I claimed of him my only cliild — 
As lie disowdkl the theft, he smiled! 
That very calm and callous look. 
That fiendish sneer his visage took, 
As when he said, in scornful mood, 
'There is a gallant in the wood!' 
— I did not slay him as he stood — • 
All praise be to my Maker given! 
Long-sufterance is one path to heaven." 

XXV. 
Thus far the woful tale was heard, 
When something in the thicket stirred. 
Up Redmond sprang; the villain Guy 
(For he it was that lurked so nigh) 
Drew back — he durst not cross liis steel 
A moment's space with brave O'Neale, 
For all tiie treasui\;d gold that rests 
In Mortham's iron-handed chests. 
Redmond resumed his seat; — he said. 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laughed grimly, when he saw 
His timorous comvade backward draw: 
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer — 
Give me thy carabine — I'll, show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know. 
How thou mayest safely quell a foe. " 

XXVI. 
On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 
The spreading bircii and hazels through, 
Till he had Redmond full in view. 
The gun he levelled — mark like this 
Was Bertram never known to miss. 
When fair opposed to him tliere sate 
An olyect of his mortal hate. 
Tiiat day young Redmond's death had seen, 
But twice'Matilda came between 



212 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The parabine and Redmond's breast, 
Just ere the spring his finger pressed. 
A deadly oatli the ruffian swore, 
But vet his fell design forebore: 
" It ne'er," he muttered, " shall be said, 
That thus I scathed thee, haughty maid!" 
Then moved to seek more open aim, 
When to his side Guy Denzil came: 
" Bertram, forbear! we are undone 
Forever, if thou fire the gun. 
By all the fiends, an armed force 
Descends the dell, of foot and horse! 
We perish if they hear a shot — 
Madman! we have a safer plot — 
Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back! 
Behold, down yonder hollow track, 
The warlike leader of the band 
Comes, with his broadsword in his hand." 
Bertram looked up; he saw, he knew, 
I'hat Denzil's fears had counselled true, 
Then cursed his fortune and witiulrew, 
Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
And gained the cave on Greta-side. 

XXVII. 
They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 
Doomed to captivity or death, 
Their thoughts to one sad subject lent, 
Saw not, nor heard, the ambushment. 
Heedless and unconcerned they sate, 
Wliilc on the very verge offate; 
Heedless and unconcerned remained. 
When heaven the murderer's arm restrained; 
As ships drift darkling down the tide, 
Nor see t\^ shelves o'er which they glide. 
Uninterrupted thus they heard 
Wliat Mortham's closing tale declaiigp. 
He spoke of wealth as of a load 
By fortune on a wretch bestowed. 
In bitter mockery of hate. 
His cureless woes to aggravate; 
But yet he prayed Matilda's care 
Might save that treasure for his heir— 
His Edith's son — for still he raved 
As confident his life was saved; 
In frequent vision, he averred. 
He saw his face, his voice he heard. 
Then argued calm — had murder been, 
The blood, the corpses, had been seen; 
Some had pretended, too, to naark 
On Windermere a stranger bark. 
Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild, 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told and pressed, 
Hope seemed to kindle in his breast; 
Though inconsistent, vague, and vain. 
It warped his judgment and his brain. 

xxvm. 

These solemn words his story close:— 
" Heaven witness for me, that 1 chose 
My part in this sad civil fight, 
Moved by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have i)id me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law; 
These righted, I fling arms aside. 
And seek my son through Europe wide. 
My wealth on which a kinsman nigh 
Already casts a gi-asping eye, 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her retain her trust three years; 
If none, from me, the treasure claim. 
Perished is Mortham's race and name; 



Then let it leave her generous hand, 
And flow in bounty o'er the land. 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot, 
Rebuild the peasant's ruined cot; 
So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic war." 

XXIX. 

The generous youth, who well had known 

Of Mortham'awmind the powerful tone. 

To that high mind, by sorrow swerved, 

Gave sympathy his woes deserved; 

But Wilfrid chief, who saw revealed 

Why Mortham wished liis life concealed. 

In secret, doubtless, to pursue 

Tlie schemes his wildered fancy drew. 

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell. 

That slie would share her father's cell. 

His partner of captivitj'. 

Where'er his prison-house should be; 

Yet grieved to think tiiat Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled and forsook by all, 

Open to I'apine and to stealth, 

Had now no safeguard for the wealth 

Intrusted by her kinsman kind. 

And for such noble use designed. 

" Was Barnard-castle then her choice," 

Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice, 

" Since there the victor's laws ordain, 

Her father must a space remain?" 

A fluttered hope his accents shook, 

A fluttered joy was in his look. 

Matilda hastened to reply. 

For anger flashed in Redmond's eye: — 

" Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 

" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place; 

Else had 1 for my sire assigned 

Prison less galling to his mind. 

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees. 

And hears the murmur of the Tees, 

Recalling thus, with everj' glance. 

What captive's sorrow can enhance. 

But where those woes are highest, there 

Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care. " 

XXX. 

He felt the kindly check she gave. 

And stood abashed — then answered grave: — 

" I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 

I have beneath mine own command. 

So wills my sire, a gallant band, 

And well could send some horsemen wight 

I'o bear the treasure forth by night. 

And so bestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem." — 

" Thanks, gentle VVilfrid, thanks," she said: 

" O be it not one day delayed! 

And, more thy sister-friend to aid. 

Be thou thyself content to hold, 

In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold. 

Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke, 

Armed soldiers on their converse broke. 

The same of whose approach afraid, 

The ruffians left their ambuscade. 

Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 

Then looked around as for a foe. 

"What mean'stthou, friend?" young Wycliffe said, 

" Why thus in arms beset the glade?" 

— "That would I gladly learn from you; 

For up ray squadron as I drew. 

To exercise our martial game 

Upon the moor of Barninghame, 



ROKEBY. 



213 



A stranger told vou were waylaid, 
Surrouiiiled, and to death betrayed. 
He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 
He hade me bring you instant aid; 
I doubted not, and I obeyed." 

XXXI. 

Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed, 
Turned short and on the speaker gazed, 
While Redmond every thicket round 
Tracked earnest as a questing hound. 
And Denzil's carabine he found; 
Sure evidence, by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 
W'isest it seemed, with cautious speed 
To leave the dell. It was agreed. 
That Redmond, with Matilda fair. 
And fitting guard, should home repair; 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend. 
With a strong band, his sister-friend. 
To bear with her from Rokeby'^ bowers, 
To Barnard-castle's lofty towers. 
Secret and safe, the banded chests. 
In which tiie wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty pm-pose fixed, they part. 
Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 



I. 

The sultry summer da)' is done, 

Tlie western hills have hid the sun, 

But mountain peak and village spire 

Retain reflection of his fire. 

Old Barnard's towers are purple still, 

To those that gaze from Toller-hill: 

Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 

Like steel upon the anvil glows; 

And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, 

Rich with the spoils of parting day, 

In crimson and in gold arrayed, 

Streaks yet awhile the closing .shade, 

Then slow resigns to (hirkening heaven 

The tints which brighter hours had given. 

Thus aged men, full loth and slow, 

The vanities of life forego. 

And count their youthful follies o'er, 

Till Memory lends her liglit no more. 

II. 

The eve, that slow on upland fades. 
Has darker closed on Rokeby's' glades. 
Where, sunk witliin their banks profound. 
Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
Of noontide made a twilight brown. 
Impervious now to fainter light. 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse iTito middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosting crows. 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the genii of the stream; 
For louder clamoured Greta's tide, 
And Tees in deeper voice replied. 
And fitful waked the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned. 
WiltVid, whose fancy-nurtured soul 
Felt in the scene a soft control. 
With lighter footstep pressed the ground, 
And often paused to look around; 
And, though his patii was to his love. 
Could not but linger in the grove. 



To drink the thrilling interest dear, 
Of awful pleasure checked by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we. 
E'en when our passions strike the key. 

III. 

Now through the wood's dark mazes past, 
The opening lawn he reached at last. 
Where, silvered by the moonlight ray, 
The ancient hall before him lay. 
Those martial terrors long were fled, 
That frowned of old around its head: 
The battlements, the turrets gray. 
Seemed half abandoned to decay: 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern time the foeman's work had done; 
Where banners the invader braved. 
The hare-bell now and wall-flower waved: 
In the rude guard-room, vl-here of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
Now, while the cheerful faggots blaze. 
On. the paved floor the spindle plays; 
The flanking guns dismounted lie. 
The moat is ruinous and dry. 
The grim portcullis gone — and all 
The fortress turned to peaceful hall. 

IV. 

But yet precautions, lately ta'en. 
Showed danger's day revived again; 
The court-yard wall showed marks of care, 
The fallen defences to repair, 
"Lending such strenglli as might withstand 
The insult of maraviding band. 
The beams once more were taught to bear 
The trembling drawbridge into air. 
And not, till questioned o'er and o'er. 
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door; 
And when he entered, boll and bar 
Resumed their place with sullen jar; 
Then, as he crossed the vaulted porch, 
The old gray porter raised his torch. 
And viewed him o'er from foot to head, 
Ere to the hall his stei)S he led. 
That huge old hall, of knightly state, 
Dismantled seemed and desolate. 
The moon through transom-shafts of stone, 
Which crossed the latticed oriels, shone, 
And, by. the mournful light she gave. 
The Gothic vault seemed funeral grave. 
Pennon and banner waved no more 
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar. 
Nor glimmering arms were marshalled seen. 
To glance those sylvan spoils between. 
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 
Accomplished Rokeby's brave array, 
But all Avere lost on Marston's day! 
Yet, here and there, the moonbeams fall 
\Vhere armour yet adorns the wall. 
Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight. 
And useless in the modern fight; 
Like veteran relic of the wars. 
Known only by neglected scars. 

V. 

Matilda soon to greet him came. 
Ami bade them light the evening flame; 
Said, all for parting was prepared. 
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 
But then, reluctant to unfold 
His father's avarice of gold. 
He hinted, that, lest jealous eye 
Should on their precious burthen pry, 



214 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He judged it best the castle-gate 
To enter when the night wore late; 
And therefore he liad left command 
With those he trusted of liis band, 
That they should be at Rokeby met, 
What time the midnight watch was set. 
Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 
Till then was busied to prepare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful change. 
With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased, 
His cold unready hand he seized. 
And pressed it till his kindly strain • 
The gentle youth returned again. 
Seemed as between them this was said, 
" Awhile let jealousy be dead; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 

VI. 

There was no speech the truce to bind. 

It was a compact of the mind; 

A generous thought at once imprest 

On either rival's generous breast. 

Matilda well the secret took. 

From sudden change of mien and look, 

And — for not small had been her fear 

Of jealous ire and dang,er near — 

Felt, e'en in her dejected state, 

A joy beyond the reach of fate. 

They closed beside the chimney's blaze. 

And talked and hoped for happier days, 

And lent their spirits' rising glow 

Awhile to gild impending wo; — 

High privilege of youtliful time. 

Worth all the pleasures of our prime! 

The bickering faggot sparkled bright. 

And gave the scene of love to sight. 

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 

Played on Matilda's neck of snow. 

Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 

And laughed in Redmond's azure eye. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate. 

Without a glance of jealous hate; 

The maid her lovers sate between, 

With open brow and equal mien: — • 

It is a sight but rarely spied. 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 

VU. 

While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarmed the outer gate. 
And, ere the tardy porter stirred, 
The tinkling of a liarp was heard. 
A manly voice, of mellow swell. 
Bore burthen to the music well. 

S0N(J. 

" Summer eve is gone and past, 
Summer dew is falling fast; 
1 have wandered all the day, 
Uo not bid me farther stray! 
Gentle hearts, of gentle kin. 
Take the wandering harper in!" — 

But the stern porter answer gave. 

With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave ! 

The king wants soliliers; war, I trow. 

Were meeter trade for such as thou. " — 

At this unkind reproof, again 

Answered the ready minstrel's sti-ain. 

SOSfi RESt'MED 

" Bid not me, in battle field. 
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield I 



All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart, 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful minstrel sti-ing. 
The porter, all unmoved, replied, 
•' Depart in peace, with heaven to guide: 
If longer by tlie gate thou dwell. 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well. " 

VIII. 
With somewhat of appealing look. 
The harper's part young Wilfrid took; 
"These notes so wild and ready thrill,. 
They show no vulgar minstrel's skill; 
Hard were his task to seek a home 
More distant, since the night is come; 
And for his taith I dare engage — 
Your Harpool's blood is soured by^ age; 
His gate, once readily displayed, 
To greet the friend, the poor to aid. 
Now e'en to me, though known of old, 
Did but reluctantly unfold." 
" O blame not, as poor Harpool^s crime, 
An evil of tliis evil time. 
He deems dependent on his care 
The safety of his patron's heir, • 
Nor judges meet to ope tiie tower ' 
To guest luiknown at parting hour. 
Urging his duty to excess 
Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 
For this poor harper I would tain 
He may relax; hark to his strain!'*" 
IX. 

SONG HESTrMTED. 

" I have song of war for knight. 
Lay of love for lady bright. 
Fairy tale to lull the heir, 
Goblin grim the maids to scare; 
Dark the night, and long till day. 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 

" Rokeby's"lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name;^ 
Legends of their line there be. 
Known to few, but known to mc; 
If you honour Rokeby 's kin. 
Take the wandering harper in! 
" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for the bard: 
Baron's race tlirove never well. 
Where the curse of niinstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin. 
Take the weary harper in!" 
" Hark! Harpool parleys — there is hope,* 
Said Redmond, ""that the gate will ope." 
" For all*thy brag and boast, I trow. 
Nought know'st thou of the P"elon Sow,"3 
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
She roamed, and Rokeby forest wide^ 
M or how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
Th.at well could strike with sword amain. 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blith sir Ralph; 
Tliey were a jest to make us laugh! 
If thou canst tell it, in yon shed 
Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 

X. 

Matilda smiled; " Cold hope," said she, 
" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy! 



ROKEBY. 



215 



But for this harper, may we dare, 
Redmond, to mend his couch and fare?" 
" O ask not me! at minstrel string i 
My heart from infancy would spring; 
Nor can I hear its simjjlest strain, 
But it brings Erin's dream again, 
When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
(The filea of O'Neale was he,'' 
A blind and bearded man, whose eld 
Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
I've seen a ring of rugged kerne 
With aspect shaggy, wild, and stem, 
Enchanted b)' the master's lay, 
Linger around the live-long day. 
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy. 
And feel each varied change of soul 
Obedient to the bard's control. 
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more;* 
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze. 
Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise T 
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth. 
Centre of hospitable mirth; 
All undistinguished in the glade. 
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid, 
Their vassals wander wide and far. 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy !" 
He spoke, and proudly turned aside. 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 

XI. 

Matilda's d.irk and softened eye 

Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 

Her hand upon his arm she laid,— 

" It is the will of heaven," she said. 

" And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 

From this loved home with lightsome heart, 

Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 

E'en from my infancy was dear? 

For in this calm domestic bound 

Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 

That hearth, my sire was wont to grace. 

Full soon may be a stranger's place; 

This hall, in which a child I played. 

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid. 

The bramble and the thorn may braid; • 

Or, passed for aye from me and mine. 

It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 

Yet is this consolation given. 

My Redmond, 'tis the will of heaven. " 

Her word, her action, and her phrase, 

Were kindly as in early days; 

For cold reserve had lost its power. 

In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 

Young Redmond dared not trust his voice; 

But rather, had it been his choice, 

To share that melancholy hour. 

Than, armed with all a chieftain's power, 

In full possession to enjoy 

Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 

XII. 

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek; 
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. 
" Happy in friendship's ready aid. 
Let all my murmurs here be staid I 
And Rokeby's maiden will not part 
From Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 
This night at least, for Rokeby's fame, 
The hospitable hearth sliall flame, 
16 



And, ere its native heir retire, 

Find for the wanderer rest and fire, 

While this poor harper, by the blaze, 

Recounts the tale of otlier days. 

Bid Harpool ope the door with speed. 

Admit him, and relieve each need. 

Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 

Thy minstrel skill' nay, no reply — 

And look not sad! I guess thy thought; 

Thy verse with laurels would be bought, 

And poor Matilda, landless now, 

Has not a garland for thy brow. 

True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades. 

Nor wander more in Greta's shades; 

But sure, no rigid jailor, thou 

Wilt a short prison walk allow. 

Where summer flowers grow wild at will. 

On Marwood chase and Toller-hill;^ 

Then holly green and lily gay 

Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." 

The mournful youth, a space aside. 

To tune Matilda's harp applied; 

And then a low sad descant rung, 

As prelude to the lay he sung. 

xni. 

THE CYPRESS WHEATH. 

O lady, twine no wreath for me. 
Or twine it of the cypress tree! 
Too lively glow the lilies light. 
The varnished holly's all too bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine: 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me. 
Or weave it of the cypress tree ! 

Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine: 
The manly oak, the pensive yew. 
To patriot and to sage be due; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live. 
But that Matilda will not give; 
Then, lady, twine no wreath for liie. 
Or twine it of the cypress tree ! 

Let merry England proudly rear 

Her blended roses, bought so dear; 

Let Albyn bind her bonnet blue 

With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew: 

On favoured Erin's crest be seen 

The flower she loves of emerald green — 

But, lady, twine no wreath for me. 

Or twine it of the cypress tree. 

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair; 
And, while his crown of laurel leaves 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
• Let the loud trump his triumph tell; 
But when you hear the passing bell. 
Then, lady, twine a wreath for me. 
And twine it of the cypress tree. 

Yes! twine for me the cypress bough; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now! 
Stay till a few brief months are past. 
And I have looked and loved my last! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With pansies, rosemary, and rue, — 
Then, lady, weave a wreath for me. 
And weave it of the cypress tree. 

XIV. 

O'Neale observed the starting tear. 

And spoke with kind and blithsome cheer — 



218 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" No, noble Wilfrid! ere the day 

When mourns the land thy silent lay, 

Shall many a wreath be freely wove 

By hand of friendship and of love. 

1 would not wish that I'igid Fate 

Had doomed thee to a captive's state, 

Whose hands are bound by honour's law. 

Who wears a sword he must not draw; 

t5ut were it so, in minstrel pride 

The laud together would we ride, 

On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 

Bound for the halls of barons bold. 

Each lover of the lyre we'd seek. 

From Michael's mount to Skiddaw's peak, 

Survey wild Albyn's mountain strand, 

And roam green Erin's lovely land. 

While thou the gentler souls should move. 

With lay of pity and of love. 

And I, thy mate, in rougher strain. 

Would sing of war and warriors slain. 

Old England's bards were vanquislied then. 

And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden,' 

And, silenced on lernian shore, 

M'Curtin's harp** should charm no more!" 

In lively mood he spoke, to wile 

From Wilfrid's wo-worn cheek a smile. 

XV. 

" But," said Matilda, " ere thy name, 

Good Redmond, gain its destined fame. 

Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 

Thy brother minstrel to tlie hall? 

Bid all the liousehold, too, attend, 

Each in his rank a humble friend; 

I know their faithful hearts will grieve, 

When their poor mistress takes her leave. 

So let the horn and beaker flow 

To mitigate their parting wo." 

The harper came: in youth's first prime 

Himself; in mode of olden time 

His garb was fashioned, to express 

The ancient English minstrel's dress,' 

A seemly gown of Kendal green. 

With gorget closed of silver slieen; 

His harp in silken scarf was slung. 

And by his side an anlace hung. 

It seemed some masker's quaint array, 

For revel or fur holiday. 

XVI. 

He made obeisance, with a free 
Yet studied air of courtesy. , 
Each look and accent, framed to please. 
Seemed to affect a playful ease; 
His face was of that doubtful kind. 
That wins the eye, but not the mind; 
Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smootli as this. 
His was the subtle look and sly. 
That, spying all, seems nought to spy; 
Round all the group his glances stole. 
Unmarked themselves, to mark the whole, 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, 
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 
To the suspicious, or the old. 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seemed tliis self-invited guest; 
But young our lovers, — and tlie rest. 
Wrapped in tiieir sorrow and their fear 
At parting of their mistress dear, 
Tear-bliuded to the castle hall 
Came, as to bear her funeral pall. 



XVII. 

All that expression base was gone. 
When waked the guest his minstrel tone; 
It fled at inspiration's call. 
As erst the demon fled from Saul. 
More noble glance he cast around. 
More free-drawn breatii inspired the sound. 
His pulse beat bolder and more high. 
In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 
Alas! too soon that pride was o'er. 
Sunk with the lay that bade it soar! 
His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 
Its vices wild and follies vain. 
And gave the talent, with him born. 
To be a common curse and scorn. 
Such was the youth whom Rokeby's maid, 
With condescending kindness, prayed 
Here to renew the strain she loved, 
At distance heard and well approved. 
XVIII. 

SO'SG. THE HARP. 

I was a wild and wayward boy. 

My childhood scoi-ned each cliildish toy; 

Retired from all, reserved and coy. 

To musingprone, 
I wooed my solitary joy. 

My harp alone. 

My youth, with bold ambition's mood, 
Despised the humble stream and wood 
Where my poor father's cotlage stood, 

To fame unknown; 
What should my soaring views make good' 

My harp alone. 
Love came with all his frantic fire. 
And wild romance of vain desire; 
The baron's daughter heard my lyre. 

And praisiid the tone; 
What could presumptuous hope inspire? 

My harp alone. 

At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
And manhood's pride the vision cursed. 
And all that had my folly nursed 

Love's sway to own; 
Yet .spared the spell that lulled me first, 

My harp alone. 

Wo came with war, and want with wo; 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe: 

Can aught atone 
My fields made waste, my cot laid low? 

My harp alone! 
Ambition's dreams I've seen depart. 
Have rued of penury the smart, 
Have felt of love the venomed dart 

When hope was flown 
Yet rests one solace to my heart. 

My harp alone ! 
Then, over mountain, moor, and hill, 
My faithful harp, I'll bear thee still; 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is well nigh gone, 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill, 

My harp alone ! 

XIX. 

♦' A pleasing lay!" Matilda said. 
But Harpool shook his old gray head, 
And took his baton and his torch. 
To seek his guard-room in the porch. 
Edmund observed — with sudden change, 
Among the strings his fingers range, 



ROKEBY. 



217 



Until they waked a bolder glee 

Of military melody; 

Then paused amid the martial sound, 

And looked with well feigned fear around: 

«' None to this noble liouse belong," 

He said, " tliat would a minstrel wrong. 

Whose fate has been, through good and ill, 

To love his royal master still, 

Anfl, with your honoured leave, would fain 

Rejoice you with a loyal strain." 

Then, as assured by sign and look, 

The warlike tone again he took; 

And Harpool stopped, and turned to hear 

A ditty of the cavalier. 

XX. 

SONG. THE CATAIIEH. 

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and 

gray, 
My true love has mounted his steed and away, 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale and o'er down; 
Heaven shield the brave gallant that fights for the 

crown! 
He has doffed the silk doublet tlie breast-plate to 

bear. 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing 

hair. 
From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs 

down. — 
Heaven shiehl the brave gallant that fights for the 

crown! 
For the rights of fair England that broadsword he 

draws. 
Her king is his leader, her church is his cause; 
His watch-word is honour, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the gallant that strikes for the 

crown ! 
They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and 

all 
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster-hall; 
But tell these bold traiiors of London's proud town. 
That the spears of the north have encircled the 

crown. 
There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; 
There's Erin's high Orraond, and Scotland's 

Montrose ! 
Would yon match the base Skippon, and Massy, 

and Brown, 
With the barons of England that fight for the 

crown? 
Now joy to the crest of the brave cavalier! 
Be his banner unconquered, resistless his spear, 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may 

drown. 
In a pledge to fair England, her church, and her 

crown! 

XXI. 
•' Alas!" Matilda said, " that strain, 
Good harper, now is heard in vain I 
The time has been, at such a sound. 
When Rokeby's vassals gathered round, 
An hundred manly hearts would bound; 
But now, the stirring verse we hear. 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear! 
Listless and sad the notes we own, 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause 
Be he that sings the rightful cause. 
E'en when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 



While Rokeby's heir such power retains. 

Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains: 

And lend thy harp; I fain would try, 

If my poor skill can aught supi)ly. 

Ere yet I leave my father's hull; 

To mourn the cause in which we fall." 

xxn. 

The harper, with a downcast look, 
And trembling hand, her bounty took. 
As yet, the conscious pride of art 
Had steeled him in his. treacherous part; 
A powerful spring, of force unguessed. 
That hath each gentler mood suppressed, 
And reigned in many a human breast. 
From his that plans the red cami)aign. 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
The falling wing, the bloodsliot eye. 
The sportsman marks wilh apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drowned in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle's roar. 
Loves still the triumph of his art. 
And traces on the pencilled chart 
Some stern invader's destined way. 
Through blood and ruin, to his prey; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame, 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares ihe guilt, though not the fame. 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditated crime' 
What against pity arms his heart? 
It is the conscious pride of art. 

XXIU. 
But principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, v;igue, and undefined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder lost. 
On passion's changeful tide was tost: 
Nor vice nor virtue had the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour; 
And O ! when passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to virtue's share! 
Yet now she roused her — for the pride. 
The lack of sterner guilt supplied. 
Could scarce support him when arose 
The lay that mourned Matilda's woes. 

SOXB. THE FAREWELL. 

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear. 

They mingle with the song; 
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From every loved and native haunt 

The native heir must stray. 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt, 

Must part bi;fore tlie day. 
Soon from the halls my fathers reared. 

Their scutcheons may descend, 
A line so long beloved and feared 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid these echoes swell, 
■Vet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in whicli we fell. 

The lady paused, and then again 
Resumed the lay in loftier strain. 
XXIV. 
Let our halls and towers decay, 
Be our name and line forgot, 
Lands and manors pass away. 

We but share our monarch's lot- 



218 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken, 
Still in death, defeat, and wo, 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 
Constant still in danger's hour, 

Princes owned our fathers' aid; 
Lands and honours, wealth and power. 

Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth, and power, and pride! 

Mortal boons by mortals given; 
But let constancy abide: 

Constancy's the gift of heaven. 

XXV. 

While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 

A thousand thoughts in Edmund stiiTcd. 

In peasant life he might have known 

As fair a face, as sweet a tone; 

But village notes could ne'er supply 

That ricii and varied melody. 

And ne'er in cottage maid was seen 

The easy dignity of mien. 

Claiming res|)ect, yet waving state, 

That marlis the daugiiters of the great. 

Yet not, perchance, had these alone 

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown; 

But while her energy of mind 

Superior rose to griefs combined, 

Lending its kin<lling to her eye, 

Giving her form new majestv. 

To Edmund's thought Matilda seemed 

The very object he had dreamed. 

When, long ere guilt his soul had known, 

In Winston bowers he mused alone, 

Taxing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air, the voice divine. 

Of some fair princess of romance. 

Who claims llie aid of hero's lance. 

XXVL 

•'Such was my vision!" Edmund thought; 

" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 

Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 

In fairest vision formed her peer? 

AVas it my hand, tliat could unclose 

The postern to her ruthless foes! 

Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith, 

Their kindest mercy sudden death! 

Have I done this? 1, who have swore, 

That if the globe such angel bore, 

1 would have traced its circle broad. 

To kiss the ground on which she trod; 

And now — ! would that earth would rive. 

And close upon me while alive ! 

Is there no hope' is all then lost? 

Bertram's already on his post! 

E'en now, beside the hall's ai-ched door, 

I saw his shadow cross the floor! 

He was to wait my signal strain — 

A little respite thus we gain: 

By what I heard the menials say. 

Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way — 

Alarm precipitates the crime! 

My harp must wear away the time." 

And then, in accents faint and low. 

He faltered forth a tale of wo. 

XXVII. 

BALLAD. • 

" And whither would you lead me, then?' 
Quoth the friar of orders gray; 

And the ruffians twain replied again, 
" By a dying woman to pray." 



" I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright. 

With an infant on her arm." 
" Then do thine ofiice, friar gray. 

And see thou shrive her free; 
Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night 

Fling all its guilt on thee. 
" Let mass be said, and trentals read, 

When thou'rt to convent gone. 
And. bid the bell of St. Benedict 

Toll out its deepest tone." 

The shrift is done, the friar is gone. 

Blindfolded as he came — 
Next morning all in Littlecot-hallio 

Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an altered man. 

The village crones can tell; 
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray 

If he hears the convent bell. 

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
He'll beaiil him in his pride — 

If he meet a friar of orders gray. 
He droops and turns aside. 
XXVIII. 
" Harper! methinks thy magic lays," 
Matilda said, " can goblins raise! 
Well nigh my fancy can discern. 
Near the dark porch, a visage stern; 
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook 
I see it! Redmond, Wilfrid, look! 
A human form distinct and clear — 
God, for thy mercy ! — it draws near!" 
She saw too true. — Stride after stride, 
The centre of the chamber wide 
Fierce Bertram gained; then made a stand. 
And, proudly waving with his hand. 
Thundered — " Be still, upon your lives! 
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." 
Behind their chief, the robber crew 
Forth from the darkened portal drew, 
In silence — save that echo dread 
Returned their heavy measured tread. 
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 
Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave; 
File after file in order pass. 
Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 
Then, halting at their leader's sign, 
At once they formed and curved their line. 
Hemming within its crescent drear 
Their victims, like a herd of deer. 
Another sign, and to the aim 
Levelled at once their muskets came. 
As waiting but their chieftain's word, 
To make their fatal volley heard. 

XXIX. 

Back in a heap the menials drew. 
Yet, e'en in mortal terror, true. 
Their pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 
" O haste thee, Wilfrid!" Redmond cried; 
" Undo that wicket by thy side! 
Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood — 
The pass may be awhile made good — 
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
O speak not — dally not — but fly!" 
While yet the crowd their motions hide, 
Through the low wicket door they glide, 
Through vaulted passages they wind. 
In Gothic intricacy twined; 



ROKEBY. 



219 



Wilfrid half led, and half he bore, 

Matilda to the postern door, 

And safe beneath the forest tree 

The lady stands at liberty. 

Tlie moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 

Renewed suspended consciousness: 

" Where's Redmond'" eagerly she cries; 

"Thou answer'st not — he dies! he dies! 

And thou hast left him all bereft 

Of mortal aid — with murderers left! 

I know it well — he would not yield 

His sword to man — his doom is sealed! 

For my scorned life, which thou hast bought 

At price of his, I thank thee not. " 

XXX. 
The unjust reproach, the angry look, 
The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 
"Lady," he said, " my band so near, 
In safety thou mayest rest thee here. 
For Redmond's death thou slialt not mourn, 
If mine can buy his safe return." 
He turned away — his heart throbbed high, 
The tear was bursting from his eye. 
The sense of her injrfstice pressed 
Upon the maid's distracted breast: 
"Stay, Wilfrid, stay! all aid is vain!" 
He heard, but turned him not again; 
He reaches now the postern door, 
N ow enters^-and is seen no more. 

XXXI. 
With all the agony that e'»r 
Was gendered 'twixt suspense and fear, 
She watched the line of windows tall 
Whose Gothic lattice lights the hall, 
Distinguished by the paly red 
The lamps in dim reflection shed. 
While all beside in wan moonlight 
Each grated casement glimmered white. 
No sight of harm, no sound of ill, 
It is a deep and midnight still. 
Who looked upon tlie scene had guessed 
All in the castle were at rest: 
When sudden on the windows shone 
A lightning flash, just seen and gone! 
A shot is heard — again the flame 
Flashed thick and last — a volley came! 
Then echoed wildly, from within. 
Of shout and scream the mingled din. 
And weapon-clash, and maddening cry 
Of those who kill, and those who die! 
As filled the hall with sulphurous smoke, 
More red, more dark, the death-flash broke, 
And forms were on the lattice cast 
That struck, or struggled, as they past. 

XXXIl. 

What sounds upon the midnight wind 
Approach so rapidly behind? 
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds! 
Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 
Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
" O haste to aid, ere aid be vain! 
Fly to the postern — gain the hall ! " 
From saddle spring the troopers all; 
Their gallant steeds, at liberty. 
Run wild along the moonlight lea. 
But ere they burst upon the scene, 
Full stubborn had the conflict been. 
When Bertram marked Matilda's flight. 
It gave the signal for the fight; 
And Rokeby's veterans, seamed with scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars. 



Their momentary panic o'er. 
Stood to the arms which then they bore; 
(For they were weaponed, and prepared 
Their mistress on her way to guard. ) 
Then cheered them to the fight O'Neale, 
Then pealed the shot, and claslied the steel; 
The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
Darkened the scene of blood and death, 
While on the few defenders close. 
The bandits with redoubled blows, 
And, twice driven back, 3'et fierce and fell, 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 

xxxni. 

Wilfrid has fallen — hut o'er him stood 

Young Redmond, soiled with smoke and blood, 

Cheering his mates, with heart and hand 

Still to make good their desperate stand. 

" Up, comrades, up! in Rokeby halls 

Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 

What! faint ye for their savage cry. 

Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye! 

These rafters have returned a shout 

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout. 

As thick a smoke these hearths have given 

At Hallowtide or Christmas even." 

Stand to it yet! renew the fight. 

For Rokeby's and Matilda's right! 

These slaves! they dare not, hand to hand, 

Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 

Impetuous, active, fierce, and young. 

Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 

Wo to the wretch at whom is bent 

His brandished falchion's sheer descent! 

Backward they scattered as he came. 

Like wolves before the levin flame. 

When, 'mid their howling conclave driven, 

Hath glanced the thunderbolt.of heaven. 

Bertram rushed on — but Harnool clasped 

His knees, although in death he gasped; 

His falling corpse before him flung. 

And round the trammelled ruffian clung. 

Just then the soldiers filled the dome. 

And, shouting, charged the felons home 

So fiercely, that, in panic dread. 

They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled. 

Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 

Though heard above the battle's roar. 

While, trampling down the dying man. 

He strove, with vollied threat and ban, 

In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 

To rally up the desperate fight. 

XXXIV. 
Soon murkier clouds the hall enfold, 
Than ei-e from battle-thunders rolled; 
So dense, the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid tlie blow. 
Smothering and blindfold grows the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light! 
'Mid cries, and clashing arms, tiiere came 
The lioUow sound. of rushing flame; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the castle is on fire! 
Doubtful if chance had cast the brand, 
Or frantic Bei'tram's desperate hand. 
Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
Yon tower, which late so clear defined, 
On the fair hemisphere reclined. 
That, pencilled on its azure pure. 
The eye could count each embrazure. 
Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud. 
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud; 



220 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Till from each loop-hole flashing light, 
A spout of fire shines ruddy hright, 
And, gathering to united glare, 
Streams high into the midniglit air, 
A dismal beacon, far and wide 
That wakened Greta's slumbering side. 
Soon all beneath, through gallery long, 
And pendant arch, the tire flashed strong, 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend, its furious reign, 
Startling, with closer cause of dread, 
The females who the conflict fled. 
And now rushed forth upon the plain, 
Filling the air with clamours vain. 

XXXV. 

But ceased not yet, the hall within, 

The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din,' 

Till bursting lattices give i)roof 

The flames had caught the raftered roof. 

What! wait they till its beams nmain 

Crash on the slayers and the slain? 

The alarm is caught — the drawbridge falls, 

The warriors hiu'ry from the walls. 

But, by the conflagration's light, 

Upon the lawn renew the figlit. 

Each straggling felon down was hewed, 

Not one could gain the sheltering wood; 

But forth the aflVighted harper sprung. 

And to Matilda's robe he clung. 

Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 

Stopped the pursuer's lifted hand. 

Denzil and he alive were ta'en; 

The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 

XXXVI. 
And where is Bertram' — Soaring high. 
The general flame ascends the sky; 
In gathered group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
When, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element, 
To plague and to pollute the air, — 
His face all gore, on fire his hair. 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke! 
His brandished sword on high he rears, 
Then plunged among opposing spears; 
Round his left arm his mantle trussed. 
Received and foiled three lances' thrust; 
Nor these his headlong course withstood, , 
Like reeds he snapped the tougii ash-wood. 
In vain his foes around him clung; 
With matchless force aside he flung 
Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay, 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
Through forty foes his path he made. 
And safely gained the forest glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 

When from the postern Itedmond bore 

Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft," 

Had in the fatal hall been left, 

Deserted there by all his train; 

But Redmond saw, and tiu-ned again. 

Beneath an oak he laid him down. 

That in tiie blaze gleamed ruddy brown, 

And then his mantle's clasp undid; 

Matilda held his drooping iiead. 

Till given to breatiie the freer air. 

Returning life repaid their care. 

lie gated on them with heavy sigh, — 

" 1 could have wished e'en thus to die!" 



No more he said — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regained his steed; 
The ready palfreys stood arrayed. 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's maid; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain. 
One leads his charger by tlie reign. 
But oft Matilda looked behind, 
As up the vale of Tees they wind. 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beaconed the dale with midnight fires. 
In gloomy arch above them s|)read. 
The clouded heaven lowered bloody red; 
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
Appeared to roll in waves of blood. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
A space the conflagration drowned; 
Till, gathering strength, again it rose. 
Announced its triumph in its close. 
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er. 
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more ! 

CANTO VI, 

1. 

The summer sun, whose early power 
Was wont to gild Matihia's bower, 
And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay, 
That morning sun has three times seen 
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green, 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak. 
But, rising from tiieir sylvan screen, 
Marks no gray turret's glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower. 
That, hissing to the morning shower. 
Can but with smouldering vapour pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labour bound. 
Pauses to view the blackened mound, 
Striving, amid the ruined rpace. 
Each well-remembered spot to trace. 
That length of frail and fire-schorched wall 
Once screened the hosjtitable hall; 
When yonder broken arch was whole, 
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole; 
And where yon tottering columns nod. 
The chapel sent the hynm to God. 
So flits the world's uncei-tain span! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man, 
Gives mortal monuments a date, 
Beyond the power of time and fate. 
The towers must share the builder's doom; 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb: 
But better boon benignant heaven 
To faith and charity has given, 
And bids tiie Christian hope sublime 
Transcendjthe bounds of fate and time. 

II. 
Now the third night of summer came. 
Since that which witnessed Rokeby's flame. 
On Brignal clift's and Scargill brake 
The owlet's homilies awake. 
The bittern screamed from rush and flag, 
The raven slumbered on liis crag. 
Forth from his den the otter drew, 
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew. 
As between reed and sedge he peers, 
With fierce round snout and sharpened ears, 



ROKEBY. 



221 



Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool, 

Watches the stream, or swims tlie pool;^— 

Perched on his wonted eyrie hi.u;h, • 

Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied eye, 

That all the day had watched so well 

The cushat dart across the dell. 

In dubious beam reflected shone 

That lofty cliff of pale gray s^one. 

Beside whose base the secret cave 

To rapine late a refuge gave. 

The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 

On Greta's breast dark shadows threw; 

Shadows that met or shunned the siglit, 

With every change of fitful light; 

As hope and fear alternate chase 

Our course through life's uncertain race. 

III. 
Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 
And pauses oft, and cowers dismayed, 
At every breath that stirs the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush. 
The owl has seen him and is hush; 
He passes now the doddered oak, 
Ye heard the startled raven croak; 
Lower and lower he descends. 
Rustle the leaves, the brusliwood bends; 
The otter hears him tread the shore, 
And dives, and is beheld no more; 
And by the cliff of pale gray stone 
The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-remembered form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that clieek so pale, 
Combine to tell a rueful tale. 
Of powers misused, of passion's force. 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse! 
'Tis Edmund's eye at every sound 
That flings that guilty glance around; 
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 
The brushwood that the cavern hides, 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 

IV. 
His flint and steel have sparkled bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last lie left that stern abode. 
It seemed as none its floor had trode; 
Untouched appeared the various s]>oil, 
The purchase of his comrades' toil; 
Masks and disguises grimed with mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with blood, 
And all the nameless tools tliat aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade, 
Upon the gloomy walls were hung. 
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
Still on the sordid board appear 
The relics of the noontide cheer; 
Flagons and emptied flasks were there. 
And bench o'erthrown, and shattered chair; 
And all aroiind the semblance showed. 
As when the final revel glowed. 
When tlie red sun was setting fast. 
And parting pledge Guy Uenzil past. 
To Rokeby treasure-vaults ! They quaffed, 
And shouted loud and wildly laughed, 
Poured maddening from the rocky doot, 
And parted — to return no morel 



They found in Rokeby vaults their doom, — 
A bloody death, a burning tomb. 

V. 

There his own peasant dress he spies, 

Dofted to assume that quaint disguise. 

And shuddering thought upon his glee, 

When pranked in garb of minstrelsy. 

" O be the fatal art accursed," 

He cried, " that moved my folly first. 

Till bribed by bandit's base applause, 

I burst through God's and Nature's laws! 

Three summer days are scantly past 

Since I have trode this cavern last, 

A tbougiitless wretch, and prompt to err — 

But O, as yet no murderer! 

E'en now 1 list my comrades' cheer, 

That general laugh is in mine ear, 

Which raised my pulse and steeled my heart. 

As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 

And would that all since then could seem 

Tlie phantom of a fever's dream ! 

But fatal memory notes too well 

The horrors of the dying yell. 

From my despairing mates that broke. 

When flashed the fire and rolled the smoke, 

When the avengers shouting came. 

And hemmed us 'twixt tlie sword and flame! 

My frantic flight— the lifted brand — 

That angel's interposing hand ! — 

If for my life from slaughter freed, 

I yet could pay some grateful meed! — 

Perchance this object of my quest 

May aid " he turned, nor spoke tiie rest. 

VI. 

Due northward from the rugged hearth, 

With paces five he metes the earth. 

Then toiled with mattock to explore 

The entrails of the cavern floor. 

Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground, 

His search a small steel casket found. 

Just as he stooped to loose its hasp, 

His shoulder felt a giant grasj): 

He started, and looked up aghast. 

Then shrieked — 'twas Bertram held him fast. 

•' Fear not!" he said; but who could hear 

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear? 

" Fear not! — by heaven he sliakes as much 

As partridge in the falcon's clutch!" 

He raised him, and unloosed his hold, 

Wliile from the opening casket rolled 

A chain and reliquaire of gold. 

Bertram beheld it with surprise, 

(iazed on its fashion and device, 

Tlien, cheering Edmund as he could, 

Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood; 

For still the youth's half-lifted eye 

Quivered with terror's agony. 

And sidelong glanced, as to explore, 

In meditated flight, tlie door. 

" Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free; 

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me fiither; hill aiwl plain 

I've sought for refuge-place in vain. 

And tell me now, thou aguish boy, 

Wiiat mak'st thou here? wliat means this toyr 

Denzil and thou, I marked, were ta'en; 

What lucky chan«e unbound your chain? 

1 deemed, long since on Baliol's tower, 

Your heads were warped with sun and shower. 

Tell me the whole— and mark ! nought e'er 

Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear. "— 



222 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Gathering his courage to his aid, 
But trembling still, the youth obeyed. 

VII. 
" Denzil and 1 two nights passed o'er. 
In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
A guest the third sad morrow brought; 
Our hold dark Oswald WyclifFe sought. 
And eyed my comrade long askance, 
With fixed and- penetrating glance. 
' Guy Denzil art thou called " — ' The same.'- 

• At court who served wild Buckinghame; 
Thence banished, won a keeper's place, 
So Yilliers willed, in Marwood chase; 
That lost— I need not tell thee why — 
Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply, 
Then fought forRokeby: — have I guessed 
My prisoner right?' — ' At thy behest.' — • 
He paused awhile, and then went on 
With low and confidential tone; 

Me, as 1 judge, not then he saw. 
Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 

• List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 
Have frequent need of what they hate; 
Hence, in their favour oft we see 
Unscrupled, useful men, like thee. 
Were I disposed to bid thee live. 

What pledge of faith hast thou to give?' 

VUT. 

" The ready fiend, who never yet 

Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit, 

Prompted his lie — ' His only child 

Should rest his pledge.' — The baron smiled. 

And turned to \^ae — ' Thou art his son?' 

I bowed — our fetters were undone, 

And we were led to hear apart 

A dreadful lesson of his art. 

Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son. 

Had fair Matilda's favour won; 

And long since had their union been. 

But for her father's bigot spleen, 

Whose brute and blindfold party rage 

Would, force per force, her hand engage 

To a base kern of Irish earth. 

Unknown his lineage and his birth, 

Save that a dying ruffian bore 

The infant brat to Rokeby door. 

Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 

Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed; 

But fair occasion he must find 

For such restraint well-meaut andkind. 

The knight heing rendered to his charge 

But as a prisoner at large. 

IX. 

" He schooled us in a well-forged tale, 
Of scheme the castle walls to scale. 
To which was leagued each cavalier. 
That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear; 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot, 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
Such was the charge, which Denzil's zeal 
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 
Proffered, as witness, to make good. 
E'en though the forfeit were their blood. 
1 scrupled, until o'er and o'er 
His prisoner's safety Wycliffe swore. 
And then — alas! what needs there more? 
I knew 1 should not live to say 
The proffer I refused that day; 
Ashamed to live, yet loth to die, 
I soiled me with their infamy!"— 



" Poor youth," said Bertram, "wavering still 

Unfit alike for good or ill ! 

But what .fell next'" — " Soon as at large 

Was scrolled and signed our fatal charge, 

There never yet, on tragic stage. 

Was seen so well a painted rage 

As Oswald showed ! with loud alarm 

He called his garrison to arm; 

From tower to tower, from post to post. 

He hurried as if all were lost; 

Consigned to dungeon and to chain 

The good old knight and all his train. 

Warned each suspected cavalier, 

Within his limits, to appear 

To-morrow, at the hour of noon. 

In the high church of Egli stone.' 

X. 

" Of Eglistone! E'en now I passed," 

Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast; 

Torches and cressets gleamed around, 

I heard the saw and hammer sound, 

And I could mark they toiled to raise 

A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 

Which the grim headsman's scene displayed. 

Block, axe, and saw-dUst, ready laid. 

Some evil deed will there be done. 

Unless Matilda wed his son;— 

She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guessed 

That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 

This is a turn of Oswald's skill; 

But I may meet, and foil him still! — 

How camesl thou to thy freedom?-" — " There 

Lies mystety more dark and rare. 

In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigned rage, 

A scroll was offered by a page. 

Who told, a muffled horseman late 

Had left it at tlie castle gate. 

He broke the seal — his cheek showed change. 

Sudden,. portentous, wild, and strange; 

The mimic passion of his eye 

Was turned to actual agony. 

His hand like summer sapling shook. 

Terror and guilt were in his look. 

Denzil he judged, in time of need. 

Fit counsellor for evil deed," 

And thus apart his counsel broke, 

While with a ghastly smile he spoke. 

XI. 

*' 'As, in the pageants of the stage. 
The dead awake in this wild age, 
Mortham — whom all men deemed decreed 
In his own deadly snare to bleed. 
Slain hy a bravo, whom, o'er sea, 
He trained to aid in murthering me, — 
Alortham has 'scaped; the coward shot 
The steed, but harmed the rider nought.' " 
Here, with an execration fell, 
Bertram leaped up, and paced the cell; 
" Thine own gray head, or bosom dark," 
He muttered, " may be surer mark!" 
Then sate, and signed to Edmund, pale 
With ten'or, to resume his tale. 
" Wycliffe went on: ' Mark with what flights 
Of wildered reverie he writes. 

THE LETTEK. 

" ' Ruler of Mortham's destiny! 

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 

Once had he all that binds to life, 

A lovely child, and lovelier wife; 

Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own — 

Thou gavest the word, and they are flown. 



ROKEBY. 



223 



Mark how he pays thee: to thy hand 
He yields his honours and his land. 
One' boon premised; restore his child! 
And, from his native land exiled, 
Mortliam no more returns, to claim 
His lands, his honours, or his name; 
Refuse him this, and from the slain 
ThoQ shalt see Morlhara rise again.' 

XII. 
♦' This billet while the baron read, 
His faltering accents showed his dread; 
He pressed his forehead with liis palm, 
Then took a scornful tone and calm; 
' Wild as the winds, as billows wild! 
What wot 1 of his spouse or child' 
Hither he brought a joyous dame, 
Unknown her lineage or her name; 
Her, in some frantic fit, he slew; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
Heaven be my witness, wist I where 
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, 
Unguerdoned, I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy, 
And Mortham's lands and towers resiga 
To the just heir of Mortham's line.' 
Thou knowest that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer; 
' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
He said, ' to ease his patron's lieart! 
In thine own jailor's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 
Thr generous wish is fully won, 
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's sob.' 

Xlll. 
" Up starting with a frenzied look. 
His clenched hand the baron shook: 
' Is hell at work' or dost thou rave, 
Or darest thou palter with me, slave? 
Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 
Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.' 
Denzil, who well his safety knevt-. 
Firmly rejoined, ' t tell thee true. 
Thy racks could give thee but to know 
The proofs, which I, untortured, show. 
It chanced upon a winter night, 
When early snow made Stanmore white, 
That very night, when first of all 
Redmond O'Xeale saw Rokeby hall, 
It was my goodly lot to gain 
A reliquary and a chain, 
Twisted and chased of massive gold. 
Demand not how the prize 1 hold ! 
It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. 
Gilt tablets to tlie chain were hung, 
With letters in the Irish tongue. 
1 hid my spoil, for there was need 
That I should leave the land with speed; 
Nor then I deemed it safe to bear 
On mine own person gems so rare. 
Small heed 1 of the tablets took, 
But since have spelled them by the book, 
When some sojourn in Erin's land 
Of tiieir wild speech had given command. 
But darkling was the sense; the phrase 
And language those of other days, 
Involved of purpose, as to foil 
An interloper's prying toil. 
The words, but not the sense, I knew, 
Till fortune gave the guiding clue. 

XIV. 
" ' Three days since, was that clue revealed, 
In Thorsgill as I lay conce.'jled. 



And heard at full when Rokeby's maid 
Her uncle's history displayed; 
And now I can interpret well; 
Each syllable the tablets tell. 
Mark then: fair Edith was the joy 
Of old O'N'eale of Clandeboy, 
But from her sire and country fled. 
In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 
O'Neale, his first re§entment o'er, 
Despatched his son to Greta's shore, 
Enjoining he should make him known 
(Until his farther will were shown) 
To Edith, but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starred meeting fell. 
Lord Wycliife knows, and none so well. 

XV. 
" ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair. 
Robbed Mortham of his infant heir; 
He bred him in their nurture wild, 
And called him murdered Connal's child. 
Soon died the nurse; the clan believed 
What from their chieftain they received. 
His purpose was, that ne'er again 
The boy should cross the Irish main. 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles came, 
And stronger chieftains urged a claim, 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native towers, his father's lands. 
L^nable then, amid the strife, 
To guard young Redmond's rights or life. 
Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores, 
Witii goodly gifts and letters stored, 
With many a deep conjuring word. 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's lord. 
Nought knew the clod of Irish earth, 
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth; 
But deemed his chief's commands were laid 
On both, by both to be obeyed. 
How he was wounded by the way, 
I need not, and I list not say.' 

XVL 
" * A wond'rous tale! and grant it true, 
What,' Wycliffe answered, ' might 1 do? 
Heaven knows, as willingly as now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow, 
Would 1 my kinsman's manors fair 
Restore to Mortham or his heir: ■ 
But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel. 
Malignant to our rightful cause, 
And trained in Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart!' They whispered long. 
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong: 
' My proofs! I never will,' he said, 
' Show mortal man where they are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose. 
By giving me to feed the crows; 
For I have mates at large, who know 
W"here I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from baud, 
These tablets are at thy command; 
Nor were it hard to form some train. 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should rest from thine the goodly land.' 
' I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, '"well; 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
Thy son, unless my purpose err. 
May prove the trustier messenger. 



i24r 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold shaltthou have, and that good store, 
And freedom, his commission o'er; 
13ut if his faith should chance to fail, 
The gibbet fi'ees thee from the jail.' 

xyir. 

"Meshed in the net himself had twineJ, 

What subterfugje could Denzil find? 

He told me, ■with reluctant sigh, 

That hidden here the tokens lie; 

Conjured my swift return and aid, 

By all he scofTeri anddisobeyed; 

And looked a« if the noose wire tied. 

And I the priest who left his side. 

This scroll for Mortham, WyclifTe gave, 

Whom I must seek bv Greta's wave, 

Or in the hut where cliief he hides, 

W^here Thorsgill's forester resides, 

(Thence chanced it, wandering in the glade, 

That he descried our amljuscade. ) 

1 was dismissed as evening fell. 

And reached but now this rocky cell." 

" Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read. 

And tore it fiercely, shred by shred: 

" All lies and villany! to blind 

His noble kinsman's generous mind, 

A.nd train him on from day to day, 

rill he can take his life away. 

A.nd now, declare thy purpose, youth, 

Nor dare to answer, save tlie truth; 

(f aught 1 mark of Denzil's art, 

I'll tear the secret from thy heart!" 

XV III. 
" It needs not. I renounce," he said, 
♦' My tutor and his deadly trade. 
Fixed was my i)urpose to declare 
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir; 
To tell him in what risk he stands. 
And yield these tokens to his hands. 
Fixed was my purpose to atone. 
Far as I may, the evil done. 
And fixed it rests — if I survive 
This niglit, and leave this cave alive." 
" And Denzil?" " Let them ply tlie rack, 
E'en till his joints and sinews crack! 
If Oswald tear him limb from limb. 
What ruth can Denzil claim fi-om him, 
Whose thoughtless youth he led astray, 
And damned to this unhallowed way? 
He schooled me, faith and vows were vain. 
Now let my master reap his gain." 
*• True," answered Bertram, " 'lis his meed;. 
There's retribution in the deed. 
But thou — thou art not for our course, 
Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse; 
And he with us tiie gale who braves, 
Must heave such cargo to the waves, 
Or lag with overloaded prore. 
While barks unburthened reach the shore. " 

XIX. 
He paused, and, stretching him at lengtn, 
Seemed to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind. 
As half he sate, and half reclined. 
One ample hand his forehead pressed. 
And one was dropped across his breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame; 
His lip of pride awhile forebore 
The haughty curve till then it wore; 



The unaltered fierceness of his look 
A shade of darkened sadness took. 
For dark and sad a presage pressed 
ResistlesBly on Bertram's breast. 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone. 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
His voice was steady, low, and deep. 
Like distant waves when breezes sleep; 
And sorrow mixed with Edmund's fear, 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 

XX. 

" Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
Tlie wo that warped my patron's mind; 
'Twonld wake the fountains of the eye 
In other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool, 
That sold himself base Wycliffe's tool! 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain. 
Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
Say, Bertram rues his fault; a word. 
Till now, from Bertram never heard. 
Say, too, that Mortbam's lord he prays 
To think but ©n their former days. 
On Quariaiia's beach imi] rock, 
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock, . 
On Darien's sands and deadh' dew. 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw; 
Perchance my patron yet may hear 
More tliat maj' grace his comrade's bier. 
My soul hath felt a secret weight, 
A warning of approaching fate; 
A priest liad said', Return, repent! 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Firm as that flint, I face mine end; 
My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 

XXI. 
" The dawning of my youth, with awe 
And prophecy, the dalesmen saw; 
For over Redesdale it came. 
As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine. 
When, cliallenging the clans of Tyne, 
To bring their best my brand to prove. 
O'er Hexhira's altar bung my giove;' 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 
Held champion meet to talie it down.- 
My noontide India may declare; 
Like her fierce sun I fired tlie air! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
When llisingham inspires the tale; 
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run. 
Mine be tlie eve of tropic sun! 
No pale gradations quench his ray. 
No twilight dews his wrath allay; 
With disk like battle-target red, 
He rushes to his burning bed. 
Dies the wide wave with bloody light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is night. 

XXII. 

" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Flj", 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond, where his troojis are laid. 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 
Now, fare thee well; far night draws on, 
And I would rest me here alone." 



ROKEBY. 



225 



Despite his ill-dissembled fear, 

There swam in Edmund's eye a tear; 

A tribute to tlie courage high, 

Whicli stooped not in extremit3% 

But strove, irregularly great. 

To triumph o'er approaching fate! 

Beitrain beheld the dew-(h-op start. 

It almost touched his iron heart: 

" 1 did not think there lived," he said, 

" One who would tear for Bertram shed." 

He loosened then his baldric's hold, 

A buckle broad of massive gold; 

" Of all the spoil that paid his pains, ' 

But this with Risingham remains. 

And this, dear Edmun.l, thou shalt take, 

And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 

Once more — to iVIortham speed amain; 

Farewell! and turn thee not again." 

XXIII. 
The night has yielded to the morn. 
And far the hours of prime are worn. 
Oswald, who, since the dawn of day, 
Had cursed liis messenger's delay. 
Impatient questionetTn^v Irs train, 
"Was Denzil's son returned again?" 
It chanced there answered of the crew, 
A menial, who young Edmund knew: 
" No son of Denzil this," he said; • 
" A peasant boy from Winston glade, 
For song and minstrelsy renowned. 
And knavish jjranks, the hamlets round." — 
— " Not Denzil's son! — from Winston vale! 
Then it was false, tiiat specious tale; . 
Or, worse — he hath despatched the youth 
To show to Morthami's lord its truth. 
P'ool that I was!— But 'tis too late; — 
This is the very turn of fate! 
The tale, or true or false, relies 
On Denzil's evidence: — He dies! — 
— Ho! provost-martial I instantly 
Lead Denzil to the gallows tree! 
Allow him not a parting word: 
Short be the shrift, and sure the cord! 
I'hen let his goi-y head appal 
Marauders from the castle walL 
Lead forth tliy guard, that duty done, 
With best despatch to Eglistone. — 
— Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
Attend me at tlie castle-gate." 

XXIV. 
•« Alas'!" the old domestic said, 
And shook his venerable head, 
" Alas! rayJord! full ill to-day 
May my young master brook the way! 
The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 
Of unseen hurt, of secret iiarm, 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart. 
That mars and lets his healing art." 
—"Tush, tell not me! — Romantic boys 
Pine themselves sick for airy toys. 
I will (ind cure for Wilfrid soon; 
Bid him for Eglistone to boune. 
And quick — I hear the dull deaih-drum 
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." 
He paused with scornful smile, and then 
Resumed his train of tiiought agen. 
"Now comes my fortune's crisis near! 
Entreaty boots not — instant fear. 
Nought else, can bend Matilda's pride, 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
But when she sees the scaffold placed, 
With a\e and block and headsman graced; 



And when she deems, that to deny 

Dooms Redmond and her sire to die. 

She must give way. — Then, were the line 

Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 

I gain the weather-gage of fate! 

If Mortbam come, lie comes too late. 

While I, allied thus and prepared, 

Bid him defiance to his heard. 

— If she jirove stubborn, shall I dare 

To drop the axe' — soft! pause we there. 

Mortham still lives — yon youth may tell 

His tale — and Fairfax loves him well; 

ElsjE, wherefore should I now delay 

To sweep this Redmond from my way? 

But she to piety perforce 

Must yield. — Without there! Sound to horse." 

XXV. 

'Twas bustle in the court below, — 

" Alount, and march forvyard!" — forth they go; 

Steeds neigh and trample all around. 

Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound. 

Just then was sung liis ])arting hymn; 

And Denzil turned his eyeballs dim. 

And scarcely conscious what he sees. 

Follows the horsemen down the Tees, 

And scarcely conscious what he hears. 

The trumpets tingle in his ears. 

O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now. 

The van is hid by green- wood bough; 

But ere the rearward had passed o'eiy 

Guy Denzil heard and saw no more! 

One stroke, upon the castlfe bell. 

To Oswald rung his dying knell. 

• XXVI. 

O for that pencil, erst profuse 

Of chivalry's emblazoned hues. 

That traced, of old, in Woodstock bower. 

The pageant of the leaf and flower. 

And bodied forth the tourney high. 

Hold for the hand of Emily ! 

Then might I paint the tumult broad, 

That to the crowded abbey flowed. 

And poured, as with an ocean's sound. 

Into tlie church's ample bound! 

Then might I show each varying mien, 

Exulting, woful, or serene; 

Indifterence with his idiot stare. 

And Sympathy with anxious air; 

Paint the dejected cavalier, 

Doubtful, .disarmed, and sad of cheer; 

And his proud foe, whose formal eye 

Claimed conquest now and mastery; 

And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 

Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 

And loudest shouts when lowest lie 

Exalted worth, and station high. 

Yet what may such a wish avail? 

'Tis mine to tell an onward tale. 

Hurrying, as best I can, along. 

The hearers arid the hasty song; 

Like traveller when approaching home. 

Who sees the shades of evening come, 

And must not now his course delay. 

Or choose the fair, but winding way; 

Nav, scarcely may his pace suspend. 

Where o'er his head the wildings bend, 

To bless the breeze that cools his brow, 

Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 

XXVII. 
The reverend pile lay wild and waste. 
Profaned, dishonoured, and defaced. 



226 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORIvS. 



Through storied lattices no more 

In softened light the sunbeams pour, 

Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 

Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 

The civil fury of the time 

Made sport of sacrilegious crime; 

For dark Fanaticism rent 

Altar, and screen, and ornament, 

And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 

Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh, 

And now was seen unwonted sight, 

In holy walls a scaffold diglit! 

Where once the priest, of grace divine,. 

Dealt to his flock the mystic sign. 

There stood the block displayed, and there 

The headsman grim his hatchet bare; 

And for the word of Hope and Faith, 

Resounded loud a doom of death. 

Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heai'd, 

And echoed thrice the herald's word, 

Dooming, for breach of rriartial laws. 

And treason to tlie commons' ca\ise. 

The knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 

To stoop their lieads to l)lock and steel. 

The trumpets flourished high and shrill. 

Then was a silence dead and still; 

And silpnt prayers to heaven were cast. 

And stifling sobs were bursting fast. 

Till from the crowd begun to rise 

Murmurs of sorrow or surprise. 

And from the distant aisles there came 

Deep-muttered thitats, with Wycliffe's name. 

XXVIII. 
But Oswald, guarded by his band, 
Powerful in evil, waved his h'and. 
And bade sedition's voice be dead, 
On peril of the murmurer's head. 
Then first his glance sought Rokeby's knight; 
Who gazed on the tremendous sight, 
As calm as if he came a guest 
To kindred baron's feudal feast, 
As calm as if th;it trumpet-call 
Were summons to the bannered hall; 
Firm in his loyally he stood. 
And prompt to seal it with his blood. 
Witii downcast look drew Oswald nigh,— 
He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye! 
And said, with low and faltering breath, 
" Thou know'st the terms of life and death." 
The knight then turned, and sternly smiled; 
" The maiden is mine only child, 
Yet shall my blessing leave her head. 
If with a traitor's son she wed." 
Then Redmond spoke: "The life of one 
Might tliy malignity atone. 
On me be flung a double guilt! 
Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt!" 
Wycliffe had listened to his suit. 
But dread prevailed, and he was mute. 

XXIX. 
And now he pours his choice of fear 
In secret on Matilda's ear; 
"An union formed with me and mine 
Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 
Consent, and all this dread array 
Like morning dream shall pass away; 
Refuse, and, by my duly pressed, 
I give the word — thou' know'st the rest." 
Matilda, still and motionless. 
With terror heard the dread address, 
Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 
To hopeless love a sacrifice; 



Then wrung her hands in agony, 
And round her cast bewildered eye. 
Now on the scaftbld glanced, and now 
On Wyclifte's unrelenting brow. 
She veiled her face, and, with a voice 
Scarce audible, — " I make my choice! 
Spare but their lives! — for aught beside, 
Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
He once was generous!" — as slie spoke. 
Dark Wyclifte's joy in triumph broke:— 
" Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late?-^ 
Why upon Basil rest thy weiglit? — 
Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand?— 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand; 
Thank her with raptures, simple boy! 
Should tears and trembling speak thy joy?" 
" O hush, my sire! tp prayer and tear 
Of mil'; thou hast refused thine ear: 
But now the awful hour draws on. 
When truth must speak in loftier tone." 

XXX. 
He took Matilda's hand: — " Dear maid! 
Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 
" Of tivy poor friend so basely deem. 
As blend him with lliis barbarous sclieme? 
Alas my eftbrts, made in vain, 
Might well have savtd this added pain. 
But now, bear witness earth and heaven. 
That ne'er was hope to mortal given. 
So twisted with the strings of life. 
As this — to call Matilda wife! 
I bid it now for ever part. 
And with the effort bursts my heart." 
His feeble frame was worn so low, 
With wounds, with watching, and with wo, 
That nature could no more sustain 
The agony of mental pain. 
He kneeled — his lip her hand had pressed. 
Just then he felt the stern arrest; 
Lower and lower sunk hig head, — 
They raised him, — but the life was fled! 
Then first alarmed, his sire and train 
Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
The soul, too soft its ills to bear. 
Had left our mortal hemisphere. 
And sought in better world, the meed 
To blameless life bj' heaven decreed. 

XXXI. 
The wretched sire beheld aghast, 
Witli Wilfrid all his projects past. 
All turned and centered on his son. 
On Wilfrid all — and he was gone, 
" And am I childless now," he said, 
" Childless, through that relentless maid! 
A lifetime's arts, in vain essayed, 
Are bursting on their artist's head! — 
Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 
Comes hated Mortham for his heir. 
Eager to knit in happy band 
With Rokebj's heiress Redmond's hand. 
And shall their triumph soar o'er all 
The schemes deep-laid to work their fall' 
No! — deeds whicli prudence might not dare. 
Appal not vengeance and despair. 
The murderess weeps upon his bier — 
I'll change to real that feigned tear! 
They all shall share destruction's shock! — 
Ho! lead the captives to the block!" 
But ill his provost could divine 
His feelings, and forebore tlie sign. 
" Slave! to the block! — or I, or they. 
Shall lace the judgment-seat this day!" 






ROKEBY. 



22r 



XXXII. 

The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoot" on hardened ground; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
The very deaths-men paused to hear. 
'Tis in the church-yard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead! 
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
Return the tramp in wearied tone. 
All eyes upon the gate-way hung, 
When through the Gothic arch there sprung 
A horseman armed, at headlong speed^ — 
Sahle his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned, 
The vaults unwonted clang returned ! 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddle-bow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was his look! 
His charger with the spurs he strook — 
All scattered backward as he came. 
For all knew Bertram Risingham! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave; 
The first has reached the central nave, 
The second cleared the chancel wide. 
The third, — he was at Wyclifte's side. 
Full levelled at the baron's head, 
■ Rung the report — live bullet sped — • 
And to his long ascount, and last. 
Without a groan dark Oswald past ! 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of lightning, or a dream. 

XXXIIl. 

While yet the smoke tl»e deed conceals, 
Bertram his reaily charger wheels; 
But floundered on the pavement floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore. 
And bursting in the headlong sway. 
The faithless saddle-girtiis gave way. 
'Twas while he toiled him to be freed, 
And with the rein to raise the steed. 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All WyclifTe's soldiers waked at once. 
Sword, halbert, musket butt, their blows 
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose: 
A score of pikes, with each a wound. 
Bore down and pinned him to the ground; 
But still his struggling force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears; 
Thrice from assailants shook him free. 
Once gained his feet, and twice his knee. 
By tenfold odds oppressed at length, 
Despite his struggles and his strength, 
He took a hundred mtu-tal wounds. 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds; 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan! 
— They gazed, as when a lion dies. 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes. 
But bend their weapons on the slain. 
Lest tiie grim king should rouse again! 
Then blow and insult some renewed. 
And from the trunk tiie head had hewed. 
But Basil's voice tlie deed forbade; 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid: — 
*' Fell as he was in act and mind, 
He left no bolder heart behind: 
Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding sheet." — 

XXXIV. 

No more of death and dying pang, 
No more of trump and bugle clang, 



Though through the sounding woods there come 

Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 

Armed with such powers as well had freed 

"Voung Redmond at his utmost need. 

And backed with such a band of horse 

As might less ample powers enforce; 

Possessed of every proof and sign 

That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 

And yielded to a father's arms 

An image of his Edith's charms, — , 

Mortham is come, to hear and see 

Of this strange morn the history. 

What saw he? — not the church's floor. 

Cumbered with dead and stained with gore; 

What heard he' — not the clamorous crowd, 

That shout their gratulations loud: 

Redmond he saw and heard alone, 

Clasped him, and sobbed, " My son, my son!" 

XXXV. 

This chanced upon a summer morn. 

When yellow waved the heavy corn; 

But when brown August o'er the land 

Called fortii the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the sylvan road 

From Egli'stone to Mortham showed. 

Awhile the hardy rustic leaves 

'l"he task to bind and pile the sheaves, 

And maids their sickles fling aside. 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 

And childhood's wondering group draws near, 

And from the gleaner's hand the ear 

Drops, while she folds them for a prayer 

And blessing on the lovely pair. 

'Twas then the maid of Rokeby gave 

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave; 

And Teesdale can remember yet. 

How Fate to Virtue paid her debt. 

And, for their troubles, bade them prove 

A lengthened life of peace and love. * 

Time and Tide had thus their sway. 
Yielding, like an Ajn-il day, 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow. 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow ! 

NOTES TO CANTO I. 
1. On Barnard's towers, and Teos's stream, &c. — P. 190. 
" Barnard castle," saith old Leland, " standeth 
stately upon Tees." It is founded upon a very high 
bank, and its ruins impend over the river, includ- 
ing within the area a circuit of six acres and up- 
wards. This once magnificent fortress derives its 
name from its founder, Barnard Baliol, the ances- 
tor of the short and unfortunate dynasty of tliat 
name, which succeeded to the Scottish throne un- 
der the patronage of Edward I and Edward IIL 
Baliol's tower, afterwards mentioned in the poem, 
is a round tower of great size, situated at the west- 
ern extremity of the building. It bears marks of 
great antiquity, and was remarkable for tlie curi- 
ous construction of its vaulted roof, which lias been 
lately greatly injured by the operations of some 
persons to whom the tower has been leased for the 
purpose of making patent shot! The prospect from 
the top of Baliol's tower commands a rich and mag- 
nificent view of the wooded valley of the Tecs. 

Barnard castle often changed masters during 
the middle ages. Upon the forfeiture of the unfor- 
tunate John Baliol, the first king of Scotland of 
that family, Edward I seized this fortress among 
the other English estates of his refractory vassal. 



228 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



It was afterwards vested in the Beauchamps of 
Warwick, and in the Staffords of Buckingham, 
and was also sometimes in the possession of the 
bishops of Durham, and sometimes in that of the 
crown. Richard 111 is said to have enlarged and 
strengthened its forlitications, and to have made 
it for sometime his principal residence, for the 
purpose of bridling and suppressing the Lancas- 
trian faction in the northern counties. From the 
Staffords, Barnard castle passed, probably by 
marriage, into the possession of the powerful Ne- 
villes, earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to the. 
last representative of that family when he engaged 
■with the earl of Northumberland in the ill-con- 
certed insurrection of the twelftii of queen Eliza- 
beth. Upon this occasion, however, sir George 
Bowes of SUeatlam, who held great possessions in 
the neighbourhood, anticipated the two insurgent 
earls, by seizing upon and garrisoning Barnard 
castle, whicii he held out for ten days against all 
their forces, and then surrendered it iipou honour- 
able terms. See Sadler's State Papers, vol. ii, p. 
330. In a ballad, contained ili Percy's Reliquesof 
Ancient I'oetry, vol. *i, the siege is thus comme- 
morated: — 

Then Sir George Bowes he straig-htway rose, 

After them some spoyle to make; 
These noble eries turned back againe, 

And aye they vowed that knight to take. . 

That baron he to his castle fled. 

To Barnard castle then Hed he; 
The uttermost walles were eathe to won. 
The erics have woime them prcsentlie. 

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;. 
• But though they won them soon anone, 

Long ere they won the innermost walles. 
For they were cut in rock and stone. 

By the suppression of this rebellion, and the con- 
sequent forfeiture of tiie earl of Westmoreland, 
Barnard castle reverted to the crown, and was 
sold or leased out to Car, earl of Somerset, the 
guilty and uniiappy favourite of James I. It was af- 
terwards granted to sir Henr\' Vane the eldei", and 
was therefore, in all probability, occupied for the 
parliament, whose interest during the civil war was 
so keenly espoused by the Vanes. It is now, with 
the other estates of that family, the property of the 
right honourable earl of Darlington. 

2. no human ear, . . 

Unsharpened by revenge and fear. 

Could e'er distinguish horse's clank.— P. 191. 

I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the 
effect of keen and fervent anxiety in giving acute;- 
ness to the organs of sense. My gifted friend. Miss 
Joanna Baillie, whose dramatic works display 
such intimate acquaintance with the operations of 
human passion, has not omitted this remarkable 
circumstance: 

" De Montfort ( off his guard. ) 'Tis Rezenvelt; I heard 
his well-known foot! 
From the first stair-case mounting step by step. 

Freb. How quick an ear thou liast fur distant sound! 
I heard him not. 

[_De Montfort looks embarrassed, and issilent." 
3. The morion's plumes his visage hide. 
And the bulf coat, in ample fold. 
Mantles his form's gigantic mould. — P. 191. 
The use of complete suits of armour was fallen 
into disuse during the civil war, though they were 
still worn by leaders of rank and importance. — 
" In the reign of king James 1," says our military 
antiquary, " no great alterations were made in 
the article of defensive armour, except that the 
buff coat, or jerkin, which was originally worn un- 



der the cuirass, now became frequently a substi- 
tute for it, it having been found that a good buft' 
leather would of itself resist the stroke of a sword; 
this, however, only occasionally took place among 
the light-armed cavalry and infnnti-y, complete 
suits of armour being still used among the heavy 
horse. Butf coats continued to he worn by the 
city trained-bands till within tiie memory of per- 
sons now living, so that defensive armour may in 
some measure be said to have terminated in the 
same materials with which it began, that is, the 
skins of animals or leather." — Grose's Military 
Antiquities, Lond. 1801, 4to. vol. ii, p. 3'23. 

Of the buft' coats which were worn over the 
corslet, several are yet preserved, and captain 
Grose has given an engraving of one which was 
used in tlie time of Charles I, by sir Francis Rhodes, 
bart. of Balbrough-hall, Derbysiiire. They were 
usually lined witli silk or linen, secured before by 
buttons, or by a lace, and often richly" decorated 
with gold or silver embroidery. From the follow- 
ing curious account of a dispute respecting a buff 
coat, between an old romulhead captain and a jus- 
tice of peace, by whom his arms were seized after 
the restoration, we learn that tiie value and impor- 
tance of tiiis defensive garment were considerable. 
" A party of horse came to my house commanded 
by Mr. Peebles; and he told me he was come for 
my •rms, and that 1 must deliver them. 1' asked 
him for his oi-der. He told me had a better order 
than Oliver used to give; and, clapping his hand 
upon his sword hilt, he said that was his order. I 
told him, if he liad none but that it was not suffi- 
cient to take my arms; and then he pulled out his 
warrant, and I read it. It was signed by Wentworth 
Armitage, a general warrant to search all persons 
they suspected, and so left the power to the sol- 
diers at their pleasure. They came to us at Coal- 
ley-hall, -about sun-settii>g; and t caused a candle 
to be lighted, and conveyed Peebles into the room 
where mj' arms were. My arms were near the 
kitchen fire; and there they took away fowling- 
pieces, pistols, muskets, carabines, and such like, 
better than 20/. Then Mr. Peebles asked me for my 
buff coat; tmd I told him they had no order to take 
away my apparel. He told me I was not to dispute 
their orders: but if I would not deliver it, he would 
carry me away prisoner, and had me out of doors. 
Yet he let me alone unto the next morning, tliat I 
must wait upon sir John, at Halifax; and coming be- 
fore him, he threatened me, and said it I did not send 
the coat, for it was too good for me to keep. I told 
him it was not in his power to demand my apparel; 
and he, growing into a fit, called me rebel ancl 
traitor, and said if I did not send the coat with all 
speed, he would send me where 1 did not like well 
1 told him I was no rebel, and he did not well to 
call me so before these soldiers and gentlemen, to 
make me the mark for every one to shoot at. I de- 
parted the room, yet, notwithstanding all the 
threatenings, did not send the coat. But the next 
day he sent John Lyster, the son of Mr. Thomas 
Lyster, of Shipden-hall, for this coat, with a letter 
verbatim thus: 'Mr. Hodgson, I admire jou will 
play the child so with me as you have done, "in writ- 
ing such an inconsiderate letter. Let me have the 
buff coat sent forthwith, otherwise you shall so hear 
from me as will not very well please you. I was not 
at home when this messenger came; but I had order- 
ed my wife not to deliver it, but if they would take 
it, let them look to it: and he took it away; and one 
of sir John's bretliren wore it many years after. 



ROKEBY. 



229 



They sent captain Batt to compound with my wife 
about it; hut I sent word I would have my own 
again: but he advised me to take a price for it, and 
make no more ado. I said it was hard to take my 
arms and apparel too; I had laid out a great deal of 
money for them; 1 hoped they did not mean to de- 
stroy me, by taking my goods illegally from me. 
He said he would make u\) the matter, if I pleased, 
betwixt us; and, it seenx3, had hrouglit sir John to 
a price for my coat. 1 would not have taken 10/. 
for it: he would iiave given about 4Z. ; but wanting 
my receipt for the money, lie kept both sides, and 
I had never satisfaction." — JMemoira of Captain 
Hodgson, Edin. 1806, p. 178. 

4. On his dark face a scorching clime, 

And toil, had done the work of time, &e.— P. 191. 

In this character I have attempted to sketch one 
of those West Indian adventurers, who, during the 
course of the seventeenth century, were popularly 
known by the name of Buccaneers. The successes 
of the English in the predatory incursions upon 
Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, 
had never been forgotten; and from that period 
downward, tlie exploits of Drake and Raleigh were 
imitated upon a smaller scale indeed, but with 
equally desperate valouv, by small bands of pirates, 
gathered from all nations, but chiefly French and 
English. The engrossing policy of the Spaniards 
tended greatly to increase the number of Uiese 
free-booters, from whom their commerce anil co- 
lonies suffered, in the issue, dreadful calamity. 
The Windward Islands, which the Spaniards did 
not deem worthy of their own occupation, had been 
gradually settled by adventurers of the French and 
English nations. But Frederic of Toledo, who 
■was despatched in 1630, with a powerful fleet 
against the Dutch, had orders from the court of 
Madrid to destroy these colonies, whose vicinity 
at once offended the pride, and excited the jealous 
suspicions of their Spanish neighbours. This or-r 
der the Spanish admiral executed with sufficient 
rigour; but the only consequence was, that the 
planters, being rendered desperate by persecution, 
began, under the well-known name of buccaneers, 
to commence a retaliation so horridly savage that 
the perusal makes the reader shudder. When they 
carried on their depredations at sea, they boarded, 
without respect to disparity of number, every Span- 
ish vessel that came in tlieir way; and, demeaning 
themselves, both in the battle and after the con- 
quest, more like demons than human beings, they 
succeeded in impressing their enemies with a 
sort of superstitious terror, which rendered them 
incapable of offering effectoal resistance. From pi- 
racy at sea they advanced to making predatory de- 
scents on the Spanish territories, in which they 
displayed the same furious and irresistible valour, 
the same thirst of spoil, and the same brutal inhu- 
manity to their captives. The large treasures which 
they acquired in their adventures, they dissipated 
by the most unbounded licentiousness in gaming, 
■women, wine; and debauchery of every species. 
"When their spoils were thus wasted, they entered 
into some new association, and undertook new ad- 
ventures. For furthei" particulars concerning these 
extraordinary banditti, the reader may consult 
Raynal, or the common and popular book called 
the History of the Buccaneers. 
5. ' On Marston heath 



Met, front to front, the ranks of death.— P. 192. 
The well-known and desperate battle of Long- 
Marston moor, which terminated so unfortunately 



for the cause of Charles, commenced under very 
different auspices. Prince Rupert had marched 
witii an army of 20,000 men for the relief of York, 
then besieged by sir Thomas Fairfax, at the iiead 
of the parliamentary army, and the earl of Leven, 
with the Scottisii auxiliary forces. In tiiis he so 
'completely succeeded, that he compelled the be- 
siegers to retreat to Marston moor, a large open 
plain, about eight miles distant from the city. 
Thither they were followed by the prince, who 
had now united to his army the garrison of York, 
probably not less than ten thousand men strong, 
under the gallant marquis (then earl) of Newcastle. 
Whitelocke has recorded, witii much imjiartiality, 
the following particulars of this eventful day:— 
" The right wing of the ])arliament was command- 
ed by sir Thomas Fairfax, and consisted of all his 
horse, and three regiments of the Scots horse; tiie 
left wing was commanded by the earl of Manches- 
ter an<I colonel Cromwell. One body of their foot 
was commanded by lord Fairfax, and consisted of 
his foot, and two brigades of the Scots foot for a 
reserve; and the main body of the rest of the foot 
was commanded by general Leven. 

" Tiie right wing of tiie prince's army was com- 
manded by the earl of Newcastle, the left wing by 
the prince himself, and the main body by general 
Goring, sir Charles Lucas, and major-general Por- 
ter: thus were both sides drawn up into-batlalia. 

"July 3d, 1644. In this posture both armies 
faced each other, and about seven o'clock in the 
morning the fight began between them. Tiieprince, 
with his left wing, fell on the parliament's right 
wing, routed them, and pursued them a great way; 
the like did general Goring, Lucas, and Porter, 
upon the parliament's main body. The tliree ge- 
nerals, giving all for lost, hasted out of tiie field, 
and many of their soldiers fled, and threw down 
their arms; the king's forces, too eagerly following 
them, the victory, now almost achieved by them, 
was again snatched out of their hands. For colonel 
Cromwell, with the brave regiment of liis coun- 
trymen, and sir Tiiomas Fairfax, having rallied 
some of his horse, fell upon the prince's right wing, 
where the earl of Newcastle was, and routed tliem; 
and the rest of their companions rallying, they fell 
all together upon the divided bodies of Rupert and 
Goring, and totally dispersed them, and obtained 
a complete victory after three hours fight. 

" From this battle and the pursuit some reckon 
were buried 7000 Englishmen; all.agree that above 
3000 of the prince's men were slain in the battle, 
besides those in the chase, and 3000 prisoners ta- 
ken, many of their chief officers, 25 pieces of ord- 
nance, 47 colours, 10,000 arms, two wagons of 
carabines and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and 
all their bag and baggage." — Whitelocke'' s JMe- 
moirs, Lond. 1682, fol. p. 89. 

Lord Clarendon informs us that the king, pre- 
vious to receiving the true account of the battle, 
iiad been informed, by an express from Oxford, 
"that prince Rupert had not only relieved York, 
but totally defeated the Scots, with many particu- 
lars to confirm it, all which was so much believed 
tliere, that they had made public fires ol joy for 
the victory." 
6. Monekton and Mitton told the news. 

How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast. 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past. 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.— P. 193. 
Monekton and Mitton are villages near the river 



230 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ouse, and not very distant from the field of battle. 
Tlie particulars of the action were violently dis- 
puted at the time; but the following extract, from 
Ihe manuscript history of the baronial house of 
Somerville, is decisive as to the flight of the Scot- 
tish general, the earl of Leven. The particulars 
are given by the author of the history on the au- 
thority of his father, then the representative of the 
family. This curious manuscript has been pub- 
lished by consent of my noble friend, the present 
lord Somerville. 

" The order of this great battel!, wherin both 
"armies was neerof ane equall number, consisting, 
to the best calculatione, neer to three score thou- 
sand men upon both sydes, I shall not take upon 
me to descryve; albeit, from the dr.iughts then ta- 
ken upon the place, and information I receaved 
from this gentleman, who being then a volunteer, 
as having no command, had opportunitie and liber- 
tie to ryde from one w.ing of the armie to the 
otlier, to view all tlier severall squadrons'of horse 
and battallions of foot how formed, and in what 
manner drawn up, witii every other circumstance 
relating to the fight, and that both as to the king's 
armies and that of the parliament's, amongst whom, 
untill the engadgment, he went from statione to 
statione to observe ther oixler and form; but that 
the descriptione of this battell, with the various 
success on both sides at the beginning, with the 
losse of the royal armie, and the sad effects that 
followed that misfortune as to his majestie's inte- 
rest, hes been so often done already by English 
authors, little to our commendatione, how justly 
I shall not dispute, seeing the trutii is, as our 
principall generall fled that night neer fourtie 
my lies from the place of tlie fight, that part of the 
armie where he commanded being tolallie routed: 
but it is as true, that much of the victorie is at- 
tributed to the good conduct of David Lesselie, 
lievetennent-generall of our horse. Cromwell, 
himself, that minione of fortune, but the rod of 
God's wrath, to punish eftirward three rebellious 
nations, disdained not to take orders from him, 
albeit then in the same qualitie of command for 
the parliament, as being lievetennent-generall to 
the earl of Manchester's horse, whom, with the 
assistance of the Scots horse, haveing routed the 
prince's right wing, as he had done that of the 
parliament's. These two commanders of the horse 
upon that wing wisely restrained the great bodies 
of ther horse from persuing these brocken troups, 
but, wheeling to the left-hand, falls in upon the 
naked flanks of the prince's main battalion of foot, 
carrying them doune with great violence; nether 
mett they with any great resistance untill they 
came to the marques of Newcastle his battallione 
of white coats, who, first peppering them soundly 
■with ther shott, when they came to charge, stoutly 
boor them up with their picks that they could not 
enter to break them. Here the parliament's horse 
of that wing receaved ther greatest losse, and a 
stop for sometyme putt to ther hoped-for victorie; 
and tliat only by the stout resistance of this gallant 
battallione, which consisted neer of four thousand 
foot, untill at length a Scots regiment of dragouns, 
commanded by coUonell Frizeall, with other two, 
was brought to open them upon some hand, which 
at length they did, when all the ammunitione was 
spent. Having refused quarters, every man fell in 
the same order and ranke wherein he had foughten. 

"Be this execution was done, the prince return- 
ed from the persuite of the right wing of the par- 



liament's horse, which he had beaten and follow- 
ed too farre,-to the losse of the battell, which cer- 
tanely, in all men's opinions, he might have tary- 
ed, if he had not been too violent upon the persuite: 
which gave his enemies upon the left-hand oppor- 
tunitie to disperse and cut doune hisinfantrie, who, 
haveing cleared the field of all the standing bodies 
ot toot, wer now, with many 

of ther oune, standing ready toreceave the charge 
of his allmost spent horses, if he should attempt it, 
which the prince observing, and seeing all lost, he 
retreated to Yorke with two thousand horse. Not- 
withstanding of this, ther was Ih.at night such a 
consternatione in the parliament armies, that it's 
believed by most of those that wer there present, 
that if the prince, haveing so great a body of horse 
inteire, had made ane on fall that night, or the 
ensueing morning be tyme, he had carryed the vic- 
torie out of ther hands; for it's certane, by the 
morning's light, he had rally ed a body ot ten thou- 
sand men, whereol ther was neer three thousand 
gallant horse. These, with the assistance of the 
toune and garrisoune of Yorke, miglit iiave done 
much to have recovered the victory, for the losse 
of this battell in effect lost the king and his in- 
terest in the three kingdomes, his majestie never 
being able eftir this to make head in the north, 
but lost his garrisons every day. 

" As for generall Lesselie, in the beginning ol 
tliis flight haveing that part of the army quite 
brocken, where he had placed himself, by the va- 
lour of the prince, he imagined, and was conferm- 
ed by the opinione of others then tipon the place 
with him, that the battell was irrecoverably lost, 
seeing they wer fleeing upon all hands; tiieirfore 
they humblie intreated his excellence to reteir and 
wait his better fortune; which, without farder ad- 
vyseing, he did; and never drew bridle until he 
came the lenth of Leads, havTng ridden all that 
night with a cloak of drap de berrie about him, 
belonging to this gentleman of whom 1 write, then 
in his retinue, with many other officers of good 
qualitie. It was neer twelve the next day before 
tliey had the certanety who was master of the field, 
when at length there arryves ane express, sent by 
David Lesselie, to acquaint the general they had 
obtained a most glorious victory, and that the 
prince, with his brocken troops, was fled from 
Yorke. This intelligence was somewhat amazeing 
to these gentlemen that had been eye witnesses to 
the disorder of the armie before ther retearing, 
and had then accompanied the general in his flight, 
who, being much wearyed that evening of the bat- 
tell with ordering his armie, and now quite 
spent with his long journey in the night, had cas- 
ten himselfe doune upon a bed to rest, when this 
gentleman coraeing quyetly into his chamber, he 
awoke, and hastily cries out, ' Lievetennent-col- 
lonell, what newes" — 'AH is safe, may it please 
your excellence, the parliament's armie hes ob- 
tained a great victory;' and then delyvers the let- 
ter. The generall, upon the hearing of this, knock- 
ed upon his breast and sayes, ' 1 would to God 1 
had dyed upon the place,' and then opens the let- 
ter, which, in a few lines, gave ane account of the 
victory, and in the close pressed his speedy re- 
turne to the armie, which he did the next day, 
being accompanyed some mylles back by this gen- 
tleman, who then takes his 'leave of him, and re- 
ceaved at parting many expressions of kyndenesse, 
with promises that he would never be unmyndful 
of his care and respect towards him; and in the 



ROKEBY. 



231 



end lie intreats him to present his service to all 
his friends and acquaintances in Scotland. Ther- 
eftir the generall sets forward in his journey for the 
armie, as this gentleman did for , 

in order tohisti'ansportatione for Scotland, where 
he arryved sex dayes eflir the fight of Mestoime 
Muir, and gave the first true account and descrip- 
tione of that great battell, wherein the covenanters 
then gloryed soe much, that they impiously boast- 
ed the Lord had now signally appeared for his 
cause and people, it being ordinary for them, dure- 
ing the wholl time of this warre, to attribute the 
greatness of their success to the goodness and jus- 
tice of their cause, until Divine Justice try sted them 
"with some cross dispensatione, and tlien you might 
have heard this language from them, ' That it 
pleases the Lord to give his ounethe heavj-est end 
of the tree to bear, that the saints and the people of 
God must still be sufferers while they are here 
away, that the malignant party was God's rod to 
punish them for ther unthankfulnesse, which in the 
end he will cast into the fire;' with a thousand 
other expressions and scripture citations, profanely 
and blasphemously uttered by them to palliate 
their villauie and rebellion." — Memoire of the 
Sumei-villes, Edinb. 1815. 

7. With Ills barbed liorse, fresh tidings say 

Sldiit Ciomwell bus redeemed the day. — 1'. 193. 

Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had 
a principal share in turning the fate of the day at 
Marston-moor, which was equally matter of tri- 
umph to the independents, and of grief and heart- 
burning to the presbyterians and to the Scottish. 
Principal Jiaillie expresses his dissatisfaction as 
follows: — 

" riie independents sent up one quickly to as- 
sure that all the gloty of that night nas theirs; 
and they and their major-general Cromwell harl 
done it all there alone: but captain Stuart after- 
ward showed the vanity and falsehood of their dis- 
graceful relation. God gave us that victory won- 
derfully. There were three generals on eacii side, 
Lesley, Fairfax, and Manciiester; Rupert, New- 
castle, and King. Withinhalf an hour and less, all 
six took them to tiieir heels; this to you alone. 
The disadvantage of the ground, and violence of 
the flower of prince Rupert's horse, carried all our 
right-wing down; only Eglinton kept ground, to 
his great loss; his lieutenaut-crowner, a brave man, 
I fear siiall die, and his son Robert be mutilated 
(if an arm. Liiidsay had the greatest hazard of any; 
hut the beginning of the victory was from David 
Ijesley. who before was much suspected of evil de- 
signs: he, with the Scots and Cromwell's horse, 
having the advantage of the ground, did dissipate 
all before them." — Jiaillie's.LeUersaiulJournats, 
Edinb. 1785, 8vo. ii, 36. 

8. Do not my native dales prolong 
Of IVrey Rede the tragic song, 
Trained forward to liis bloody fall. 
By Girsontield, that treacherous Hall:'— P. 193. 

In a poem, entitled " The Lay of the Reed water 
Minstrel," Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many 
others peculiar to the valley of the Reed, is com- 
memorated: — "The particulars of the traditional 
story of Percy Reed of Troughend, and the Halls 
of Girsonfield, the author bad from a descendant 
of the family of Reed. From this account it ap- 
peal's tliat Percival Reed, esquire, a keeper of 
Reedsdale, was betrayed by the H:<lls (hence de- 
nominated the false-hearted Ha's) to a band of 

17 



moss-troopers of the name of Crosier, who slew 
him at Batinghope, near the source of tlie Reed. 

"The Halls were, after the imn-der of Percy 
Reed, held in such universal abhorrence and con- 
tempt by the inhabitants of Reedsdale, for their 
cowardly and treacherous behavioiu-, that tlity 
were obliged to leave the country." In another 
passage we are informed that the ghost of the in- 
jtu-ed borderer is supposed to haunt the banks of 
a brook called the Pringle. These Reeds of Trough- 
end were a very ancient family, as may be con- 
jectured from their deriving their surname fi'om 
the river on which tliey had their mansion. An 
epitaph on one of their tombs affirms, that the 
family held their lands of Troughend, which are 
situated on the Reed, nearly opposite to Otterburn, 
for the incredible space of nine hundred years. 

9. And near the sjKjt that giwe me name, 
The moated mound of Aisingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburii"s cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone.— P. 194. 
Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beau- 
tiful hamlet of Woodburn, is an ancient Roman 
station, formerly called Habitancum. Camden 
says, that in his time the popular account bore 
that it had been the abode of a deity or giant, called 
Magon; and appeals, in support of this tradition, 
as well as to the etymology of Risingham, or Rei- 
senham, which signifies, in German, the habita- 
tion of the giants, to two Roman altars taken out 
of the river, inscribed, Deo JMogonti Cadetiorum. 
About half a mile distant from Risingham, upon 
an eminence covered with scattered birch-trees 
and fragments of rock, there is cut upon a large 
rock, in a'to relievo, a remai'kable figure, called 
Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Redesdale. It 
presents a hunter, with his bow raised in one hand, 
and in the other what seems to be a hare. There 
is a quiver at the back of the figure, and he is 
dressed in a long coat, or kirtle, coming down to 
the knees, and meeting close, with a girdle bound 
round him. Dr. Horsley, who saw all monuments 
of antiquity with Roman eyes, inclines to tliink 
this figure a Roman archer: and certainly the bow 
is rather of the ancient size than of that which was 
so formidable in the hand of the English archers 
of the middle ages. JJut the rudeness of the whole 
figure prevents our founding strongly upon mere 
inaccuracy of proportion. The popular tradition 
is that it represents a giant, whose brother re- 
sided at Woodburn, and he himself at liisingham. 
It adds, that they subsisted by hunting, and that 
one of them, finding the game become too scarce 
to support them, poisoned his companion, in 
whose memory the monument was engraven. 
Wiiat strange and tragic circumstance maj' be 
concealed under this legend, or whether it is ut- 
terly apocryphal, it is now impossible to discover. 
The name of Robin of Kedesdale was given to 
one of the Umfravilles, lords of Prudhow, and af- 
terwards to one Hilliard, a friend and follower of 
the king-making earl of Warwick. This person 
commanded an army of Norlhamptonsbire and 
northern men, who seized on and beheaded the 
earl of Rivers, father to Edward the fourth's queen, 
and his son, sir John Woodviile. — See HuUinshed, 
ad annum, 14G0. 



• Do thou revere 



The statutes of the buccaneer.— P. 194. 
Tiie " statutes of the buccaneers" were in reality 
more equitable than could have been expecied 



232 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



from the state of society under which they had 
been formed. They chiefly related, as may readily 
be conjectured, to the disti-ibutiou and the iuherit- 
»uce of their plunder. 

When the expedition was completed, the fund 
of prize-money acquired was throwu together, 
each party taking his oath that he had retained or 
eoncealed no part of the common stock. It any 
one transg;ressed in this important particular, the 
punishment was his being set ashore on some de- 
sert key or island, to shift for himself as he could. 
The owners of the vessel had then their share as- 
signed for the expenses of the outfit. These were 
generally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, 
St. Domingo, or some other French and English 
settlement. The surgeon's and carpenter's sala- 
ries, with the price of provisions and ammunition, 
were also defrayed. Then followed the compen- 
sation due to the maimed and wounded, rated ac- 
cording to the damage they had sustained; as six 
hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves, for the loss 
of an arm or leg, and so in proportion. 

" After this act of justice and humanity, the re- 
mainder of the booty was divided into as many 
shares as there were buccaneers. The commander 
couhl only lay claim to a single share, as the rest: 
but they complimented him with two or three, in 
proportion as he had acquitted himself to their 
satisfaction. When the vessel was not the property 
of the whole company, the person who had fitted 
it out, and furnished it with necessary arms and 
ammunition, was entitled to a third of all the 
prizes. Favour had never any influence in the di- 
vision of the booty; for eveiy share was determined 
by lot. Instances of such rigid justice as this are 
not easily met with, and they extended even to 
the dead. Their share was given to the man who 
was known to be their companion when alive, and 
therefore their heir. ]f the person who had been 
killed had no intimate, his part was sent to his 
relations, when they were known. If there were 
no friends nor relations, it was distributed in cha- 
rity to the poor and to churches, which were to 
pray for the person in whose name these benefac- 
tions were given, the fruits of inhuman but neces- 
sary piratical plunders." — RaynaVs History of Eu- 
ropean Setllements in the East and West Indies, 
by Justamand, Lend. 1776, 8vo. iii, p. 41. 

1S0TF.S TO CASTO II. 
1. — — the course of Tees. — P. 196. 



The view from Barnard castle commands the 
rich and magnificent valley of Tees. Immediately 
adjacent to the river, the banks are very tiiickly 
■wooded; at a little distance they are more open 
and cultivated; but being interspersed with hedge- 
rows, and with isolated trees of great size and age, 
they still retain the richness of woodland scenery. 
The river itself Hows in a deep trench of solid 
rock, chiefly limestone and marble. The finest 
view of its romantic course is from a handsome 
modern bridge built over the Tees, by the late 
Mr. Morrittof Rokeby. la Leland's time the mar- 
ble quaiTies seem to Lave been of some value. 
*' Hard under the cliff by Egleston, is found on 
eche side of Tese very fair marble, wont to be 
taken up booth by marbelers of Barnardes castelle 
and of Egleston, and partly to have been wrought 
bv them, and partly sold unwrought to others." — 
Itinerary, Oxford, '176?, 8vo. p. 88. 

2. — Eglistoae"a gr.iy ruins.— P. 196. 

The ruins of tliis abbey, or priory, for Turner 



calls it the former and Leland the latter, are beau- 
tifully situated upon the angle, formed by a little 
dell called Thorsgill, at its junction with the Tees. 
A good part of the religious house is still in some 
degree habitable, but the church is in ruins. Eg- 
listone was dedicated to St. Marv- and St. John 
the Baptist, and is supposed to have been founded 
by Ralph de Multon about the end of Henry the 
second's reign. There were formerly the tombs of 
the families of Rokebys, Bowes, and Fitzbughs. 
3. ^— ^— — ^ the mound 

Raised by that legion long renowned^ 
AVhose votive shrine asserts their claim. 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame. — P, 197. 
Close behind the George inn at Greta-bridge, 
there is a well-preserved Roman encampment, 
surrounded with a triple ditch, lying between the 
river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. The 
four entrances are easily to be discerned. Very 
many Roman altars and monuments have been 
found in the vicinity, most of which are preserved 
at Rokeby by my friend Mr. Moiritt. Among 
others is a small votive altar, with the inscription 
LEG. Ti. TIC. p. r. F. which has been rendereii Zk> 
g-io. Sexta. Victrix. Pia. Fortis. Fidelis. 

A. Rokcby"5 turrets high.— P. 197. 

This ancient manor long gave name to a family 
by whom it is said to have been possessed from 
the conquest downward, and who are at diff'erent 
times distinguished in history. It was the baron 
of Rokeby wTio finally defeated the insurrection of 
the earl of Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV, of 
which Hollinshed gives the following account: 

" The king, advertised hereof, caused a great 
armie to be assembled, and came forw.ird with the 
same towards his enemies; but yer the king came 
to Nottingham, sir Thomas (or, as other copies 
haue) sir Rate Rokesbie, shiritF of Yorkeshire, 
assembled the forces of the countrie to resist the 
earle and his power; comming to Grimbauthbrigs, 
beside Knaresborough, there to stop them the pas- 
sage; but they returning aside got to Weatherbie, 
and so to Tadcaster, and finally came forward uato 
Bramham moor, near to Haizelwood, where they 
chose their ground meet to fight upon. The shi- 
riffe was as readie to giue battell as the erle to 
receiue it; and so with a standard of St. George 
spread, set fiercelie vpon the earle, who, vnder a 
standard of his owne armes, encountered his ad- 
uersaries with great manhood. There was a sore 
incounter and cruell conflict betwixt the parties; 
but in the end the victorie fell to the shirifte. The 
lord Bardolfe was taken, but sore wounded, so 
that he shoillie after died of the hurts. As for the 
earle of Northumberland, he was slain outright; 
so that now the prophecy was fulfiled, which gaue 
an inkling of this his heauy hap long before, uume- 
lie, 

' Stirps Persitina periet confusa niina.' 
For this earle was the stocke and maine root of 
all that were left aliue, called by the name of I'er- 
sie; and of manie more by diuers slaughters dis- 
patched. For whose misfortune the people were 
not a little sorrie, making report of the gentleman's 
valiantnesse, renowne, and honour, and applicing 
vnto him certeine lamentable verses out of Lu- 
caine, saieing, 

' Sed nos nee sanguis, nee tantum vuhiera nostri 
.\ffectTe stiiis, quantum gtstata per urbem 
Ora ducis, qua; traus&xo detbrniia pilo 
Vidimus.' 
For his head, full of siluer horie haires, being put 
upon a stake, was openlie carried through London, 



ROKEBY. 



233 



and set ^'pon the bridge of the same citie: in like 
manner was the lord Bzr(iolk's."—JIollinshed's 
Chronicles, Lond. 1808, 4to. iii, 45. 

The Kokebv, or Rokesby, family continued to 
be distinguished until the great civil war, when, 
having erabniced the cause of Charles I, thev suf- 
fered severely by fines and confiscations. The es- 
tate then passed from its ancient possessors to the 
family of the Robinsons, from whom it was pur- 
chased by the father of my valued friend, the pre- 
sent proprietor. 



5. A stem and lone, yet lovely road. 

As e'er the foot of minstrel trodel — P. 197. 

What follows is an attempt to describe the ro 
tnantic glen, or rather ravine, through which the 
Greta finds a passage between Rokeby and Mor- 
tham, the former situated upon the left bank of 
Greta, the latter on the rigiit bank, about half a 
mile nearer to its junction with tlie Tees. The 
river runs with very great rapidity over a bed of 
solid rock, broken by many shelving descents, 
down which the stream dashes with great noise 
and impetuosity, vindicating its etymolosv, which 
has been deriveil from the Gothic, Gridan, to cla- 
mour. The banks partake of the same wild and 
romantic character, being chiefly lofty cliffs of 
limestone rock, whose gray colour contrasts ad- 
mirabl_v with the various trees and shrubs which 
find root among their crevices, as well as with the 
hue of the ivy, which clings around them in pro- 
fusion, and hangs down from their projections in 
long sweeping tendrils. At other points the rocks 
give place to precipitous banks of earth, bearing 
large trees intermixed with copse-wood. In one 
spot the dell, which is elsewhere very narrow, 
■widens for a space to leave room for a dark grove 
of yew-trees, intermixed here and there with aged 
pines of uncommon size. Directly opposite to this 
sombre thicket, the cliffs on the other side of the 
Greta are tall, white, and fringed with all kinds of 
deciduous shrubs. The whole scenery of this spot 
is so much adapted to tlie ideas of sujierstition, 
that it has acquired the name of Blockula, from 
the place where the Swedisli witches were supposed 
to hold their sabbath. The dell, however, has 
superstitions of its own growth, for it is supposed 
to be haunted by a female spectre, called the do- 
bie of Mortham. The cause assigned for her ap- 
pearance is a lady's hanng been whilom murdered 
in the wood, in evidence of whicli her blood is 
shown upon the stairs of the old tower of Mortham. 
But whether she was slain by a jealous husband, 
or by savage banditti, or by an uncle who covetetl 
her estate, or liy a rejected lover, are points upon 
which the traditions of Rokeby do not enable us 
to decide. 

6. What gales are sold on Lapland's shore.— P. 193. 

" Also 1 shall show very briefly what force con 
jurers and witches have in constraining the ele- 
ments enchanted by them or others, that they may 
exceed or fall short of their natural order: premis- 
ing this, that the extream land of North Finland 
and Lapland was so taught witchcraft formerly in 
heathenish times, as if tliey had learned this curs- 
ed art from Zoroastros tlie Persian; though other 
inhabitants by the sea-coasts are reported to be 
bewitched with the same madness: for they exer- 
cise this devilish art, of all the arts of the world, 
to admiration; and in this, or other such like 
mischief, they commonly agree. The Finlanders 
were wont formerly, amongst their other errors 



of gentilisme, to sell winds to merchants that were 
stopped on their coasts by contrary weatiier; and 
when they had their price, they knit three magi- 
cal knots, not, like to the laws of Cassius, bound up 
with a thong, and they gave them vnto the mer- 
chants; observing that rule, that when they im- 
looscd the first they sliould have a good gale of 
wind, when the second a stronger wind, but when 
they untied the third they should have such cruel 
tempests that they should not be able to look out 
of the forecastle to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot 
to pull down the sails, nor stand at the helm to 
govern the ship; and they made an unhappy trial 
of the truth of it, who denied that there was any 
such power in those knots. " — Olmcs .Magnus's his- 
tm-y of the Goths, Swedes, and Vandals, Lond. 
1658, fol. p. 47. 

7. How whittle rash bids tempests roar.— P. 193. 
That this is a general superstition is well known 

to all who have been on ship-board, or who have 
conversed with seamen. The most formidable 
whistler that I remember to have met with was 
the apparition of a certain Mrs. Leaky, who, about 
1636, resided, we are told, at Mynehead, in So- 
merset, where her only son drove a considerable 
trade between that port and Waterford, and was 
owner of several vessels. This old gentlewoman 
was of a social disposition, and so acceptable to 
her friends, that they used to say to her and to 
each other, it were pity such an excellent good- 
natured old lady should die; to which she was wont 
to reply, that whatever pleasure they might find 
in her company just now, they would not greatly 
like to see or converse with her after death, which 
nevertheless she was apt to think might happen. 
Accordingly, after her death and funeral, she be- 
gan to appear to various persons by niglit and by 
noonday, in her own house, in the town and 
fields, at sea and upon shore. So far had she de- 
parted from her former urbanity, that she is re- 
corded to have kicked a doctor of medicine for 
his impolite negligence in omitting to hand her 
over a style. It was also her humour to appear 
upon the quay, and call for a boat. But especially 
so soon as any of her son's ships approached the 
harbour, "this ghost would appear in the same 
garb and likeness as w hen she was .alive, and, stand- 
ing at the mainmast, would blow with a whistle, 
and though it were never so great a calm, yet im- 
mediately there would arise a most dreadful storm, 
that would break, wreck, and drown ship and 
goods." When she had thus proceeded until her 
son had neither credit to freight a vessel, nor could 
have procured men to sail it, she began to attack 
the persons of his family, and actually strangled 
their only child in the cradle. The rest of the storv, 
showing how the spectre looked over the shoulder 
of her daughter-in-law while dressing her hair at 
a looking-glass; and how Mrs. Leaky the younger 
took courage to address her; and how the beldam 
despatched her to an Irish prel.ate, famous for his 
crimes and misfortunes, to exhort him to repent- 
ance, and to apprize him that otherwise he would 
be hanged: and how the bishop was satisfied with 
replying, that if he was born to be hanged, he 
should not be drowned: — all these, with many 
more particulars, may be found at the end of one 
of John Dunton's publications, called Athcnianism, 
London, 1710, where the tale is engrossed under 
the title of the Apparition Evidence. 

8. Of Brick's cap and Elmo's U?ht.— P. 19a. 
" This Ericus, king of Sweden, in his time was 



234 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



held second to none in the magical art: and he 
vas so familiar with the evil spirits, which he ex- 
ceedingly adored, tliat which way soever he turned 
his cap, the wind would presently blow that way. 
From this occasion he was called Windy Cap; 
and many men believed that Regnerus, king of 
Denmark, by the conduct of this Ericus, who was 
his nephew, did happily extend his piracy into 
the most remote parts of the earth, and conipiered 
many countries and fenced cities by his cunning, 
and at last was his coadjutor; that by the consent 
of the nobles, he sliould be chosen king of Sweden, 
which continued a long time with -him very hap- 
pily, until he died of old age." — Olaus, ut supra, 
p. 45. 

9. The demon-frigate.— P. 198. 

This is an allusion to a well-known nautical su- 
perstition concerning a fantastic vessel, called by 
sailors the Flying Dulchman, and supposed to 
be seen about the latitude of the Cape of Good 
Hope. She is distinguished from earthly vessels 
by bearing a press of sail when all others are una^ 
Lie, from stress of we.^ther, to show an inch of 
c.invass. The cause of her wandering is not alto- 
gether certain; but the general account is, that she 
was originally a vessel loaded with great wealth, 
on board of which some horrid act of murder and 
piracy had been committed; that the plague broke 
out among the wicked crew who had perpetrated 
tiie crime, and that they sailed in vain from port 
to port, offering, as the price of shelter, the whole 
of their ill-gotten wealth; that they were excluded 
from every harbour, for fear of the contagion which 
was devouring them, and that, as a punishment of 
their crimes, the apparition oftlie ship still continues 
to haunt those seas in which the catastrophe took 
place, and is considered by the mariners as the 
worst of all possible omens. 

My late lamented friend. Dr. John Leyden, has 
introduced this phenomemon into his Scenes of 
Infancy, imputing, with poetical ingenuity, the 
dreadful judgment to the first ship which com- 
menced the slave trade: 

" Stout was the ship, from Benin's pabny shore 
That first the freig;ht of bartereil captives bore; 
Bediramed with blood, the sun with shrinking beams 
Behehl her bounding o'er the oeean streams; 
But^ ei-e the liioou her silver horns had reared. 
Amid the crew the speckled plague appeared. 
Faint and despairing on their watery bier, 
To every friendly shore the sailors steer; 
Repelled from port to port, they sue in vain, 
And track with slow luisteady sail the main. 
Where ne'er the bright and buoyant wave is seen 
To streak wilh wandering foam the sea-weeds green, 
Towers the tall mast a lone and leafless tree, 
Still self-impelled amid the waveless sea, 
Where summer breezes ne'er were heard to sing. 
Nor hovering snow-birds spread the downy wing. 
Fixed as a rock amid the boundless plain. 
The yellow stream pollutes the stagnant main, 
Till far through night the funeral Hames aspire, 
As the red lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

Still doomed by fate on weltering billows rolled, 
Along tlie deep their restless course to hold^ 
Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
The prow with sails opjiosed to w iiid and tide, 
The spectre ship, in livid glimpsing liglit, 
Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
Unlilest of God and man!— Till time shall end. 
Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend." 

10. by some desert isle or key.— P. 198. 



Wliat contributed much to tlie security of the 
buccaneers, about tlie Windward Islands, was the 

froat number of little islets, called in that country 
eys. These are small sandy palclies, appearing 
just above the surface of the ocean, covered only 



witli a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes af- 
fording springs of water, and in general much fre- 
([uented by turtle. Such little uninhabited spots 
afford tlie pirates good harbours, either tor refit- 
ting or for the purpose of ambush; they were oc- 
casionally the hiding-place of their treasure, and 
often aftbrded a shelter to themselves. As many of 
the atrocities which they practised on their prison- 
ers were committed in such spots, there are some 
of these keys which even now have an indifferent 
reputation among seamen, and where they are with 
difiiculty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, 
op account of the visionary terrors incident to 
places which have been thus contaminated. 
II. Before the gate of Morthara stood.— P. 199. 

The castle of Mortham, which Leland terms 
" Mr. Rokesby's place, in ripaciter, scant a tjuar- 
ter of a mile from Greta bridge, and not a quarter 
of a mile beneath into Tees," is a picturesque 
tower, surrounded by buildings of different ages, 
now converted into a farm-house and offices. The 
battlements of the tower itself are singidarly ele- 
gant, the architect having broken them at regular 
intervals into difterent heights; while those at the 
corners of the tower project into octangular tur- 
rets. They are also from space to space covered 
with stones laid across them, as in modern embra- 
sures, the whole forming an uncommon and beau- 
tiful eft'ect. The surrounding buildings are of a 
less happy form, being pointed into high and steep 
roofs. A wall, with embrasures, incloses the 
southern front, where a low portal arch affords an 
entry to what was the castle court. At some dis- 
tance is most happily placed, between the stems 
of two magnificent elms, the monument alluded to 
in the text. It is said to have been brought from 
(he ruins of Eglistone priory, and, from the ar- 
moury with which it is richly carved, appears to 
have been a tomb of the Eitz-Hughs. 

The situation of Mortham is eminently beauti- 
ful, occupying a high bank, at the bottom of which 
the Greta winds out of the dark, narrow, and ro- 
mantic dell, which the text has attempted to de- 
scribe, and flows onward through a more open 
valley to meet the Tees, about a quarter of a mile 
from the castle. Mortham is surrounded by old 
trees, happily and widely grouped with Mr. Mor- 
ritt's new plantations. 

12. There dig, and tomb your precious heap. 

And bid the dead your treasure keep.— P. 199. 

If time did not permit the buccaneers to lavish 
away their plunder in their usual debaucheries, 
they were wont to hide it, with many superstitious 
solemnities, in the desert islands and keys which 
they frequented, and where much treasure, whose 
lawless owners perished without reclaiming it, is 
still supposed to be concealed. The most cruel of 
mankind are often the most superstitious, and 
these pirates are said to have had recourse to a 
horrid ritual in order to secure an unearthly guar- 
dian to their treasures. They killed a negro or 
Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, believ- 
ing that his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify 
away all intruders. 1 cannot produce any otiier 
authority on which this custom is ascribed totliem 
than that of maritime tradition, which is, however, 
amply sufficient for the purposes of poeiiy. 



1.1. The powiv 

That unsubdued and lurking lies 
To take the felon by surprise.— P. 199. 
\11 who are conversant with the administration 
of criminal justice must remember many bcca- 



ROKEBY. 



235 



sions in which malefactors appear to have conduct- 
ed themselves with a species of infatuation, either 
by making unnecessary confidences respecting 
their guilt, or by sudden and involuntary allusions 
to circumstances by which it could not fail to be 
exposed. A remarkable instance occurred in the 
celebrated case of Eugene Aram. A skeleton be- 
ing found near Knaresborough, was supposed, by 
the persons who gathered around the spot, to be 
the remains of one Clarke, who had disappeared 
some years before, under circumstances leadin_ 
to a suspicion of liis having been murdered. One 
Houseman, who had mingled in the crowd, sud- 
denly said, while looking at the skeleton, and hear- 
ing the opinion which was buzzed around, "That 
is no more Dan Clarke's bone than it is mine !" — 
a sentiment expressed so positively, and with such 
peculiarity of manner, as to lead all who heard 
him to infer that he must necessarily know where 
the real body had been interred. Accordingly, 
being apprehended, he confessed having assisted 
Eugene Aram to murder Clarke, and to hide his 
body in saint Robert's cave. It happened to the 
author himself, while conversing with a person 
accused of an atrocious crime, for the purpose of 
rendering him professional assistance upon his 
trial, to hear the prisoner, aflftr the most solemn 
and reiterated protestations that he was guiltless, 
suddenly, and, as it were, hivoluntarily, in the 
course of his communications, make such an ad- 
mission as was altogether incompatible with inno- 
cence. 

14. Brackenbury's dismal tower.— P. 201. 

This tower has been already mentioned: it is 
situated near the north-eastern extremity of the 
wall which incloses Barnard castle, and is tradi- 
tionally said to have been the prison. By an odd 
coincidence it bears a name which we naturally 
connect with imprisonment, from its being that of 
sir Robert Brackenbury, lieutenant of the tower 
of London, under Edward IV and Richard 111. 

15. Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 
Must fine for freedom and estate. 



Rip^ht heavy shall his ransom be. 

Unless that maid compound with thee:— P. 201. 
After the battle of Marston moor, the earl of 
Newcastle retired beyond sea in disgnst, and many 
of his follower? laid down their arms, and made 
the best composition they could with the commit- 
tees of parliament. Fines were imposed upon them 
in proportion to their estates and degrees of de- 
linquency, and these fines were often bestowed 
upon such persons as had deserved well of the 
commons. In some circumstances it happened tliat 
the oppressed cavaliers were fain to form family 
alliances with some powerful person among the 
triumphant party. The whole of sir Robert How- 
ard's excellent comedy of the Committee turns 
upon the plot of Mr. and Mrs. Day to enrich their 
family, by compelling Arabella, whose estate was 
under sequestration, to marry their son Abel, as 
the price by which she was to compound with par- 
liament for delinquency; that is, for attachment to 
the royal cause. 

NOTES TO CANTO III. 

1. The Indian, prowlinq; for his prey. 

Who hears the settlers track his way. — P. 201. 

Thepirtience, abstinence, and ingenuity exerted 
by the North American Indians, when in pursuit 
jf plunder or vengeance, is liie most distinguished 



feature in their character; and the activity and ad- 
dress which they display in their retreat is equal- 
ly surprising. Adair, whose absurd hypotliesis 
and turgid style do not att'ect the general authen- 
ticity ot his anecdotes, has recorded an instance 
which seems incredible. 

" When the Chickasah nation was engaged in a 
former war with the Muskohge, one of their young 
warriors set off against them to revenge the blood 
ot a near relation. — He went through the most un- 
frequented and thick parts of the woods, as such 
a dangerous enterprise required, till he arrived 
opposite to the great and old beloved town of re- 
fuge, Koosah, which stands high on the eastern 
side of a bold river, about 250 yards broad, that 
runs by the late dangerous Alebahma-fort, down 
to the black poisoning Mobille, and so into the 
gulf of Mexico. There he concealed himself under 
cover of the top of a fallen pine-tree, in view ot 
the ford of the old trading path, where the enemy 
now and then pass the river in their light poplar 
canoes. All his war store of provisions consisted " 
in three stands of barbicued venison, till he had 
an opportunity to revenge blood, and return home. 
He waited with watchfulness and patience almost 
three days, when a young man, a woman, and a 
girl, passed a little wide of him about an hour be- 
fore sunset. The former he shot down, tomahawk- 
ed the other two, and scalped each of them in a 
trice, in full view of the town. By way of bravado, 
he shaked the scalps before them, soimdcd the 
awful death-whoop, and set off along the trading 
path, trusting to his heels, while a great many of 
the enemy ran to their arms, and gave chase. Se- 
ven miles from thence he entered the great blue 
ridge of the Apalahche mountains. About an hour 
before day he had run over seventy miles of that 
mountainous tract; then, after sleeping two hours 
in a sitting posture, leaning his back against a tree, 
he set off again with fresh speed. As he threw 
away the venison when he found himself pursued 
by the enemy, he was obliged to support nature 
with such herbs, roots, and nuts, as his sharp eyes, 
with a running glance, directed him to snatch up 
in his course. Though I often have rode that war- 
path alone, when delay might have proved dan- 
gerous, and with as fine and strong horses as any 
in America, it took me five days to ride from the 
aforesaid Koosah to this sprightly warrior's place 
in the Chickasah country, the distance of 300 com- 
puted miles; yet he ran it, and got home safe and 
w ell at about eleven o'clock of the third day, which 
was only one day and a half and two nights." — • 
Jldair''s History of the American Indians, Lond. 
1775, 4to. p. 395. 

2. In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared.— P. 201. 
" What manner of cattle-stealers they are that 
inhabit these valleys in the marches of both king- 
doms, John Lesley, a Scotchman himself, and 
bishop of Ross, will inform you. They sally out 
of their own borders in the night, in troops, through 
unfrequented by-ways and many intricate wind- 
ings; all the day-time they refresh themselves and 
their horses in lurking holes they had pitched upon 
before, (ill they arrive in the dark in those places 
they have a design upon. As soon as they have 
seized upon the booty, they in like manner return 
home in the night, through blind ways, and fetch- 
ing many a compass. The more skilful any cap- 
tain is to pass through those wild deserts, crooked 
turnings, and deep precipices in the thickest mists 



236 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



his reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon 
as a mun of an excellent head. And they are so 
very cunning that they seldom have their hooty 
taken from them, unless sometimes when, by the 
help of blood-iionnds following them exactly upon 
the track, they may chance to fall into the hands 
of their adversaries; Avhen, being taken, they have 
so much persuasive eloquence, and so many smooth 
insinuating words at command, that if they do not 
move tiieir judges, nay, and even their adversa- 
ries, (notwithstanding the severity of their natures,) 
to have mercy, yet tliey incite them to admiration 
and compassion." — Camdcti's Britannia. 

The inhabitants of the vallies of Ty ne and Reed 
were, in ancient times, so inordinately addicted 
to these depredations, that in 15C4 the incorporated 
merchant-adventurers of Newcastle made a law 
that none born in these districts should be admit- 
ted apprentice. The inhabitants are stated to be 
so generally addicted to rapine, that no faith should 
be reposed in those proceeding from " such lewde 
and wicked progenitors." This regulation con- 
tinued to stand unrepealed until 1771. A beggar, 
in an old play, describes himself as "born in 
Redesdale, in Northumberland, and come of a 
wight-riding surname, called the Uobsons, good 
honest men and true, save a little shifting for 
their livins; God help them;" — a description wh'icii 
would have applied to most borderers on both sides. 

Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives 
name, is on the very edge of the Carter-fell, which 
divides England from Scotland. The Rooken is a 
place upon lleedwater. Bertram, being described 
as a native of tiiese dales, wliere the habits of hos- 
tile depredation long survived the union of the 
crowns, may have been, in some degree, prepared 
by education for the exercise of a similar trade in 
the wars of the buccaneers. 

3. Hiding; his faoe, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye.— P. 202. 

After one of the recent battles, in which the 
Irish rebels were defeated, one of the most active 
leaders was found in a bog, in which he was im- 
mersed up to the shoulders, while his head was 
concealed by an impending ledge of turf. Being 
detected and seized, notwithstanding his precau- 
tion, he became solicitous to know how his retreat 
had been discovered. "I caught," answered the 
Sutherland highlander, by whom he was taken, 
" the sparkle of your eye." Those who are accus- 
tomed to mark hares upon their form, usually dis- 
cover them by the same circumstance. 

4. And throatwort with its azure bell.— P. 202. 
The CAMPANULA. LATiFOLiA, graiul throatwort, 

or Canterbury bells, grows in profusion upon the 
beautiful banks of the river Greta, where it divides 
the manors of Brignal and Scargill, about three 
miles above Greta-bridge. 

5. Here stood a wretch, prtpai*ed to change 
His soul's redemption fur revenge !— P. 202. 

It is agreed by all the writers upon magic and 
witchcraft, that revenge was the most common 
motive for the pretended eotuijact between Satan 
and his vassals. The ingenuity of Reginald Scot, 
has very happily stated iiow sucli an opinion came 
to root itself, «ot ovdy in the mind of the public 
and of the judges, but even in tliat of the poor, 
wretcbes themselves who were accused of sorcery, 
and were often firm believers in theiv own power 
und their own guilt. 

" One sort of such as are said to be witches, are 



women which be commonly old, lame, blear-eyed, 
pale, foul, and full of wrinkles; poor, sullen, su- 
perstitious, or papists, or such as know no religion; 
in whose drowsie minds the devil hath gotten a 
fine seat; so as what mischief, mischance, calamity, 
or slaughter is brought to pass, they are easily 
jterswaded the same is done by themselves, im- 
printing in their minds an earnest and constant 

imagination thereof These go from house 

to house, and from door to door, for a pot of milk, 
yest, drink, pottage, or some such relief, without 
the which they could hardly live; neither obtain- 
ing for their services or pains, nor yet by their 
art, nor yet at the devil's hands (with whom they 
are said to make a perfect and visible bargain,) 
either beauty, money, promotion, wealth, pleasure, 
honour, knowledge, learning, or any other benefit 
whatsoever. 

" It falleth out many time, that neither their 
necessities nor their expectation is answered or 
served in those places where they beg or borrow, 
but rather their lewdness is by {heir neighbours 
reproved. And larther, in tract of time, the witch 
waxeth odious and tedious to Iter neighbours, and 
they again are despised and despited of her; so as 
sometimes she curseth one, and sometimes an- 
other, and that from^lhe master of the house, his 
wife, children, cattle, &c., to the little pig that 
lieth in the stie. Tlifis, in process of time, they 
have all displeased her, and she hath wished evil 
luck unto them all; ])erhaps with curses and im- 
precations made in form. Doubtless (at length) 
some of her neighbours die or fall sick, or some 
of their children are visited with diseases tiiat ve.x 
them strangely, as apoplexies, epilepsies, convul- 
sions, hot fevers, worms, he. which, bj- ignorant 
parents, are supposed to be the vengeance of 
witches. 

"The witch, on the other side, expecting her 
neighbours' mischances, and seeing tilings some- 
times come to pass according to her wishes, curses, 
and incantations, (for Bodin himself confesses, lliat 
not above two in a hundred of their witchings or wish- 
ings take effect, ) being called before a j ustice, by due 
examination of the circumstances, is driven to see 
her imprecations and desires, and her neighbours' 
harms and losses to concur, and, as it were, to take 
effect; and so confesseth that she (as a goddess) hath 
brought such things to pass. Wherein not only 
she, but the accuser, and also the justice, are foul- 
ly deceived and abused, as being, througli her con- 
fession, and other circumstances, perswaded (to 
the injury of God's glory) that she hath done, or 
can do, that which is proper only to God himself." 
— Scot''s Discovery of Witchcraft, Loudon, 1655, 
fol. pp. 4, 5. 

6. Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of Calverh-y and Bradford downs. —P. 203. 

I'he troops of the king, when they first took the 
field, were as well disciplined as could be expected 
from circumstances. But as the circumstances of 
Charles became less favourable, and his funds for 
regularly paying his forces decreased, habits of 
military license prevaileil upon them in greater 
excess. Licy tiie player, who served his master 
during the civil war, brought out, after llie Kesto- 
ration, a piece called the Old Troop, in which he 
seems to liave commemorated some real incidents 
w hich occurred in his military career. The names 
of the ofticers of the troop, sufficiently express 
their habits. We have Flea-flint, Plunder-master- 
general, captain Ferret-tarm, and quarter-master 



ROKEBY. 



237 



Burn-drop. Tlie officers of the troop are in league 
with these worthies, and connive at their plunder- 
ins; the countiy for a suitable share in the plunder. 
aO (his was undoubtedly drawn from the life, 
whirii Lacy had an opportunity to study. The 
moral of the wiiole is comprehended in a rebuke 
given to the lieutenant, whose disorders in the 
country are said to prejudice tlie king's cause 
more than his courage in the field could recom- 
pense. The piece is by no means void of farcical 
humour. 

7. —Bridal's woods, and Scargill's, wave 

E'eu now o'tr many a sister cave.— P. 204. 

The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford- 
bridge, abound in seams of a grayish slate, which 
are wrought in some places to a very great deptli 
under ground, thus forming artificial caverns, 
which, when the seam has been exhausted, are 
gradually hidden by the underwood which grows 
in profusion upon the romantic banks of the river. 
In times of public confusion, they might be well 
adapted to the purposes of banditti. 

8. When Spain waged waifare with oui- land.— P. 205. 
' There was a short war with Spain in 1625-6, 
■which will be found to agree pretty well with the 
chronology of the poem. But probably Bertram 
held an opinion very common among the maritime 
heroes of the age, that "there was no peace be- 
yond the Line." The Spanish j;;ia)-Ja castas were 
constantly employed in aggressions upon the trade 
and settlements of the English and French, and 
by their own severities gave room for the system 
of buccaneering, at first adopted in self-defence and 
retaliation, and afterwards persevered in from habit 
and a thirst of plunder. 

9. . our comrades' strife.— P. 205. 

The laws of the buccaneers, and their successors 
the pirates, however severe and equitable, were, 
like other laws, often set aside by the stronger 
party. Their quarrels about the division of the 
spoil'fiU their history, and they as frequently arose 
out of mere frolic, or the tyrannical humour of then- 
chiefs. An anecdote of Teach (called Blackbeard) 
shows that their habitual indifterence for human 
ilife extended to their companions as well as their 
'' 'enemies and captives. 

" One night drinking in his cabm with Hands, 
the pilot, and another man, Blackbeard, without 
any provocation, privately draws out a small pair 
of pistols, and cocks them under the table, which 
being perceived bv the man, he withdrew upon 
deck, leaving Hands, the pilot, and the captain to- 
gether. When the pistols were ready, he blew 
out the candles, and cossinghis hands, discharged 
tliem at his company; Hands the master was shot 
throu.n-h the knee, and lamed for life; the other 
pistol" did no execution."— /o/mso7t's History of 
Pirates, Lond. 1724, 8vo. vol. i, p. 88. 

Another anecdote of this worthy may be also 
mentioned. "The hero of whom we are writing was 
thoroughly accomplished this way, and some of his 
frolics of wickedness were so extravagant, as if he 
aimed at making his men believe he was a devil 
incarnate; for one day being at sea, an<l a little 
flushed with drink, ' Come,' says he, ' let us make 
a hell of our own, and try how long we can bear 
it ' Accordingly he, with two or three others, 
went down into the hohl, and, closing up all the 
hatches, filled several pots full ot brimstone and 
other combustible matter, and set it on fire, and 
so continued till they were almost suflocatcd, when 



some of the men cried out for air. At length he 
opened the hatches, not a little pleased that he 
held out the longest." — Ibid. p. 90. 

10. my rangers go 

Even now to track a milk-wliite doe.— P. 206. 
" Immediately after supper, the huntsman 
should go to his master's chamber, and if he serve 
a king, then let him go to tlie master of the game's 
chamber, to know in what qviarter he determineth 
to hunt the day following, that he may know his 
own quarter; that done, he may go to bed, to the 
end, that he may rise the earlier in the morning, ac- 
cording to the time and season, and according to the 
place where he must hunt; tiien, when he is up and 
ready, let him drinke a good draught, and fetch 
his hound, to make him breake his fast a little; and 
let him not forget to fill his boltel with good wine; 
that done, let him take a little vinegar into the 
palme of his hand, and put it in tlie nostrils of his 
hoiind, for to make him snufte, to the end his scent 
may be the perfecter; then let him go to the wood. 

\A hen the huntsman perceiveth that it is 



time to begin to beat, let him put his hound before 
him, and beat the outsides of springs or thickets; 
and if he find an hart or deer that likes him, let 
him mark well whether it be fresh or not, which 
he may know as well by the manner of his hounds 

drawing, as also by the eye. When he hath 

well considered wiiat manner of hart it may be, 
and hath marked every thing to judge by, then 
let him draw till he come to the couert where he 
is gone to; and let him harbour him if he can, still 
marking all his tokens, as well by the slot as by the 
entries, foyles, or such-like. That done, let him 
plash or brush down small twigges, some aloft and 
some below, as the artrequireth, and therewithall, 
whilest his hound is bote, let him beat the outsides, 
and make his ring walkes twice or thrice about the 
wood." — The JVoble Art of Venerie, or Hunting, 
Lond. 1611, 4to. pp. 76, 77. 

11. He turned his charger as he spake, &:c. — P. 206. 

The last verse of this song is taken from the 
fragment of an old Scottish ballad, of which I only 
recollected two verses, when the first edition of 
Itokeby was published. Mr. Thomas Sheridan 
kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this 
beautiful song, which seems to express the fortunes 
of some follower of the Stuart family: 

It was a' for our rightful king 

That we left fair Scotland's strand, 
It was a' for our rightful king 

That we e'er saw Irish land. 
My dear! 

That we e'er saw Irish land. 
Now all is done that man can do. 

And all is done in vain! 
My love! my native land, adieu! 

For I must cross tlie main. 
My dear! 

For I must cross the main. 

He turned him round and right about. 

All on the Irish shore, 
He gave his biidle-reins a shake. 

With, Adieu for evermore, 
]My dear! 

Adieu for evermore. 
The soldier frae the war returns. 

And the merchant frae the amin. 
But I hae parted wi' ray love, 

And ne'er to meet again. 

My dear! 

And ne'er to meet again. 
When day is gone, and night ig eome. 

And a' are boun' to sleep, 



238 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I think on them that's fai- awa 
The lee-lang night, and weep, 

My dearl 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 
12. The baron of Ravensworlh.— P. 207. 
The ruins of K.ivensworth castle stands in the 
North Ridins^of Yorkshire, about three miles from 
the town of Richmond, and adjoining to the waste 
called the forest of Arkingarth. It belonged origi- 
nally to the powerful family of Fitzhugh, from 
whom it passed to the lords Dacre of the south. 
13. ■ Rere-cross on Stanraore.— P. 207. 

Tiiis is a fragment of an old cross with its pedi- 
ment, surrounded hy an entrenchment, upon the 
very summit of the waste ridge of Stanmore, near 
a small house of entertainment called the spittal. 
It is called rere-cross, or ree-cross, of which Hol- 
linshed gives us the following explanation: — 

" At length a peace was concluded betwixt the 
two kings vnder these conditions, that Malcome 
should enjoy that part of Northumberland which 
lic'th betwixt Tweed, Cumberland, and Stainmore, 
and doo homage to the kinge of England for the 
same. In the midst of Stainmore there shall be a 
crosse set up, with the kinge of England's image 
on the one side, and the kinge of Scotland's on 
the other, to signitie that one is march to England, 
and the other to Scotland. This crosse was called 
the roi-crosse, that is, the crosse of the kinge." — 
IMlmshcil,\.<>Mi. 1S08, 4to. p. 2S0. 

HoUinshed's sole authority seems to have been 
Boelhius. But it is not improbable that his account 
may be the true one, although the circumstance 
does not ocoiu- in Wintoun's Chronicle. The situ- 
ation of the cross, and the pains taken to defend 
it, seem to indicate that it was intended for a land- 
mark of importance. 

14. ■ hast thou lodged our deer?— P. 207. 

The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first to 
lodge, or harbour the deer; /. e. to discover his 
retreat, as described at length in note 10, and then 
to make his report to his prince, or master: 
" Before the king I come report to make. 

Then husli and peace for noble Tristramc's s.ike 

My liege, I went this morning on my quest. 
My liound did stieke, and seemed to vent some beast. 
I heKl liira short, and drawing aft<r him, 
I might behold the liart was feeding trym; 
His head was high, and large io each degree. 
Well paulmed eke, and seemed full sound to be, ^ 

Of colour hrownc, he beareth eight and tenne. 
Of stately htiglit and long he seemed then. 
His beaut seemed great, in good proportion led. 
Well barred and roiiml, well pearled neare his head. 
He seemed fayre tweene blacke and berrie brounde, 
He seems well fed by all the signes T found. 
For when I had well marked him with the eye, 
I stept aside, to watch where he would lye. 
And when I so had wayted full an houre. 
That he might be at layre and in his boure, 
I cast about to harbour him full sure; 
My hound by sent did me thereof assure ■ 
Then if he ask what slot or view 1 found, 
1 say the slot or view was long on ground; 
The toes were great, the jojnit bones round and short. 
The shinne bones large, the dew-claws close in port: 
Short ioynted was he, hollow-footed eke. 
And hart to hunt as any man can seeke." 

The Art oj Vcneric, ut supra, p. Ofi. 

NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
1. When Denmark's raven soared on high. 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky. 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke.— P. 207. 
About the year of God 806, the Danes, under 
their celebrated leaders Inguar (more properly 



Agnar) and Hubba, sons, it is said, of the «tili 
more celebrated Regnar Lodbrog, invaded North- 
umberland, bringing with them the magical stand- 
ard, so often mentioned in poetiy, called reafen, 
or raunfan, from its bearing the figure of a raven: 

■Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king, 
Of furious Ivar in a midnight hour: 
While the sick moon, at their enchanted song 
Wrapt in pale tempest, labour'd thro' the cloudSt 
The demons of destruction then, they say. 
Were all abroad; and, mixing with the woof 
Their baleful power, the sisters ever sung, 
" Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes." 

Thomson and MalleVs Alfred. 

The Danes renewed and extended their incur- 
sions, and begun to colonize, establishing a kinil 
of capital at York, from which they spread their 
contiuests and incursions in every direction. Stan- 
more, which divides the mountains of Westmore- 
land and Cumberland, was probably the boundary 
of the Danish kingdom in that direction. The dis- 
trict to the west, known in ancient British history 
by the name of Reged, had never been conquered by 
the Saxons, and continued to maintain a precarious 
independence, until it was ceded to Malcolm, king 
of Scots, by William the Conqueror, probably on 
account of its similarity in laoguage and manners 
to the neighbouring British kingdom of Strath 
Clyde. 

Upon the extent and duration of the Danish so- 
vereignty in Northumbei'laiid, the curious may 
consult the various authorities quoted in the Gcsta 
et Vestiffia Danorum extra Dimiain, vol. ii, p. 
40. The most powerful of their Northumbrian 
leaders seems to have been Ivar, called, from the 
extent of his conquests, Widfaim, that is. The 
Strider. 

2. Where Tees in tumult leaves his source. 

Thundering o'er Caldron iuid High-Force. — P. 207. 

The Tees rises about the skirts of Crossfell, 
and falls over the cataracts named in the text be- 
fore it leaves the mountains which divide the 
North Riding from Cumberland. High-force is 
seventy-five feet in heigiit. 

3. Beneath the shade tlie northmen came. 
Fixed on each vale a Runic name. — P. 207. 

The heathen Danes have left several traces of « 
their religion in the upper part of Teesdale. Bal- 
dei'-Garth, which derives its name from the unfor- 
tunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste land on the 
very ridge of Stanmore; and a brook, which falls 
into the Tees near Barnard castle, is named after 
the same deity. A field upon tlie banks of the Tees 
is also termed Woden-Croft, from the supreme 
deity of the Edda. Thorsgill, of which a descrip- 
tion is attempted in Stanza II, is a beautiful little 
brook and dell, running up behind the ruins of 
Eglistone Abbey. Thof was tiie Hercules of the 
Scandinavian mythology, a dreaded "iant-queller, 
and in that capacity the champion ot the gods and 
the defender of Asgar<l, the northern Olympus, 
against the frequent attacks of the inhabitants of 
.lotunheim. There is an old poem in the Edda of 
Saimund, called the song of Thrym, which turns 
upon the loss and recovery of the mace, or liam- 
mer, which was Thor's principal weapon, and on 
which much of his power seems to have depended. 
It may be re:td to great advantage in a version 
equally spirited and" literal, among the Miscella- 
neous Translations and Poems of tlie Honourable 
William Herbert. 

4. Who has not heard how brave O'Neiile 
In English blood imbrued his steel.— P. 208. 



ROKEBY. 



239 



Tlic O'Neale here meant, for more than one 
svicceeded to the chieftainship during the reign of 
Elizabeth, was Hugh, the grandso:i of Con O' 
Neale, called Con-Bacco, or the Lame. His father, 
Matthew O'Kellv, was illegitimate, and, being the 
son of a blacksmith's wife, was nsiially called 
Matthew the Blacksmith. His father, nevertheless, 
destined his succession to him; and he was created, 
by Elizabeth, baron of Uungannon. Upon the 
death of Con-Bacco, this Matthew was slain by 
his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the same fate, 
and was protected by the Rnglish. Shane O'Neale, 
Ills uncle, called Shane-Dvmas, was succeeded by 
Turlough Lynogh O'Neale; after whose death, 
Hugh, having assumed the chieftainship, became 
nearly as formidable to the English as any by whom 
it hail been possessed. He rebelled repeatedly, 
and as often made submissions, of which it was 
usually a condition that he should not any longer 
assume the title of O'Neale; in lieu of which he 
was created earl of Tyrone. But this condition he 
never observed longer than until the pressure of 
superior force was withdrawn. His baffling the 
gallant carl of Essex in the field, and over-reach- 
ing him in a treaty, was the induction to that no- 
bleman's tragedy. Lord Mountjoy succeeded in 
finally subjugating O'Neale; but it was not till the 
succession oi" James, to whom he nuide personal 
submission, and was received with civility at court. 
Yet, according to Morrison, " no respect to him 
could containe many weomen in those parts, who 
had lost husbands and children in the Irish warres, 
from flinging durt and stones at the earle as he 
passed, and from reuiling him with bitter words; 
yea, when the earle had been at court, and there 
obtaining his majesty's direction for his pardon 
aud performance of all conditions promised him 
by the lord Mountjoy, was about September to re- 
turne, bee durst not passe by those parts without 
direction to the sheriftes, to conuay him with 
troopes of horse from place to place, till he was 
safely imbai-ked and put to sea for Ireland." — Iti' 
iierarii, p. '296. 

5. But chief arose his victor pride. 
When that brave marshal fought and died.— P. 208, 

The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over 
the English was in a battle fought near Blackwater, 
while he besieged a fort garrisoned by the English, 
which commanded the passes into his country. 

" The captaine and his few warders did with 
no less courage suffer hunger, and, having eaten 
the few horses they had, lived \^on hearbes grow- 
ing in the ditches and wals, suftering all extremi- 
ties, till the lord-lieutenant, in the moneth of Au- 
gust, sent sir Henry Bagnal, marshall of Ireland, 
with the most choice companies of foote and horse 
troopes of the English army, to victual this fort, 
and to raise the rebels' siege. When the English 
entered the jilace and thicke woods beyond Ar- 
magh, on the east side, Tyrone (with all the rebels 
assembled to him) pricked forward with rage, 
enuy, and settled rancour against the marshal, as- 
sayled the English, and turning his full force 
against the marshall's person, had the successe to 
kill him valiantly fighting among the thickest of 
the rebels. Wiiereupon the English being dis- 
mayed with his death, the rebels obtained a great 
victory against them. I terme it gi'eat, since the 
English, from their first arriuall in that kingdome, 
neuer had receiued so gi-eat an ouerthrow as this, 
commonly called the defeat of Blackwater; thir- 
teene valiant captaines and 1500 common souldiers 



(whereof many were of the old companies which 
had serued in Britanny vnder geneiall Norreys) 
were slaiu in the field. The yielding of the fort of 
Blackwater followed this disaster, when the as- 
saulted guard saw no hope of relief; but especially 
vpon messages sent to captaine Williams, from 
our broken torces, retired to Armagh, professing 
that all their safety depended vpon his yielding 
the fort into the hands of Tyrone, without which 
danger captain Williams professed that no want or 
miserie should have induced him thereunto."— 
Fifties JMorysoti's Itinerani, London, 1617, fol. 
part ii. p. 24. 

Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal 
animosity against the knight-marshal, sir Henry 
Bagnal, whom he accused of detaining the letters 
which he sent to queen Elizabeth, explanatory of 
his conduct, and oHViing tirms of submission. The 
river, called by tlie Knt;lisb Blackwater, is termed, 
in Irish, Avon-Dutt', wiiicli bas the same significa- 
tion. Both names are mentioned by Spenser in his 
"Marriage of the Tliames and the Medway." 
But I understand that his verses relate not to the 
Blackwater of Ulster, but to a river of the same 
name in the south of Ireland: — 

Swift Avon-Duff, wliich of the Englishmen 
Is called Black-water 

6. The tanist he to great O'Neale.— P. 208. 

" Eiidox. What is this which you call tanist 
andtanistry? These be names and terms never 
heard of nor known to us. 

" Tren. It is a custome amongst all the Irish, 
that, presently after the death of one of tiieir chiefe 
lords or captaines, they doe presently assemfble 
themselves to a place generally appointed and 
knowne unto them, to choose another in his stead, 
where they doe nominate and elect, for the most 
part, not the eldest Sonne, nor any of the children 
of the lord deceased, but the next to him in blood, 
that is the eldest and worthiest, as commonly the 
next brother unto him, if he have any, or the next 
cousin, or so forth, as any is elder in that kindred 
or sept; and then next to him doe they choose the 
next of the blood to be tanist, who shall next suc- 
ceed him in the said cay)tainry, if he live thereunto. 

" Eiidox. Do they not use any ceremony in this 
election, for all barbarous nations are commonly 
great observers of ceremonies and superstitious 
rites ? 

"■Iren. They use to place him that shall be their 
captaine upon a stone, always reserved to that 
purpose, and placed commonly upon a hill. In 
some of which I have seen formed and engraven a 
foot, which they say was the measure of their first 
captaine'sfoot; whereuponhee standing,receives an 
oath to preserve all the auncient former customes 
of the countrey inviolable, and to deliver up the 
succession peaceably to his tanist, and then hath a 
wand delivered unto him by some whose proper 
office that is; after which, descending from the 
stone, he turneth himself round, thrice forwards 
and thrice backwards. 

*' Eudox. But how is the tanist chosen? 

" Iren. They say he setteth but one foot upon 
the stone, and receiveth the like oath that ihe 
captaine did." — Spenser's Vie^v of ihe Slate of Ire- 
land, apud Works, Lond. 1805, 8vo. vol. viii, p. 
306. 

The tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the heir 
apparent of his power. This kind of succession 
appears also to have regulated, in very remote 
times, the succession to the crown of Scotland. It 



uo 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■would have been imprudenl, if not impossible, to 
liave asserted a minor's risrhl of succession in those 



stormy days, when tlie princijjles of policy were 
summed up in my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines: 

—— the good old rule 

Sufficeth tliem; the simple plan, 
That they should take who have the power, 
And they should keep who can. 

7. His plaited hair in elf-locks spread, &c. — P. 208. 
Tiiere is here an attempt to describe the ancient 
Irish dress, of which a poet of queen Elizabeth's 
day has given us the following particulars: 
I mervailde in my mjaide, 
and thereupon did muse, 
To see a bride of heavenlie hewe 

an oug;lie fere to chuse. 
This bride it is the soile, 

the bridegroom is the karne, 
WitJi writhed glibbes, like wicked spirits, 

with visage rough and stearne; 
With senilis upon their poales, 

instead of civiil cappes; 
With spears in hand, and swordes by sides, 

to beare of'afcer clappes; 
With Jackettes long and large 

which shroud simplicitie, 
Though spitt'ull dartes which they do beare 

importe iniquitie. 
I'heir shiites be very strange, 

not reaching past the thie; 
With pleates on pleates thei pleated are 

as thieke as pleates maj^ lye. 
Whose sleaves hang training doune, 

almost unto the shoe; 
And with a mantrll comraonlie 

the Irish karne do goe. 
Now some amongst tlie reste 
doe use anotlur wetde; 
• A eoate, I meane, of strange devise, 
which fancie first did breade. 
His skirts be very shorte, 

with pleittes set thick about. 
And Irish trouzes moe to put 

thrir strange protactours out. 
Deiiick'i Image of Ireland, apud Somers'' Tracts, 
Loud. ISOtf, 4to. vol. i, p. 585. 
Some curious wooden engravings accompany 
this poem, from whicli it would seem that the an- 
cient Irisli dress was (the bonnet excepted) verj' 
similar to that of the Scottish highlanders. The 
want of a covering on the head was supplied by 
the mode of ))laiting and arranging their hair, 
which was called the glibbe. These glibbes, ac- 
cording to Spenser, were fit masks for a thief, 
since, wlien he wished to disguise himself, he 
could either cut it off entirely, or so pull it over 
his eyes as to render it very hard to recognize him. 
This, however, is nothing to the reprobation with 
■which tiie same poet regards that favourite part ot 
the Irish dress, the m;uitle. — 

"It is a fit house for an outlaw, a meet bed for 
n rebel, and an apt cloke for a thiefe. first, the 
outlaw being for his many crimes and villanyes ban- 
ished from the townes and bouses of honest men, 
and wandering in waste places far from danger of 
law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it 
coveretii himself from the wrath of heaven, from 
the offence of the earth, and from the sight of men. 
When it raineth, it is his penthouse; when it blow- 
eth, it is his tent; when it freezeth, it is his taber- 
nacle. In sommer he can wear it loose, in winter 
he can wrap it close; at all times he can use it; 
never heavy, never cumbersotue. Likewise for a 
rebel it is as serviceable: for in his warre that he 
maketh, (if at least it deserve the name of warre,) 
wlien he still flyeth from iiis foe, and lurketh in the 
thieke woods and straite passages, waiting for ad- 
vantages, it is his bed, yea, and almost his house- 



hold stud". For tlie wood is his house against all 
weathers, and his mantle is his couch to sleep in. 
Therein he wrappeth himselfrounde, and eoucheth 
himselfe strongly against the gnats, which, in that 
country, doe more annoy the naked rebels while 
they keep the woods, and doe more sharply wound 
them, than all their enemy's swords or spears, 
vyhich can seldom come nigii them: yea, and often- 
times tiieir mantle serveth them when tliey are 
neere driven, being wrapt about their left arme, 
instead of a target, for it is hard to cut through 
with a sword; besides it is light to beare, ligiit to 
throw away, and being (as tiiey commonly are) na- 
ked, it is to them all in all. Lsstly, forathiete, it 
is so handsome as it may seem it was first inventea 
lor him, for under it he may cleanly convey any 
fit pillage that cometh handsomely in his way, and 
when he goeth abroad in the night in free-booting, 
it is his best and surest friend: for lying, as they of- 
ten do, two orthree nights together abroad to watch 
for. their booty, with that they can prettily shroud 
themselves under a bush or a bankside till they 
may conveniently do their errand; and when all 
is over, he can in his mantle passe through any 
town or company, being close hooded over his 
head, as he useth, from knowledge of any to whom 
he is indangered. Besides this, he, or any man 
els that is disposed to mischief or villany, may, 
under his mantle, goe privily armed without sus- 
picion of any, carry his head-piece, his skean, or 
pistol, if he please, to be always in readiness." 
Spenser's Viexv of the State of Ireland, apud f Forks, 
ut supra, viii, 367. 

The javelins, or darts, of the Irish, which they 
threw with great dexterity, appear, from one of 
the prints already mentioned, to have been about 
four feet long, witii a strong steel head and thick 
knotted shaft. 
8. With wild majestic port and tone, ' 

Like envoy of some barbarous throne.— P. 208. 
The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the 
English, and with each other, were wont to assume 
the language and style of independent royalty. 
Morrison has preserved a summons from Tyrone 
to a neighbouring chieftain, which runs in the fol- 
lowing terms: — 

" O'Neale commendeth him unto you, Aforish 
Fitz Thomas: O'Neale requesteth you, in God's 
name, to take [lart with him, and fight for your 
conscience and right; and in so doing, O'Neale 
will spend to see you righted in all your affaires, 
and will help you. And if you come not at O'Neale 
betwixt this and to-morrpw at twelve of the cloke, 
and take his part, O'Neale is not beholding to you, 
and will doe to the uttermost of his power to over- 
throw you if you come not to him at furthest by 
Satturday noone. From Knocke Dumayne in Cal- 
rie, the fourth of February, 1599. 

" O'Neale requesteth you to come to speake with 
him, .inil doth giue his word that you shall receive 
no iiarme, neither in comming nor going from him, 
whether you be friend or not, and bring with you, 
to O'Neale, Gerat Fitzgerahl. 

"Subscribed O'Neale." 
Nor did the royalty of O'Neale consist in words 
alone. Sir John Harrington paid him a visit at the 
time of his truce with Essex, and after mentioning 
" his fern table, and fern forms, spread under the 
stately canopy of heaven," he notices what consti- 
tutes the real power of every monarch, the hne, 
namely, and allegiance of his subjects. "His guard, 
for the most part, were beardless boys « iihont 



ROKEBY. 



241 



shirts; who in the frost wade as familiar!)' through 
rivers as wuter-spaiiiels. With what ciiarm such 
a master makes them love him, 1 know not, but if 
he bid come, they come; if go, they do go; if he say 
do this, they do it. "—J\'iiffx AiUiqux, Loud. 1784, 
8vo. vol. i, p. 351. 

9. His foster-father was his g^uide.— P. 209. 
There was no tie more sacred among the Irish, 
than that which connected the foster-fatiier, as well 
as the nurse iiersclf, with the child they brought up. 
" Foster-fathers spend much more time, money, 
and affection on their foster-chiUh'en than their 
own, and in return take from them clothes, money for 
their several professions, and arms, and even for 
any vicious purposes; fortun'es and cattle, not so 
much by a claim of right as by extortion; and they 
will even carry those things off as plunder. All 
v.'ho have been nursed by the same person preserve 
a greater mutual affection and confidence in each 
ether than if they were natural brothers, whom I hey 
will even hate for the sake of these. When chid by 
their parents, they fly to their foster-fathers, wlio 
frequently encourage them to make open war on 
their parents, train them up to every excess of 
wickedness, and make them most abandoned mis- 
creants: as, on tlie other hand, the nurses make 
the young women, whom they bring up lor every 
excess. If a foster-child is sick, it is incredible how 
soon the nurses hear of it, however distant, and 
with what solicitude they attend it b)' day and 
night." — Giraldus Catnbraisis, ({noied byCamden, 
iv', 368. 

This custom, like many other Irish usages, pre- 
vailed till of late in the Scottish highlands, and 
was cherished by the chiefs as an easy mode of 
extending their influence and connection; and even 
in the lowlands, during the last century, the con- 
nection between the nurse and foster-child was 
seldom dissolved but by the death of one party. 
10 . Great ISTial of the pledges nine.— P. 209. 
Neill Naighvallach, or of the nine liostages, is 
said to have been monarch of all Ireland, durinj 
the end of the fourth or beginning of the fifth cen 
tury. He exercised a predatory warfare on the 
coasts of England and of Bretague, or Armorica; 
and from the latter country brought off the cele- 
brated saint Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among 
other captives, whom he transported to Ireland. 
Neal derived his epithet from nine nations, or 
tribes whom he held under his subjection, and 
from whom lie took hostages. P'rom oneof Neal's 
sons were derived the kinel-eoguin, or race of 
Tyrone, which afforded monarchs both to Ireland 
and to Ulster. Neill (according to O'Flaherty's 
Ogygia) was killed by a poisoned arrow, in one of 
his descents on the coast of Bretagne. 

1 1. Shane-Dymas wild P. 209. •• 



This Shane-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held 
the title and power of O'Neale in the earlier part 
of Klizabelh's reign, against whom he rebelled re- 
peatedly. 

" This chieftain is handed down to us as the 
most proud and profligate man on earth. He was 
immoderately addicted to women and wine. He 
is said to have had !200 tuns of wine at once in liis 
cellar at Dandram, but usquebaugh was his fa- 
vourite liquor. He spared neither age nor condi- 
tion of the fair sex. Altho' so illiterate that he 



1000 horse for the field. He claimed superiority 
over all the lords of Ulster, and called himself king 
thereof. When commissioners were sent to treat 
with him, he said, ' That, tho'the queen were his 
sovereign l.ady, he never made peace with her 6?rt 
at her lodging; tiiat siie had made a wise earl of 
Macartymore, but that he kept as good a man as 
he; tiiat he cared not for so mean a title as earl; 
that his blood and power were better than the best; 
that his ancestors were kings of Ulster; and that 
he would give place to none. ' His kinsman, the 
earl of Kildare, having persuaded him of the folly 
of contending with the crown of England, he re- 
solved to attend the queen, but in a st) le suited to 
his princely dignity. He appeared in London with 
a magnificent train of Irish galloglasses, arrayed 
in the richest habiliments of their country, their 
heads bare, their hair flowing on their shoulders, 
vvith their long and open sleeves dved with saftVon. 
Thus dressed, and surcharged with military har- 
ness, and armed with battle-axes, they afforded an 
astonishing spectacle to the citizens, who regarded 
them as the intruders of some very distant part of 
the globe. But at court his versatility now pre- 
vailed, his title to the sovereignty of Tjrone was 
pleaded from English laws and Irish institutions, 
and his allegations were so specious, that the queen 
dismissed him with presents and assurances of fa- 
vour. In England this transaction was looked upon 
as the humiliation of a repenting rebel; in Tyrone 
it was considered as a treaty of peace between two 
potentates. " — Camdeii's jiritauiiia, by Gough, 
Lond. 1806, fol. vol. iv, p. 44!2. 

When reduced to extremity by the English, and 
forsaken by his allies, this Shane-Dymas fled to 
Clandeboy, then occupied by a colony of Scottish 
iiighlanders of the family of Mac-Donell. He was 
at first courteously received, but by degrees ihty 
began to quarrel about the slaughter of some of 
their friends, wliom Shane-Dymas had put to death, 
and, advancing from words to deeds, fell upon him 
with their broad-swords, and cut him to pieces. 
After his death a law was made that none should 
presume to take the name and title of O'Neale. 
12. Geraldine.— P. 209. 



could not write, he was not destitute of address; 
his understanding was strong, and his courage 
daring. He had 600 men for his guard, 4000 foot, I coat; and this is the constitution of our •xruty. 



The O'Neales were closely allied with this pow- 
erful and warlike family, for Henry Owen (3'Neale 
married the daughter of Thomas earl of Kildare, 
and their son Con-More married his cousin-ger- 
man, a daugliter of Gerald earl of Kildare. This 
Con-More cursed any of his posterity who should 
learn the English language, sow corn, or build 
liouses, so as to invite the English to settle in their 
country. Others ascribe this anathema to his son 
Con-Bacco. Fearflatha O'Gnive, bard to the 
O'Neales of Clannaboy, complains in the same 
spirit of the towers and ramparts with which the 
strangers had disfigured the tair sporting fields of 
Erin. — See JValker's Irish Bards, p. 140. 

13. He chose that honoured Hag^ to bear.— P. 210. 
Lacy informs us, in the old play already quoted, 
how the cavalry raised by the country gentlemen 
tor Charles's service were usually officered. " You, 
cornet, have a name that's proper for all cornets 
to be called by, for they are all beardless boys in 
our army. The most part of our horse were raised 
thus: — The honest country gentleman raises the 
troop at his own charge: tlien he gets a low-coun- 
try lieutenant to fight his troop safely; then he 
sends for his son from school to be his cornet; and 
then he puts oft' his child's coat to put on a buff 



242 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■ his page, the next dejjree 



In tliat old tiiuL' to chivalry.— P. 210. 
Originally the order of chivalry embraced three 
ranks: — I. Tlie page; 2. The nriuire; 3. The knight; 
— a gradation which seems to have been imitated 
in the mystery of free-masonry. But before tlie 
reign of Charles I, the custom of serving as a squire 
had fallen into disuse, though the order of the 
page was still, to a certain degree, in observance. 
This state of servitude was so far from inferring 
any thing degrading, that it was considered as 
the regular school for acquiring every quality ne- 
cessary for future distinction. The proper nature, 
and the decay of the institution, are pointed out 
by old Uen .lonson, with his own forcible moral 
colouring. Tiie dialogue occurs between Lovel, 
" a complete gentleman, a soldier, and a scholar, 
known to have been page to the old lord Beaufort, 
and so to have followed him in the French wars, 
after companion of his studies, and left guardian 
to his son," and the faCLtious Good-stock, host of 
the Light Heart. Lovel had offered to take Good- 
stock's son for his page, wiiich the lalter, in refe- 
rence to the recent abuse of the establishment, de- 
clares as " a desperate course of life:" — 

Lovcll. Call you that desperate, which by a Hue 
or institution, from our ancestors 
Hath been derivtd down to us, and received 
In a succession, for the noblest way 
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms, 
Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, 
And all the blazon of a gjentlejnan? 
Where lie can learn to vault, to ride, to fence, 
To move his body gracefully; to speak 
His laucfuage purer; or to tune his mind 
Or manners, more to the harmony of nature, 
'I'liau in the nurseries of nobility? 

Hosf. Ayj that was when the nursery's self was noble, 
And only vn-tue made it, not the market; 
Tlie titles were not vented at the drum. 
Or common outcry: goodness gave the greatness, 
And greatness worship: evei-y house became 
An academy of lionour; and those parts 
We see departed, in the practice, now, 
(■ttiite from the institution. 

Lovctl. Why do you say so^ 
Or think so enviously? do they not still 
I.earn there the centaur's skill, the art of Thrace, 
To ride? or, Pollux' mystery, to fence? 
The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dance and spring 
In armour, to be active in the wai's? 
To study figures, niunbei-s, and propoi-tions. 
May yield 'em great in counsels, and the arts 
Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised? 
'I'o make their English sweet upon their tongue, 
As rtTerend Chaucer says? 

Host. Sir, you mistake; 
To ])lay sir Paiidarus my copy hath it. 
And carry iiussages to madam Cressida; 
Instead of baeUing the brave steed o' m(UT>ings, 
'J"o court the chambermaid; and for ale.ap 
O' the vatilting boise to ply the vaulting house: 
For exercise of arms a bale of dice. 
Or two or three packs of cards to show the cheat, 
And nimbleness of hand; mistake a cloak 
Upon my lord's back, and pawn it; ease his pocket 
Of a superHuous watch; or geld a jewel 
Of an odd stone or so; twinge two or three buttont 
From oft" my laily's gown: these are tlie arts 
Or seven lil)er:il deadly sciences. 
Of pagerv, or rather paganism, 
As the titles run; to which if he apply him, 
He may perhaps take a degree at Tyburn 
A yivr the earlier; come to take a lecture 
Upon Aquinas at St. Thomas a Waterings, 
And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle! 

Ben Jonsoii's Ninv Inn, act i, scene iii. 



of its walls is inclosed. It is surrountled by a pro- 
fusion of fine wood, and tlie park in w hich it stands 
is adorned by the junction of the Greta and of the 
Tees. The title of baron Ilokeby of Armagh was, 
in 1777, conferred on the right reverend Richard 
Robinson, primate of Ireland, descended of the 
Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, in Yorkshire. 
2. Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 

I can count thein name by name. — P. 214. 
The following brief pedigree of this very ancient 
and once powerful family, was kindly supplied to 
the author by Mr. Rokeby of Northamptonshire, 
descended of the ancient barons of Rokeby: — 

Pedigree of the house of Rokeby. 
1. Sir Alex. Rokeby, knight, married to sir Hump. 
Liftle's* daughter. 

I. Ralph Rokeby, esq. to Tho. Lumley's daughter. 

3. Sir Tlio. Rokeby, knt. to Tlio. Hubborn's d:iugh- 

ter. 

4. Sir Ralph Rokeby, knt. to sir Ralph Biggott's 

daughter. 

5. Sir Tho. Rokeby, knt. to sir John de Melsass' 

daughter, of Bennet-hall in Holderness. 

6. Ralpli Rokeby, esq. to sir Bryan Stapleton's 

daughter, of VVeighill. 

7. Sir Thomas Rokeby, knt. to sir Ralph Ury's 

daughter, t 

8. Ralph "Rokeby, esq. to the daughter of Mans- 

field, heir of Morton. :j: 

9. Sir Tho. Rokeby, knt. to Stroode's .daughter 

and heir. 

10. Sir Ralph Rokeby, knt. to sir Jas. Straiigwayes' 

daughter. 

II. Sir Thomas Rokeby, knt. to sir John Hotham's 

daughter. 

12. Ralph Rokeby, esq. to Danby of Yaffbrth's 

daughter and heir.§ 

13. Tho. "Rokeby, esq. to Rob. constable's daugh- 

ter, of Clift', serjt. ."it law. 

14. Christopher Rokeby, esq. to Lasscells of 

Brackenburgh's daughter. 1| 

15. Thomas Rokeby, esq. to the daughter of 

Thweng. 

16. Sir Thomas Rokeby, knt. to sir Ralph Law- 

son's daughter, of Brough. 

17. Frans. Rokeby, esq. to Faucett's daughter, 

citizen of London. 

18. Thos. Rokeby, esq. to the daughter of Wic- 

lifte of Gales. 

High sheriffs of Yorkshire. 

1337. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph Hastings and Thomas dc 
Rokeby. 

1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby, pro sept, 
annis. 

1358. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Rokeby, justiciary 
of Ireland for six years; died 
at the castle of Kilka. 

1407. 8 Hen. 4. Thomas Rokeby, Miles, defeated 
and slew the duke of North- 
umberland at the battle of 
Bramham moor. 

1411. 12 Hen. 4. Tliomas Rokeby, Miles. 

1486. Thos. Rokeby, esq. 

1539 Robert Molgatc, bish. of Lan- 

diift", afterwards V. of York, 
Id. president of tiie couiicit 



NOTES TO CANTO V. 
- Rokeby- 



-P. 213. 



The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon 
the site of the present mansion, by which a part 



♦Lisle. ^, , .. 

t Temp. Edw. 2di. % Teinp. Edw. 3tii. 

i Temp. Henr. 7ini. and from him is the liouse ol Sky- 
ers of a fourth brother. , „ , 1 

II From him is the house of Hotliam, and of the scoonU 
brother tliat had issue. 



ROKEBY. 



243 



for the preservation of peace I braced tlie English interest, at a pass in Glendo- 



in the north 

504. 6 Eliz. The. Younge, archbishop of Yorke, 
Id. president. 
30 Hen. 8. Tho. Rokeby, L.L.D. one of the 
council. 
Jn. Rokeby, L.L.D. one of the 
council. 
1572. 15 Eliz. Hen. Hastings, earl of Hunting- 
don, Id. president. 
Jo. Rokeby, esq. one of tlie coun- 
cil. 
Jo. Rokeby, L.L.U. ditto. 
Ralph Rokeby, esq. one of the 
secretaries. 
1574. 17 Eliz. Jo. Rokeby, precentor of York. 
7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby, knt. one of the 
justices of the king's bench. 

The family of De Rokeby came over with the con- 
queror. 

The old motto belonging to the family is In Blvio 
Dextra. 

Tlie arms, argent, cherron sable, between three 
rooks proper; 

"There is somewhat more to be found in our 
fiimily in the Scottish history about the affairs of 
Dun-Bretton town, but what it is, and in what 
lime, I know not, nor can have convenient leisure 
to search. But parson Blackwood, the Scottish 
cliaplain to the lord of Siirewsbury, recited to me 
once a piece of a Scottish song, wherein was men- 
tioned that William Wallis, the great deliverer of 
the Scots fronx the Englisli bondage, should, at 
Dun-Bretton, have been brouglit up under a Roke- 
by, captain then of that place: and as he walked 
on a cliff, should thrust him on a sudden into the 
sea, and thereby have gotten that hold, which, I 
think, was about tlie 33d of Edw. 1, or before 
Tiius, leaving our ancestors of record, we must 
also with them leave the Chronicle of Malmesbury 
Abbey, called Eulogium Historiarum, out of which 
Mr. Leland reporteth this history, and coppy down 
unwritten story, the whicii have yet the testimony 
of later times, and the fresh memoiy of men yet 
alive, for their warrant and creditt, of whom 1 
have learned it, that in king Henry the 7th's reign, 
one Ralpli Rokeby, esq. was owner of Morton, and 
1 guess that this was he that deceived the fiyars of 
Riclimond with his felon swine, on which a jargon 
was made." 

The above is a quotation from a manuscript 
written by Ralph Rokebyj when he lived is uncer- 
tain. 

To what metrical Scottish tradition parson 
Bhickwood alluded, it would be now in vain to 
inquire. But in Blind Harry's history of sir Wil- 
liam Wallace, we find a legend of one Rukbie, 
whom he makes keeper of Stirling castle under 
the English usurpation, and whom Wallace slays 
with his own hand: 



chart, where many were precipitated into the lake 
over a precipice. Tliese circumstances may h.avc 
been confused in the narrative of parson Black- 
wood, or in the recollection of Mr. Rokeby. 

In the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is men- 
tioned, among the English warriors, " sir Raff the 
ryche Rugbe," which may apply to sir Ralpli 
Rokeby, the tenth baron in the pedigree. The 
more modern copy of the ballad runs thus: — 

" Good sir Ralph Raby there was slain. 
Whose prowess did surmount." 

This would rather seem to relate to one of the 
Nevilles of Raby. But as the wjiole ballad is ro- 
mantic, accuracy is not to be looked for. 



■ the felon sow.— P. 214. 



" In the (jreat press Wallace and Rukbie met. 
With his good sword a stroke upon him set; 
Uerfly to death the old Rulvl)ie he drave, 
But his two sons scaped among the lave." 

These sons, according to the romantic minstrel, 
surrendered the castle on conditions, antl went 
back to England, but returned to Scotland in tlie 
days of Bruce, when one of them became again 
keeper of Stirling castle. Tmmediatelj' .after this 



The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a 
serious strain of romance, and although the exam- 
ples of the latter are by far the most numerous, 
they are, perliaps, the less valuable. The comic 
roniance was a sort of parody upon the usual sub- 
jects of minstrel poetry. If the Latter described 
deeds of heroic achievement, and the events of the 
battle, the tourney, and the chase, the former, as 
in the tournament of Tottenham, introduced a set 
of clowns debating in the field, with all the as- 
sumed circumstances of chivalry; or, as in the 
Hunting of the Hare, (see Weber's Metrical Ro- 
mances, vol. iii,) persons of the same description 
following the chase, with all the grievous mistakes 
and blunders incident to such unpractised sports- 
men. The idea, therefore, of Don Quixote's frenzy, 
although inimitably embodied and brought out, 
was not perhaps in the abstract altogether original. 
One of the very best of these mock romances, and 
which has no small portion of comic humour, is 
the Hunting of the Felon Sow of Rokeby by the 
Friars of Richmond. Ralph Rokeby, who (for 
the jest's sake apparently) bestowed this intracta- 
ble animal on the convent of Richmond, seems to 
have flourished in the time of Henry VII, which, 
since we know not tlie date of friar Tiieobald's 
wardenship, to which the poem refers us, may in- 
dicate that of the composition itself Morton, the 
Mortham of the text, is mentioned as being this 
facetious baron's place of residence; accordin<>lv, 
Leland notices that " Mr. Rokeby hath a place 
called Mortham, a little beneth Gretnej'-bridge, 
almost on tlie mouth of Gretney. " That no infor- 
mation may be lacking which is in my power to 
supply, I have to notice, that the mistress Rokeby 
of the romance, who so charitably refreshed the 
sow after she had discomfited friar Midulelonand 
his auxiliaries, was, as appears from the pedigree 
of the Rokeby family, daughter and heir of Dauby 
of Yafforth. 

This curious poem was first published in Mr. 
Whitaker's History of Craven, but from an inac- 
curate manuscript, not corrected very happily. It 
was transfered by Mr. Evans to the new edition 
of his ballads, with some well-judged conjectural 
improvements. 1 have been induced to give a more 
authentic and full, though still an imperfect, edi- 
tion of this liumorous composition, from being 
furnished with a copy from a manuscript in the 
possession of Mr. Rokeby, to whom I have acknow- 
ledged my obligations in the last note. It has three 
or four stanzas more than that of Mr. Whitaker, 



achievement follows another engagement, between and the language seems, where they differ, to have 
Wallace and those western hishlanders who em- the more ancient and genuine rcadin 



244 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



2'he Felon Sow of RokAy and the Friars of Richmontl. 
Ye men that will of aunters* winiie, 
That late within this land hath beene, 

Of one I will you tell; 
And of a sewf that was seat Strang, 
Alas.' that ever she lived sea lang. 
For fellj folk did she whell.|| 

She was marelf than other three. 

The griseliest beast that ere might bee, 

Her head was great and gray; 
She was bred in Rokeby wood, 
There was few that thither goed,** 

That came on liveft away. 

Her walk was endlongt:^ Greta side; 
There was nobren§5 that durst her bide, 

That was froe|||| heaven to hell; 
Nor ever man that had that might. 
That ever durst eome in her sight. 

Her force it was so fell. t) 

Ralph of Rokeby with good will. 

The fryers of Riehnioiid gave her till,1I1| 

Full well to gai-re*** them fare; 
Fryar Middleton by his name, 
He was sent to fetch her hame. 

That rued him sineftt full sare. 
AVith him took he wight men two, 
Peter Dale was one of thoe, 

That ever was brim as beare;ttt 
And well durst strike with sword and knife, 
And fight full manly for his life. 

What time as mister ware. {if J 

These three men went at God's will. 
This wicked sew while they come till, 

Ligganllllll under a tree; 
Rugg and rusty was her haire; 
She raise her up w ith a felon fare,1[1I1I 

To fight against the three. 

She was so grisely for to meete, 
She r.tve the earth up with her feete, 

And bark came fro the tree; 
When fryar Middleton her saugh,**** 
Weet ye well he might not laugh. 

Full earnestly look't hee. 

These men of aunters that was so wiglititttt 
They bound them bauldly}tt:t for to fight, 

And strike at her full sare; 
Untill a kiln they garred her flee, 
Would God send them the victory, 

Tliey would ask him noa mare. 

The sew was in the kiln hole down. 
As they Avere on the balke aboon,5§}§ 

Forllllllll hurting of their feet; 
They were so saultedlfliHIT with this sew. 
That among them was a stalworth stew. 

The kilne began to reeke. 

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand. 
But put a rape***** down with his wand. 

And haltered her full meete; 
They hurled her forth against her will, 
Whiles they came unto a hill 

A little fro the streete.ttttt 

And there she made them such a fray. 
If they should live to doomesday. 



• Both the MS. and Mr. Whitaker's copy read ancestors, 
evidently a corruption of aunters, adventures, as correct- 
ed by Mr. Evans. 

■f Sow, according to provincial pronunciation. 

(. So; Yorkshire dialect. § Fele, many. Sax. 

11 A corruption of niiell, to kill. t More, greater. 

•* Went. ft Alive. :tt Along the side of Greta. 

Sf Barn, child, man in general. |[|| From. 

i[^ To. **• Make. ttt Since. 

ttt Fierce as a bear. Mr. Whitaker's copy reads, per- 
haps in ixjnsequence of mistaking the MS.— T' other was 
Brvan of Bear. 

(^ Need were. Mr. Whitaker reads jnusters. |||||| I.5ang. 

<ni[ A fierce coinitenance or manner. •••* Saw. 

tttt Wight, brave. The Rokeby MS. reads ineoun- 
ters, and Mr. Whitaker, auncestors. 41U Boldly. 

5^55 On thebeamabove. llllllll To prevent. 

tUm Assaulted. •»»»» R„pe. 

tt1"tt Watling-street; see the sc(iuel. 



They tharrow* it ne'er forgett; 
She bradedt up on every side, 
And ran on them gaping full wide, 

For nothing would she lett.^ 

She gave such brades§ at the band 
That Peter Dale had in his hand, 

He might not hold his feet; 
She chaftd them to and fro. 
The wight men was never so wo, 

Their measure was not so meete. 
She bound her boldly to abide; 
To Pater Dale she came aside 

With many a hideous yell: 
She gaped s<> w ide and cried so hee. 
The fryar said, " I conjure thee,|| 

Thou art a fiend of hell. 

" Thou art come hither for some traine,1[ 
I conjure thee to go againe 

Where thou was wont to dwell," 
He sajned** him with crosse and creede. 
Took forth a book, began to reade. 

In St. John his gospell. 

The sew she would not Latin heare. 
But rudely rushed at the frear, 

That blinked all his blee;tt 
And she would have taken her hold, 
The fryar leaped .is .Tesus wold, 

And bealedit him with a tree. 
She was as brimfj as any bearc. 
For all their meete to labour there,|||| 

To them it was no boote: 
Upon tress and bushes that by her stood, 
She ranged as she was wood,1|1I 

And rave them up by rooie. 

He said, " Alas, that I was frear! 

And I shall be rugged*** in sunder here. 

Hard is my destniie! 
Wistttt my brethren in this houre. 
That I was sett in such a stoure,ttt 

They would pray for me." 

This wicked beast that wrought this wo. 
Took that rape from the other two, 

And then they fledd all three; 
They fiedd away by Watling-streete, 
They had no succour but their feet, 

It was the more pitty. 

The feild it was both lost and wonne;5{J 
The sew went hame, and that full soone. 

To Morton on the Greene; 
When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,|l|||l 
He wistlJIili that there had been debate, , 

Whereat the sew had beene. 
He bad them stand out of her way, 
For she had had a sudden fray, — 

" I saw never so keene; 
Some new things shall we heare 
Of her and MidiUeton the frear. 

Some battcU hath there beene." 
But .all that served him for nought. 
Had they not better succour sought, 

They were served tiiertfore loe. 



^ 



• Dare. t Rushed. i Leave it. (. Pulls. 

II This line is wanting in Mr. Whitaker's copy, whence 
it has been conjectured that something is wajiling after 
this stanza, which now there is no occasion to suppose. 

H Evil device. ** Blessed, Fr. tt Lost his colour. 

tt Sheltered himself. ^ Fierce. 

'Ill The MS. reads to labour ^^•cere. I'he text seems to 
mean that all their labour to obtain their intended meat 
was of no use to them. Mr. Whitaker reads, 
She was as brim as any boar. 
And gave a grisly hideous roar. 
To them it was no boot. 
Besides the want of connexion between the hist line and 
the two former, the second has a very modern sound, and 
the reading of the Rokeby MS. with the slight alieration 
in the text, is much better. 

UliMad. ♦♦• Torn, pulled. 

■ff^-Knew. itt CoHibat, perilous light. 

m This stanza, with the two following, and ihe frag- 
ment of a fnurth, are not in Mr. Whitak-v'^ ediloii. 

Iljlll The rope about the sow's ntck. I^H Knew. 



ROKEBY, 



245 



Then iiiistrtss Rokoby came anon, 

And fui- her brought shee nieate lull soone, 

The sew came her unto. 
She gave her meate upon the flower. 

£I[iatus valde dcjlcndus.'} 
When fryer Middleton came home, 
His brethren was full faiij ilkone,t 

And thanked God of his life; 
He told them all unto the end, 
How he had foughteu with a ftend, 

And lived through mickle strife. 

" We gave him battel 1 half a day, 
And sithenj was fain to fly away, 

For saving of our life.§ 
And Pater i>ale would never blinn,|| 
But as fast as he could ryn,1[ 

Till he came to his wife." 

The warden said, " I am full wo, 
That ever you should be torment so, 

But wee with you had beene! 
Had wee been there your brethren all. 
Wee should have garred the warle** fall, 

That wrought you all this teyne.ft 

Fryer Middleton said soon, " Nay, 
In faith you would have fled away, 

AV'hen most mistertt had been; 
You will all speake words at hame, 
A man will ding^^J you ever}' ilk ane, 

And if it be as I weine."' 

He look't so griesly all that night. 
The warden said, " Yon man will fight 

If you say aught but good: 
Yon guestllll hath grieved him so sare. 
Hold your tongues and speak iioe mare, 

Hee looks as hee wer« wood." 

The warden wagedHU on the morne. 
Two boldest men that ever were borne, 

I weine, or ever shall be; 
The one was Gilbert Griffin's son. 
Full mickle worship has he wonne, 

Both by land and sea. 

The other was a bastard son of Spain, 
Many a Savazin hath he slain. 

His dint*** hath gart them die. 
These two men the battle undertooke 
Against the sew, as says the booke, 

And sealed security. 

That they should boldly bide aijd fight, 
And skomfit her in raaine and might, 

Or therefore should they die. 
The warden sealed to them againe, 
And said, " In field if ye be slain. 

This condition make I: 

" We shall for you pray, sing, and read 
To doomesday with hearty speede. 

With all our progeny." 
Then the letters well was made. 
Bands bound with seales brade,ttt 

As deedes of amies should be. 

These men of armes weere soe wight. 
With armour and with brandes bright, 

They went this sew to see; 
She made on them slike a rerd,t{t 
That for her they were sare afer'd. 

And almost bound to flee. 



• This line is almost illegible. + Each one. 

% Since then, after that. 

} The above lines are wanting in Mr. Whitaker's copy. 
II Cease, stop. H Run. ** Warlock, or wizard. 

tt Harm. X\ Need. 

jj Beat. The copy in Mr. Whitaker's History of Craven 
reads, perhaps better, — 

The fiend would ding you down ilk one. 

HI " Yon giiest" may be yon gcst, i. e. that adventure; 
or it may mean yon g/iaist, or apparition, which in old 
poems is applied sometimes to what is supernaturally 
hideous. The printed copy reads, — The beast hath, &c. 

liH Hired, a Yorkshire phrase. *** Blow. 

ttt Broad, large. \U Such like a roar. 



She came roveing them againe; 
That saw the bastard son of Spaine, 

He biaded out* his brand; 
Full spiteously at her he strake. 
For all the fence that he could make. 

She gat sword out of hand; 
And rave in sunder half his shielde. 
And bare him backward in the fielde, 

He might not her gainstand. 
She would have riven his privieh geare, 
But Gilbert with his sword of werre. 

He strake at her full strong. 
On her shoulder till she held the swerd; 
Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd. 

When the blade brake in throng.1" 

Since in his hands he hath her tane. 
She tooke him by the shoulder bane,^ 

And held her hold full fast, 
She strave so stiffly in that stower,§ 
That thorough all his rich armour 

Tlie blood came at the last. 

Then Gilbert giieved was sea sare, 
That he rave otf both hide and haire, 

The flesh came fro the bone; 
And all with force he felled her there. 
And wan her worthily in werre, 

And band her hame alone. 

And lift her on a horse sea hee, 
Into two panyers well made of a tree, 

And to Richmond they did hay:|| 
When they saw hev come. 
They sang merrily Te Deum, 

The fryers on that day.K 

They thanked God and St. Francis, 
As they had won the beast of pris,*.* 

And never a man w as slaine: 
There did never a man more manly, 
Knight Marcus, nor yet sir Gui, 

Nor Loth of Louthayne.ft 
If ye will any more of this. 
In the fryers of Richmond 'tis 

In parchment good and fine; 
And how fryar Middleton that was so kcnd,^^ 
At Greta-bridge conjured a fiend 

In likeness of a swine. 

It is well known to many a man, 
That fryer Theobald was warden than. 

And this fell in his time; 
And Christ them bless both farre and neare. 
All that for solace list this to hcare. 

And him that made the rhime. 

Ralph Rokeby with full good will. 
That fryers of Richmond he gave her till, 

This sew to mend their fare: 
Fryer Middleton by his name. 
Would needs bring the fat sew hame. 

That rued him since full sare. 

4. The filea of O'Neale w:\s he.— P. 215. 
The filea, or oUamh re clan, was the proper bard, 
or, as the name literally implies, poet. Each chief- 
tain of distinction had one or more in his service, 
whose office was usually hereditary. The late in- 
genious Mr. Cooper Walker has assembled a cu- 
rious collection of particulars concerning this or- 
der of men, in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish 
Bards. There were itinerant bards of less elevated 
rank, but all were held in the highest veneration. 
The English, who considered them as chief sup- 
porters of the spirit of national independence, 
were much disposed to proscribe this race of ))oets, 
as Edward I is said to have done in Wales. Spen- 
ser, while he admits the merit of their wild poetiy. 



* Drew out. 1 1" the combat. i Bone. 

5 Meeting, battle. || Hie, hasten. 
H The MS. reads mistakenly every day. •• Price. 

tt The father of sir Gawain, in the romance of Arthur 
and Merlin. The MS. is thus corrupted,— 
More loth of Louth Ryme. 
tt Well known, or perhaps kind, wtil disposed. 



246 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



as " savouring of sweet ■vvit and good invention, 
and sprinkled with some prett)^ flowers of their 
natural device," yet rigorously condemns the 
whole application of their poetry, as ahased to 
" tlie gracing of wickedness and vice." The house 
hold minstrel was admitted even to the feast of 
the prince whom he served, and sat at the same 
table. It was one of the customs of which sir 
Richard Scwry, to whose charge Richard II com- 
mitted the instruction of four Irish monarchs in 
the civilization of the period, found it most diffi 
cult to break his royal disciples, though he had 
also much ado to subject them to other English 
rules, and particularly to reconcile them to wear 
breeches. "The kyng, my soueverigne lords en- 
tent was, that in maner, countenaunce, and appa- 
rell of clothyng, they sliolde use according to the 
maner of Englande, for the kynge thought to make 
them all four knyghtes: they had a fayre house to 
lodge in, in Duvelyn, and I was charged to abyde 
styll with them, and not to departe; and so two 
or three dayes 1 suft'ered them to do as they lyst, 
and sayde nothyng to them, but folowed their owne 
appetytes; they wolde sytte at the table, and make 
countenance nother good nor fayre. Than 1 thought 
1 shulde cause tliem to chaunge that maner; they 
wolde cause their mynstrells, their seruauntes, 
and varlettes to sytte with them, and to eate in 
their owne dyssche, and to drinke of their cuppes; 
and they shewed mc tliat the usage of their coun- 
tre was good, for they sayd in all thyngs (except 
their beddcs) they were and lyved as comen. So 
the fourthe day I ordayned other tables to be 
couered in the hall, after the usage of Englande, 
and I made these four knyghtes to sytte at the 
hyghe talde, and their mynstrels at another borde, 
and their seruauntes and varlettes at another by- 
neth them, whereof by semynge they were dis- 
pleased, and beiield each other, and wolde not 
eate, and saj'de, how I wolde take fro them their 
good usage, wherein they had been norished. 
Then I answered them smylyng, to apeace them, 
that it was not honourable for their estates to do 
as they dyde before, and that they must leave it, 
and use the custom of Englande, and that it was 
the kynge's pleasure they shulde do so, and how 
he was charged so to order them. \Vhen they 
harde that, they suifred it, byca\ise they had putte 
themselfe under the obeysance of the kynge of 
Englande, and parceuered in the same as long as 
I was with them; yet they had one use which I 
knew was well used in their countre, and that was, 
they dyde were no breches; I caused breches of 
lynen clothe to be made for them. Whyle I was 
with them I caused them to leaue many rude 
thynges, as well in clotljyng as in other causes. 
Moche ado I had at the fyrst to cause them to 
weare gownes of sylke, furred with myneuere and 
gray; for before these kynges thought themselfe 
well apparelled whan they had on a mantell. They 
rode always without saddles and styropes, and with 
great payne 1 made them to ride after our usage." 
— Lord Berners' Froissart, Loud. 1812, 4to. ii, 
6-21. 

The influence of these bards upon their patrons, 
and their admitted title to interfere in matters of 
the weightiest concern, may be also proved from 
the behaviour of one of them at an interview be- 
tween Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the earl of Kil- 
d.u-e, then aliuut to renounce the English alle- 
giance, and tlie lord chancellor Cromer, who 
made a lou;^ uud goodly oration to dissuade him 



from his purpose. The young lord had come to 
the council " armed and wcaponed," and attended 
by seven score horsemen in their shirts of mail; 
and we are assured that the chancellor, having set 
forth his oration " with such a lamentable action 
as liis cheeks jver-j all beblubbered witli tcares, 
the horsemen, namelie, such as understood not 
English, began to diuine what the lord-chancelor 
meant with all this long circumstance; some of 
them reporting that he was preaching a sermon, 
others said that he stood making of some heroicall 
poetry in tlie ])raise of the lord Tiiomas. And 
thus as every ideot shot his foolisli bolt at the wise 
chancellor his discourse, who in effect did nought 
else but drop pretious stones before hogs, one bard 
de Nelan, an Ii-isli ritiimour, and a rotten sheepe 
to infect a whole flocke, was chatting of Irish 
verses, as thougii his toong had run on pattens, in 
commendation of the lord Thomas, investing him 
with the title of Silken Thomas, bicause his iiorse- 
meiis jacks were gorgeously imbroidered with 
silke: and in the end he told him that lie lingered 
there ouer long. Whereat the lord Thomas being 
quickened,"* as Hollinshed expresses it, bid ile- 
fiance to the chancellor, threw down contemptu- 
ously the sword of office, which, in his father's 
absence, he held as deputy, and rushed forth to 
engage in open insurrection. 

5. All, Clanilrlioy! thy friendly floor 

SlifVf-Donaril's oak shall li^ht no more.— P. 215. 

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly pos- 
sessed by the sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve-Do- 
nard a romantic mountain in the same province. 
Tlie clan was ruined after Tyrone's great rebel- 
lion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The 
ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in oilier re- 
spects, did not yield even to their descendants id 
practising the most free and extended hospitality, 
and doubtless the bards mourned the decay of the 
mansions of their chiefs in strains similar to the 
verses of the British Llywarch Hen, on a similar 
occasion, which are attecting, even through the 
discouraging medium of a literal translation: 

Silent-breathing ■g;ale, long wilt thou be heard! 
There is scarcely another deserving praise, 
Since Urien is no more. 

Many a dog that scented well tlie prey, and aerial hawk, 
Have been trained on this Hoor 
Before Erlleou became polluted 

This hearth, ah, will it not be covered with nettles! 

Whilst its dttViuler livid. 

More congenial lo it was the foot of the needy petitioner. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with green sod! 

In the lifetime of Owain and Elphiii, 

Its ample cauldron boiled the prey taken from the foe. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with toad-stools! 
Around the viand it pri-pared, more cheering was 
'the clattering sword of the fierce dauntless warrior. 

Tliis hearth, will it not be overgrown with spreading bram- 
bles! 
Till now logs of burning wood lay on it, 
AccHstoined to prejiare the gifts of Reged! 

This Iiearth, will it not be covered with thonis! 

More congriiial on it would have been the mixed groupe 

Of Owain's social friends united in liarmouy. 

This hearth, will it not be covered over with the ants! 
More adapted to it would have been the bright torcliLs 
And harmless festivities! 

This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves! 

More congenial on its floor would have been 

'I'lie mead, and the talking of wine-cheered warriors. 



• Hollinshed, LonU. 1803, 4to. vol. vi, p. 291. 



ROKEBY. 



-z-tr 



This health, will it not be turned up by the swine! 
Mere cong<-nialto it woulil have been the clamour of mi-n, 
And the circlin;? horns of the banquet. 

Heroic Elegies of Lhiwarch Hen, by Ou.n. 
Lond. 1792, 8fro. p. 41. 
The hall of Cjaiddylan is gloomy this night, 
Witliout fire, without bed— 
I must weep awhile, and then be silent' 
The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
AVithout fire, without candle— 

Kxcept God doth, who will endue me with patience? 
The hall of Cjiiddylan is gloomy this night. 
Without fire, without being lighted— 
Be thou encircled Avith sprcaflmg silence! 
The hall of Cpiddyl'an, gloomy seents its roof. 
Since the sweet smile of humanity is no moie— 
Wo to him that saw it, if he neglects to do good! 
The hall of Cynddylan, art thou not berfeftcf thy appear- 
ance! 
Thy shield is.in the grave; 
Whilst he lived there was no broken roof! 

The hall of Cynddylan is witliout love this night, 

Since he that owned it is no more— 

Ah, death! it will be but a short time he will leave mn! 

The hall of Cynddylan is not easy this night, 
' .n the top of tlie roekof Hydwyth, 

W'itliout its lord, whhout company, without the circling 
feasts! ' _ . ■ ' 

The liall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Witliout fii-e, without songs — 
Teai-3 afflict the cheeks! 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night. 
Without firej «ithout family — 
My ovei-flowing tears gush out! 

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it. 
Without a covering, without fire — 
My general dead, and i alive myself! 

The hall of Cynddylan is the seat of cJiiH grief this night. 

After the respect I experienced; 

Without the men, without the women,. who reside ^liere. 

The hall of Cj-nddylaii is silent this night, 

After losing its master— 

The great merciful God, what shain do? 

Ibid. p. 77. 

0. Marwood-cliase and Tollcr-hill.— P. 215. 

Marwood-chase is the old park extending along 
the Durham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard- 
castle. Toller-hill is an eminence oh the York- 
shire side of the river, commanding a superh view 
of the ruins. \ * 

7. Hawthoniden. — P. 216. 

Drummond of Hawthorndeii was in the zenith 
of his re])Utation as a poet during. the civil wars. 
He died in 1649. 

8. M'Curtin's harp.— P. 216. 

" M'Curtiu, hereditary ollamh of North Mun- 
ster, and filea to Donough, earl of Thomond, and 
president of Munster. Tliis nohleman was amongst 
those who were prevailed upon to join Elizaheth's 
forces. Soon as it was known that he had hasely, 
abandoned the interests of his country, M'Curtin 
presented an adidatory poem to M'Carthv, chief of 
South Munster, and of the Kugenian line, who, 
with O'Neil. O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were 
deeply engaged in protecting their violated country. 
In this poem he dsvells with rapture on the cour- 
age and patriotism of M'Carthy : but the verse that 
should (according to an established law of the or- 
der of the bards) be introduced in the praise of O' 
Brien, he turns into severe satire: — ' How am I 
afflicted (says he) tliat the descendant of the great 
Brien Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme 
worthy the honour and glory of his exalted race!' 
Lord Thomond hearing this, vowed vengeance on 
the spirited bard, wlio fled for refuge to the county 
18 



of Cork. One day, observing the exaspeiated no- 
bleman and his equipage at a small distance, he 
thought it was in vain to fly, and pretended to be sud- 
denly seized with the pangs of death; directing his 
wife to lament over him, and tell his lordship that 
the sight of him, by awakening the sense of his in- 
gratitude, had so much affected him that he could 
not support it; and desired her at the same time to 
tell his lordship that he entreated, as a dying re- 
quest, his forgiveness. Soon as lord Thomond ar- 
rived, the feigned tale was related to him. The 
nobleman was moved to compassion, and not only 
declared that he most heartily forgave him, but, 
opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with 
some pieces to inter him. This instance of his 
lordship's pity and generosity, gave courage to the 
trembling bard, who, suddenly springing up, re- 
cited an extemporaneous ode, inpraise of Donough, 
and re-entering into his service, became once more 
his favourite. "-^Walker's Jllemmrs of the Irish 
Hards, Lond. 1786, 4to. p. 141. 

9. The ancient English minstrel's dress. — P. 216. 

Among the entertainments presented to Eliza- 
beth at Kenilworth castle, was the introduction of 
a person designed to represent a travelling min- 
strel, who entertained lier with a solemn story out 
of the Acts of king Arthur. Of this person's dress 
and appearance-, Mr. Laneliam has given us a very 
accurate account, transferred by bishop Percy to 
tlie preliminary dissertation gn minstrels, prefix- 
ed to his Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i. 
10. Littlecot-hjill.— P. 218. 

The tradition from vvliich the ballad is founded 
was supplied by a friend, whose account I will not 
do the injustice to abridge, as it contains an admi- 
rable picture of an old English hall: 

" Li ttlecot- house stands in a low and lonelj' 
situation. On three 'sides it is surrounded by a 
park tliat spreads over the adjoining hill: on the 
fourth, by meadows w hich are watered by the river 
Kennet. Close on one side of the house is a thick 
grove of lofty trees, along the verge of which runs 
one of the principal avenues to it through the park. 
It is an irregular building of gi-eat antiquity, and 
was probably erected about the time of the ter- 
mination of feudal warfare, when defence came 
no longer to be an object in a country mansion. 
Many circumstances, however, in the interior of 
the house, seem appropriate to feucial times. 
The hall is very spacious, floored witli stones, 
and lighted by large transom windows, that 
are clothed with casements. Its walls are hung 
with old military accoutrements, that have long 
been left a prey to rust. At one end of the hall is 
a range of coats of mail and helmets, and there is 
on every side abundance of old-fashioned pis- 
tols and guns, many of them with matchlocks. Im- 
mediately below the cornice hangs a row of leath- 
ern jerkins, made in the form of a sliirt, supposed 
to have been worn as armour by the vassals. A 
large oak table, reaching nearly from one end of 
the room to the other, might have feasted the whole 
neighbourhood, and an appendage to one end of it 
made it answer at other times for the old game of 
shuffleboard. The rest of the furniture is in a suit- 
able style, particularly an arm chair of cumbrous 
workmanship, constructed of wood, curiously lurn- 
ed, with a high back and triangular seat, said to 
have been used by Judge Popliam in the reign of 
Elizabeth. The entrance into the hall is at one 
end by a low door, communicating with a pas- 
sage that leads from the outer door in tlie front of 



248 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the house to a quadrangle* within; at the othei", it 
opens upon a gloomy staircase, by which you as- 
cend to the first floor, and, passing the doors of 
some bed-chambers, enter a narrow gallery which 
extends along the back front of the house from one 
end to the other of it, and looks upon an old gar- 
den. This gallery is hung with portraits, chiefly 
in the Spanish dresses of the sixteenth century. 
In one of the bed-chambers, which you pass in go- 
ing towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue 
furniture, which time has now made dingy and 
threadbare, and in the bottom of one of the bed 
curtains you are shown a place wher^a small piece 
has been cut out and sown in again, — a circum- 
stance which serves to identify the scene of the 
following story: — 

" It was on a dark rainy night in the month of 
November, that an old midwife sate musing by her 
cottage fire-side, when on a sudden she was star- 
tled by a loud knocking at the door. On opening 
it she found a horseman, who told her that her as- 
sistance was required immediately by a person of 
rank, and that she should be handsomely rewarded, 
but that there were reasons for keeping the affair 
a strict secret, and, therefore, she must submit to 
be blind-folded, and to be conducted in that con- 
dition to the bed-chamber of the lady. Witli some 
hesitation the midwife consented; the horseman 
bound her eyes, and placed her on a pillion be- 
hind him. After proceeding in silence for many 
miles, through rough and dirty lanes, they stopped, 
and the midwife was led into a house, which from 
the length of her walk through the apartments, as 
well as the sounds about her, she discovered to be 
the seat of wealth and power. When the bandage 
was removed from her eyes, she found herself in 
a bed-chamber, in which were the lady on whose 
account she had been sent for, and a man of a 
haughty and ferocious aspect. The lady was de- 
livered' of a fine boy. Immediately the man com- 
manded the midwife to give him the child, and 
catching it from her, he hurried across the room, 
and threw it on the back of the fire, that was blaz- 
ing in the chimney. The child, however, was 
strong, and by its struggles rolled itself off upon 
the hearth, when the ruffian again seized it with 
fury, and, in spite of the intercession of tiie mid- 
wife, and the more piteous entreaties of the mo- 
ther, thrust it under the grate, aiul, raking the 
live coals upon it, soon put an end to its life. Tiie 
midwife, after spending some time in affording all 
the relief in her power to the wretched mother, 
was told that she must begone. Her former con- 
ductor appeared, who again bound her eyes, and 
conveyed her behind him to her own home; he 
then paid her handsomely, and departed. The 
midwife was strongly agitated by the horrors of 
the preceding night;. and she immediately made a 
deposition of the facts before the magistrate. Two 
circumstances afforded hopes ofdetecting the house 
in which the crime had beencomrnitted; one was, 
that the midwife, as she sate by the bed-side, had, 
with a view to discover the place, cut out a piece 
of the bed-curtain, and sown it in again; the other 
was, that as she had descended the staircase, she 
had counted the steps. Some suspicions fell upon 
one DaiTell, at that time the proprietor of Little- 
cot-house and the domain ai'ound it. The house 
was examined, and identified by the midwife, and 



• I think there is a chapel on one side of it, but am not 
HXUVe sure. 



Darrell was tried at Salisbury for the murder. Ky 
corruptiftg his judge, he escaped the sentence of 
the law, but broke his neck by a fall from his 
horse in hunting, in a few months after. The place 
where this happened is still known by the name 
of Darrell's stile, — a spot to be dreaded by the 
peasant whom the shades of evening have over- 
taken on his way. 

" Littlecot-house is two miles from Hungerford, 
in Berkshire, through which the Bath road passes. 
The fact occuiTed in the reign of Elizabeth. All 
the important circumstances 1 have given exactly 
as they are told in the country; some trifles only 
are added, either to render the whole connected, 
or to increase the impression." 

With this tale of terror the author has combined 
some circumstances of a similar legend, which was 
current at Edinburgh, during his childhood. 

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, 
when the large castles of the Scottish nobles, and 
eveh the secluded hotels, like those of the French 
noblesse, which they possessed in Edinburgh, were 
sometimes the scenes of strange and mysteribus 
transactions, a divine of singular sancti-ty was called 
up at midnight, to pray with a person at the point 
of death." This was no unusual summons; but what 
followed was alarming. He was put into a sedan- 
chair, and, after he iiad been transported to a- re- 
mote part of the town, the bearers insisted upon 
his being blind-folded.- The request was enforced 
by a cocked pistol, and siibmitted to; but in the' 
course of the discussion he conjectured, from the 
phrases ernployed by the chairiTken, and from some 
part of their dress, not completely concealed by 
their cloaics, tlrat they were greatly above the me- 
nial station they had assumed. After many turns 
and. windings, the chair was carried up stairs into 
a lodging, wliere his eyes were uncovered, and he 
was introduced into a bed-room, where he found 
a lady newly delivered of an infant. He was com- 
manded by his attendants to say such prayers by 
her bedside as were fitting for a person not ex- 
pected to survive a mortal disorder. He ventured 
to remonstrate, and observe that her safe delivery 
warranted belter hopes. But he was sternly com- 
manded to obey the orders first given, and with 
difficulty reeollecte«l himself sufliciently to acquit 
himself of the task imposed on him. He was then 
again hurried into the chair; but, as they conducted 
him down stairs, he heard the report of a |)istol. 
He was safely conducted home: a purse of gold 
was forced upon him? but he was warned, at the 
same time, that the least allusion to this dark 
transaction would cost him his life. He betook 
himself to rest, and, after long and broken musing, 
fell into a deep sleep. From this he was awakened 
by his servant, with the dismal news, tliat a fire 
of uncommon fury had broken out in the house of 
*****, near the head of the canon-gate, and that 
it was totally consumed; with the shockmg addi- 
tion, that the daughter of the proprietor, a young 
lady, eminent for beauty and accomplishments, 
had perished in the flames. The clergyman had 
his suspicions, but to have made them public would 
have availed nothing. He was timid: the family 
was of the first distinction; above all, the deed was 
done, and could not be amended. Time wore 
away, however, and with it his terrors. He be- 
came unhappv at being the solitary depository of 
this f'earful mystery, and mentioned it to some of 
his brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired 
a sort of publicity. The divine, however, had been 



ROKEBY. 



249 



long dead, and the stoi^ in some decree forgotten, I 
when a fire broke out again on the very same spot | 
■where the house of **** had formerly stood, and 
which was now occupied by buildings of an infe- 
rior description. When the flames were at their ! 
height, the tumult, which usually attends such a 
sceiie, was suddenly suspended by an unexpected ' 
apparition. A beautiful female, in a night-dress, | 
extremely rich, but at least half a century old, ap- i 
peared in the very midst of the fire, and uttered I 
these tremendous 'words in her vernacular idiom: ! 
".///j^s burned; iwfce burned; the tldrd time I'll | 
scare you all I" The belief in this story was for- j 
merly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and 
seeming to approach the fatal spot, tiiere was a 
good deal of anxiety testified lest the apparition 
should make good her denunciation. 

11. As tliick a smoke these hearths have given 
At Hallowtide or Christinas even.— P. 219. 

Such an exhortation was, in similar circum- 
stances, actually given to his followers by a Welch 
chieftain: — 

"Enmity did continue betweene Howell apEys 
ap Howell Yaughan and the sonnes of John ap 
Meredith. After the death of Evan ap Robert, 
Griffith ap Gronw (cozen-german to John ap Me- 
redith's sonnes of Gwynfryn, who had long served 
in France and liad charge there) comeing home 
to live in the countrey, it happened that a servant 
of his, comeing to fish iu Stymll^ii, ids fish was 
taken away, and the fellow beaten \>y Howell ap 
Rys his servants, and by his commandment. Grit- 
fith ap John ap Gronw took the matter in such 
dudgeon that he challenged Howell ap Rys to the 
field, which he refusing, assembling his cosins 
John ap Meredith's sonnes and his friends toge- 
ther, assaulted Howell in his own house, after the 
manner he had seene in the French w.arres, and 
consumed with fire his bai-nes and his out-houses. 
Whilst he was thus assaulting the hall, which 
Howell ap Rys and mai>y other people kept, being 
a very strong house, he was shot out of a crevice 
of the house, through the sight of his beaver into 
the head, and slayne out-right, being otherwise 
armeil at all points. Notwithstanding his death, 
the assault of the house was continued with great 
vehemence, the doores fired with great burthens 
of straw; besides this, the smoake of the out- 
houses and barnes not farre distant annoyed gi-eatlj' 
the defendants, for that most of them lay under 
boordes and benches upon the floore, in the hall, 
the better to avoyd the smoake. During this scene 
of confusion onely the old man, Howell ap Rys, 
never stooped, but stood valiantly in the middest 
of the floore, armed with a gleve in his hand, and 
called into them, and bid ' them arise like men, 
for shame, for he had knnwne there as greate a 
smoke in that hall upon Christmas even.' In the 
end, seeing the house conld no longer riefend them, 
being overlayed with a multitude, upon parley be- 
tweene them, Howell ap Rys was content toyeald 
himself jirisoner to Morris ap John ap Meredith, 
John ap Meredith's eldest Sonne, soe as he would 
swear unto him to bring him safe to Carnarvon 
castle, to abide tlie triall of the. law for the death 
of Graff" ap John ap Gronw, who was cosen-germ'an 
removed to the said Howell ap Rys, and of the very 
same house he was of. Which Morris ap John ap 
Meredith undertaking, did put a guard about the 
said Howell of his trustiest friends and servants, 
who kept and defended him from the rage of his 
kindred, and especially of. Owen ap John ap Me- 



redith, his brother, who was very eager against 
him. They passed by leisure thence like a campe 
to Carnarvon: the whole cDuntrie being assembled, 
Howell his friends posted a horseback from one 
place or other by the way, who brought word that 
he was come thither safe, for they were in great 
fcai- lest he should be murthered, and that Morris 
ap John ap Meredith cotdd not be able to defend 
him, neithei- durst any of Howell's friends be there, 
for. fear of the kindred. In the end, being delivered 
by Moms ap John ap Meredith to the constable 
of Carnarvon castle, and there kept safely in ward 
until the assises, it fell out by law that the burn- 
ing of Howell's houses, and assaulting him in his 
owne house, was a more haynous offence in Mor- 
ris ap John ap Meredith and the rest, than the 
death of Graft' ap John ap Gronw in Howell, who 
did it in his own defence; whereupon IVIorris ap 
John ap Meredith, with thirty -five more, were in- 
dicted of felony, as appeareth by the copie of the 
indictment, which I had from the records." — Sir- 
John Wyune''s Ilistorifofthe Gwifdir Familif,'Lon<\. 
1770, 8vo. p. 116. 

XOTIS TO CANTO TT. 
1. O'er Hexham's altar himg my glove— P. 224. 

This custom among the Redesdale and Tyne- 
dale borderers is mentioned in the interesting 
Life of Bernard Gilpin, where some account is 
given of these wild districts, which it was the cus- 
tom of that excellent man regularly to visit. 

"This custom (of duels) still prevailed on the 
borders, where Saxon barbarism held its latest 
possession. These wild Xorthumbrians indeed 
went beyond the ferocity of their ancestors. They 
were, not content with a duel; each contending 
partj' used to muster what adherents he could, 
and commence a kind of petty war. So that a pri- 
vate .grudge would often occasion much bloodshed. 

" It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on 
foot when Mr. Gilpin was at Rothburj", in those 
parts. Daring the two or three first days of his 
preaching, the contending parties observed some 
decorum, and never appeared at church together. 
At length, however, they met. One party had been 
early at church, and just as Mr. Gilpin began his 
sermon the other entered. They stood not long 
silent: inflamed at the sight of each otiier, they 
began to clash their weapons, for they were all 
armed with javelins and swords, and mutually ap- 
proach. Awed, however, by the sacredness of the 
place, the tumult in some degree ceased. Mr. 
Gilpin proceeded: when again the combatants be- 
gan to brandish their weapons, and draw towards 
each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin 
stepped from the pulpit, went netween them, and 
addressed the leaders, put an end to the quarrel 
for the present, but could not effect an entire re- 
conciliation. They promised him, however, that 
till the sermon was over they would make no more 
disturbance. He then went again into the pulpit, 
and spent the rest of the time in endeavouring to 
make them ashamed of what they had done. His 
behaviour and discourse affected them so much, 
that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to for- 
bear all acts of hostility while he continued in the 
countrj-. And so much respected was he among 
them, that whoever was in fe.ar of his enemy used 
to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his 
presence the best protection. 

" One Sunday morning, coming to a church in 
those parts before the people were assembled, he 



250 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



observed a glove hanging up, and was informed by 
the sexton that it was meant as a challenge to any 
one who should take it down. Mr. Gilpin order- 
ed the sexton to reach it him: but upon his utterly 
refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and 
put it in his breast. When the people were assem- 
bled, he went into the pulpit, and, before 4ie con- 
cluded his sermon, took occasion to rebuke them 
severely for these inhuman challenges. '1 hear,' 
saith he, ' that one among you hath hanged up a 
glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight 
any one who taketh it down: see, I have taken it 
down;' and pulling out the glove, he held it up to 
the congregation, and then showed them how un- 
suitable such savage practices were to the profes- 
sion of Christianity, using such persuasives to mu- 
tual love as he thoug'ht would most afiect them. " — 
Life of Bernard Gilpin, Lond. 1753, 8vo. p. \~~. 
2. A liorseman armed, at headlong speed.— P. 227. 
This and what follows is taken from a real 
achievement of major Robert Phiiipson, called, 
from his desperate and adventurous courage, Robin 
the Devil; which, as being very inaccurately noticed 
in this note upon the first edition, shall be haw 
given in a more authentic focm. The chief place 
of his retreat was not Lord's Island in Derwent- 
water, but Cur wen's Island in the lake of Win- 
dermere. — 

"This island formerly belonged to the Philip- 
sous, a family of note in Westmoreland. During 
the civil wars, two of them, an elder and a young- 
er brother, served the king. The former, who was 
the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment; the 
latter was a major. 

" The major, whose name was Robert, was a 
man of great spirit and enterprize; and for his many 
feats of personal bravery had obtained, among the 
Oliverians of those parts, the appellation of Robin 
the Devil. 

" After the war had subsided, and the direful 
effects of public opposition had ceased, revenge 
and malice long kept alive the animosity of indi- 
viduals. Colonel Briggs, a steady friend to usur- 
pation, resided at this time at Kendal, and, under 
the double character of a leading magistrate (for 
he was a justice of peace) and an active commander, 
held the country in awe. This person, having heard 



that major Phiiipson was at his brother's house on 
the island in Windermere, resolved, if possible, 
to seize and punish a man who had made himseli 
so particiUarly obnoxious. How it was conducted, 
my* authority does not inform us — whether he got 
together the navigation of the lake, and blockaded 
the place by sea, or whether he landed and earned 
on his approaches in form. Neiliier do we leara 
the strength of the garrison ^^'itluh, noi- of the works 
without. All we learn is, that major Phiiipson 
endured a siege of eight months with great gallant- 
ry, till his brother, the colonel, raised a party and 
relieved him. 

" It was now the major's turn to make reprisals. 
He put himself, therefore, at the head of a little 
troop of horse, and rode to Kendal. Here, being 
informed that colonel Briggs was at prayers, (for 
it was on a Sunday morning,-) he stationed his men 
properly in the avenues, and himself, armed, rode 
directly into the church. It probably was not a 
regular chui'ch, but some large place of meeting. 
It is said he intended to seize the colonel and car- 
ry him off; but as this seems to have been totally 
impracticable, it is rather probable that his in- 
tention was to kill him- on the spot, and in the 
midst of the confusion to escape. Whatever his 
intention was, it was frustrated, for Briggs happen- 
ed to bo elsewhere. 

" The congregation, as might be expected, was 
thrown into great confusion on seeing an armed 
man on horseback make his appearance among 
them; and the major, taking advantage of their as- 
tonishment, turned his horse round, and rode quiet- 
ly out. But having given an alarm, he was pre- 
sently assaulted as he left the assembly, and being 
seized, his girths were cut, and he was unhorsed. 

" At this instant his party made a furious attack 
on the assailants, and the major killed with his 
own hand the man who had seized him, clapped 
the saddle, ungirthed as it 'was, upon his horse, 
and vaulting into it, rode full speed through the 
streets of Kendal, calling "his men to follow him; 
and witli his whole party made a safe retreat to his 
asylum in the lake. The action marked the man. 
Many knew him: and they who did not, knew as 
well from the exploit that it could be nobody but 
Robin the Devil." 



Wdt aottr of tfi^ ^^\t%x 



A POEiM. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The scene of this poem lies, at first, in the cas- 
tle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyleshire; and 
afterwards in the islands of Skye and Arran, and 
upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid 
near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of 
the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven 
out of Scotland by the English, and the barons 
■who adhered to that foreign intei-est, returned from 
the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again 
to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many 
of the personages and incidents introduced are ol 
historical celebrity. The authorities used are 
chiefly those of the venerable lord Hailes, as well 
entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish his- 
tory, as Bruce the restorer of Scottish monarchy; 



and of archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition ol 
whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, 
I trust, appear under the care of my leai-ned friend, 
the Rev. Dr. Jamieson.f 

Abbotsford, 10th December, 1814. 

THEI^ORD OF THE ISLES. 

CANTO I. 

Autumn departs — but still liis mantle's fold 
Rests on the groves of noble SomerviUe, 

Beneath a sliroud of russet dropped with gold, 
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still; 

Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill 
Yet lingering notes of Svlvan music swell. 



* Dr. Burn's History of Westmoreland, 
t Now published. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



251 



The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill; 
And yet some tints of summer splendour tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's west- 
ern fell. 

Autumn departs — from Gala's fields no more . 

Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer; 
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er, 

No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last blith shout hath died upon our ear. 

And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging 
wain. 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear. 

Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train. 
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scat- 
tered giain. 

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure 
still? 
Lovest thou through autumn's fading realms to 
stray, 
To see the heatli-llower withered on the hill, 

To listen to the wood's expiring lay, 
To note the red leaf sliivering on the spray. 

To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain. 
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way, 

And moralize on moral joy and pain?-— 
O ! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the min- 
strel strain! 

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, 

Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 
That gleam through mist in autumn's evening 

sky, »S— — 

And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry. 

When wild November hath his bugle wound; 
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I, 

Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest 
bound. 
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest 
found. 

So sh--ilt thou list, and haply not unmoved. 

To a Mild tale of Albyn's warrior day; 
In distant lands, by the rough west reproved. 

Still live some reliqiies of the ancient lay. 
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights deca}'. 

With such the seer of Skye the eve beguiles; 
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay, 

In Hari'ies known, and in lona's piles, 
Where rest from mortal coil the mighty of the 
Isles. 

I. 

" Wake, maid of Lorn!" the minstrels sung. 

Thy rugged halls, Ai'tornish! rung,' 

And the dark seas, thy towers that lave. 

Heaved on the beach a softer wave, 

,As mid the tuneful choir to keep 

The diapasonof the deep. 

Lulled were the winds on Inninraore, 

And green Loch-AUine's woodland shore. 

As if wild woods and waves had pleasure 

In listing to the lovely measure. 

And ne'er to symphony more sweet 

Gave mountain echoes ahswer meet, 

Since, met from mainland and from isle, 

Ross, Arran, Hay, and Argyle, 

Eacl) miustrel's tributary lay 

Paid homage to the festal day. 

Dull and dishonoui-ed were the bard. 

Worthless of guerdon and regard. 

Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 

Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, 



Who on that morn's resistless call 
Was silent in Artornish hall. 

II. 

" Wake, maid of Lorn I" 'twas thus they sung, 

And yet more proud the descant rung, 

" Wake, maid of Lorn! high right is ours. 

To charm dull sleep from beauty's bowers; 

Earth, ocean, air, have nought so. shy 

But owns the power of minstrelsy. 

In Lettermore the timid deer 

Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear; 

Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark 

Will long pursue the minstrel's bark;2 

To list his notes, the eagle proud 

Will poise him on Ben Cailliach's cloud; 

Then let not maiden's ear disdain 

The summons of the minstrel train. 

But, while our harps wild music make, 

Edith of Lorn, awake, awake ! 

m. 

" O wake, while dawn, with dewy shine. 
Wakes nature's charms to vie with thine! 
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice 
To mate thy melody of voice; 
The dew that on the violet lies 
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes; 
But, Edith, wake, and all we see 
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!" — 
. " She comes not yet," gray Ferrand cried; 
" Brethren, let softer spell be tried. 
Those notes pi'olonged, that soothing theme, 
Which best may mix with beauty's dream, 
And whisper, with their silver}' tone. 
The hope she loves, yet fears to own. "— • 
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died 
The strains of flattery and of pride; 
More soft, more low, more tender fell 
The lay of love he bade tlierh tell. 

IV. 

" Wake, maid of Lorn ! the moments fij-, 

Which yet that maiden-name allow; 
Wake, maiden, wake! the .hour is nigli. 

When love shall claim a plighted vow. 
By fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest, 

By hope, that soon shall fears remove. 
We bid thee break the bonds of rest. 

And wake thee at tlie call of love ! 

"Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay 

Lies many a galley gayly manned, 
We hear the meriy pibrochs play, • 

We see the streamers' silken band. 
^V^lat chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell. 

What crest is on these burners wove, 
The harp, the minstrel, dOTC not tell — 

The riddle must be read by love." 

V. 

Retired her maiden train among, 

Edith of Lorn received the song. 

But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 

That had her cold demeanour seen; 

P'or not upon her cheek awoke 

Tlie glow of pride wiien flattery spoke. 

Nor could their tenderest numbers biing 

One sigh responsive to the string. 

As vainly had her maidens vied 

In skill to deck the princely bride. 

Her locks, in dark-brown length anayed, 

Cathleen of Ulue, 'twas tliine to braid; 

Young Eva with meet reverence drew 

On the light foot.^Jte silken shoe, 



252 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



While on the ancle's sleiidei- round 
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound. 
That, bleached Lnchryau's depths within, 
Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin. 
ButEinion, of experience old. 
Had weightiest task — the mantle's fold 
In many an artful plait she tied, 
To show the form it seemed to hide, 
Till on the floor descending rolled 
Its waves of crimson blent with gold. 

VI. 

O ! lives there now so cold a maid, 
Who thus in beauty's pomp arrayed, 
In beauty's proudest pitch of power. 
And conquest won — the bridal hour — 
With every charm tliat wins the heart, 
By nature "given, enhanced by art, 
Could yet the fair reflection view. 
In the bright mirror pictured true. 
And not one dimple on her cheek 
A tell-tale consciousness bespeak? — 
Lives still such maid?— Fair damsels, say. 
For further vouches not my lay, 
Save that such lived in Britain's isle. 
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned to smile. 

VII. 

But Moi'ag, to whose fostering care 
Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, 
Morag, who saw a mother's aid 
By all a daughter's love repaid, 
(Strict was that bond — most kind of all — 
Inviolate in highland hall — ) 
Gray Morag sate a space apart 
In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 
In vain the attendants' fond appeal 
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal; 
She marked her child receive their care. 
Cold as the image sculptured fair, 
(Form of some sainted patroness,) 
Which cloistered maids combine to dress; 
She marked — and knew her nursling's heart 
In the vain pomp took little part. 
Wistful a while she gazed — then pressed 
The maiden to her anxious breast 
In finished loveliness — and led 
To where a turret's airy head, 
Slender and steep, and battled romid, 
O'erlooked, dark Mull ! thy mighty sound,3 
Wliere thwarting tides, with mingled roar, 
Part tliy swarth hills from Morven's shore. 

vm. 

" Daughter," she said, " these seas behold. 
Round twice an Imndred islands rolled, 
From Hirt, that irears their northern roar, 
To t,he green Hay's fertile shore;* 
Or mainland turn, where many a tower 
Owns thy bold brother's feudal power, 
Each on its own dark cape reclined. 
And listening to its own wild wind, 
From where Mingari-y, sternly placed, 
O'erawes the woodland and the waste,5 
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging 
Of Connal with his rocks engaging. 
Think'st thou, amid this ample round, 
A single brow but thine has frowned, 
To sadden this auspicious morn, 
That bids the daughter of high Lorn 
Impledge her spousal faith to wed 
The heir of mighty Somerled:^ 
Ronald, from many a hero sprung, 
The fair, the valiant, and Ate young. 



Lord of the isles,'' whose lofty name 
A thousand bards have given to fame, 
Tlie mate of monarchs, and allied 
On equal terms with England's pride. — 
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot. 
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not? 
The damsel dons her best attire, 
The shephei'd lights his beltane fire, 
Joy, joy! each warder's horn hath sung, 
.(oy, jo}'! each matin bell hath rung; 
The holy pi-iest says grateful mass. 
Loud shouts each hartly galla-glass, 
No mountain den holds outcast boor, 
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor, 
But he hath flung his task aside. 
And claimed this morn for holy-tide; - 
Yet, empress of this joyful day, 
Edith is sad while all ai-e gay." 

IX. 

Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, 
Resentment checked the struggling sigh, 
Her hurrying hand indignant dried 
The burning tears of injured pride — 
" Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise 
To swell yon hireling harper's lays; 
Make to yon maids thy boast of power, 
That they may waste a wondering hour, 
Telling of banners proudly borne. 
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn, 
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, 
Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 
But thou, experienced as thou art, 
Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart, 
That, bound in strong affection's chain. 
Looks for return, and looks in vain? 
No ! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 
In these brief words — he loves her not! 

X. 

" Debate.it not — too long I strove 

To call his cold observance love. 

All blinded l)y the league that styled 

Edith of Lorn, — while, yet a child. 

She tripped the heath by Morag's side,— 

The brave lord Ronald's destined bride. 

Ere yet I saw him, while afar 

His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war, 

Trained to believe our fates the same, 

My bosom throbbed when Ronald's name 

Came gracing fame's heroic tale. 

Like perfume on the summer gale. 

What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told 

Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold? 

Who touched the harp to heroes' praise. 

But his achievements swelled the Jays? 

E'en Morag — not a t.ile of fame 

Was hers, but closed with Ronald's name. 

He came! and all that had been told 

Of his high worth seemed poor and cold. 

Tame, lifeless, void of energy, 

Unjust to Ronald and to me ! 

XI. 

" Since then, what thought had Edith's heart 

And gave not plighte'd love its part ! — 

And what requital? cold delay — 

Excuse that slmnned the spousal day. — 

It dawns, and Ronald is not here! — . 

Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer, 

Or loiters he in secret dell 

To bid some lighter love farewell, 

And swear, that though he may nat scorn 

A daugluer of the house of Lorn,8 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



253 



Yet, when these fonnal rites are o'er, 
Again they meet, to part no more?" 

xn. 

— "Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove, 

More nobly think of Ronald's love. 

Look, where beneath the castle gray 

His fleet unmoor from Aros-bay! 

Seest not each galley's topmast bend. 

As on tl>e yards the sails ascend ? 

Hiding the dark blue land they rise. 

Like the white clouds on April skies; 

The shouting vassals man the oars, 

Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores," 

Onward their meriy course they keep, 

Through v.iiistling bi-eeze and foaming deep. 

And mark the headmost, seaward cast, 

Stoop to the freshening gale her mast. 

As if she veiled its bannered pride. 

To greet afar her prince's bride ! 

Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed 

His galley mates the flying steed, 

He chides her sloth!" — Fair Edith sighed. 

Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus replied: — 

xni. 

" Sweet thought, but vain! — No, Morag! mark. 

Type of his course, yon lonely bark, 

That oft hath shifted helm and sail, # 

To win its way against the gale. 

Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes 

Have viewed by fits the course she tries; 

Now, though the darkening scud comes on. 

And dawn's fair promises be gone. 

And though the weary crew may see 

Our sheltering haven on their lee, 

Still closer to the rising wind 

They strive her shivering sail to bind. 

Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge 

At every tack her course they urge. 

As if they feared Artornish more 

Than adverse winds and breakers' roar. " — 

XIV. 

Sooth spoke the maid. — Amid the tide 

The skiff she marked lay tossing sore, 
And shifted oft her stooping side, 

In weary tack from shore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no more 

She gained, of forward way. 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed which peasants share. 

Who toil the live-long day; 
And such the risk her pilot braves, 

That oft, before she woi'e, 
Her bowsprit kissed the broken waves. 
Where in white foam the ocean raves 

Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true, 
Undaunted toiled her hardy crew, 

Nor looked where shelter lay, 
Nor for Artornish castle drew. 

Nor steered for Aros-bay. 

XV. 

Tims while they strove with wmd and seas. 
Borne onward by the willing breeze, 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamered with silk, and tricked with gold. 
Manned with the noble and the bold 

Of island chivalry. 
Around their prows the ocean roars, 
And chafes beneath their thousand oars. 

Yet bears tiiem on tlieir way; 



So chafes the war-horse in his might, 
That fieldward bears some valiant knight, 
Champs till both bit and boss are white, 

But, foaming, must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold 
Lances of steel and crescs of gold. 
And hauberks with their burnished fold. 

That shimmered fair and free; 
And each proud galley, as she passed. 
To the wild cadence of the blast 

Gave wilder minstrelsy. • 
Full many a s!u-ill triumphant note 
Saline and Scallastle bade float 

Their misty shores around; 
And Morv^n's echoes answered well, 
And Duart heard the distant swell 

Come down the darksome sound. 

XVI. 

So bore they on with mirth and pride. 
And if that labouring bark they spied, 

'Twas with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor. 
When, toiling in his task obscure, 

They pass him careless by. 
Let them sweep on with heedless eyes ! 
But, had the}" known what mighty prize 

In that frail vessel lay. 
The famished wolf, that prowls the wold, 
Had scatheless passed the unguarded fold. 
Ere, drifting by tliese galleys bold. 

Unchallenged were her way ! 
And ihos, lord Ronald, sweep thou on. 
With mirth and pride and minstrel tone! 
But had'st thou known who. sailed so nigh, 
Far other glance were in thine eye! 
Far other flush were on. thy brow. 
That, shaded by the bonn'et, now 
Assumes but ill the blithsome cheer 
Of bridegroom when the bride is near. 

XVII. 

Yes, sweep they on! — We will not leave. 
For them that triumph, those who grieve. 

With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout. 
And bards to cheer tiie wassail rout. 

With tale, romance, and lay; 
And of wild mirth each clamorous art, 
Which, if it caimot cheer the heart. 
May stupify and stun its smart. 

For one loud busy day. 
Yes, sweep they on! — But with that skilF 

Abides the minstrel tale. 
Where there was dread of surge and cliflF, 
Labour that strained each sinew stiff:, 

And one sad maiden's "ti^l. 

XVIII. 

AH day with fruitless strife they toiled. 
With eve the ebbing currents boiled 

More fierce from streight and lake; 
And midway througli the channel met 
Conflicting tides tliat foam and fret, 
And high their mingled billows jet, 
As spears, that, in tlie battle set. 

Spring upward as they break. 
Then too the lights of eve were past, 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Inninmore; 
Rent was the sail, and strained the mast. 
And many a leak was gaping fest. 
And the pale steersman stood aghast, . 

And gave the ccnflicl o'er. 



254 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XIX. 

'Twas then that one, whose lofty look 
Nor labour'dulled, nor terror shook. 

Thus to the leader spoke: 
•'Brother, how hopest thou to abide 
The fury of this wildered tide, 
Or how avoid the rock's rude side. 

Until the day has broke? 
Did'st thou not mark the vessel reel. 
With quivering planks and groaning keel, 

At the last billow's shock? 
Yet how of better counsel tell. 
Though hei-e thou seest poor Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear; 
For look on sea, or look on land. 
Or yon dark sky, on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her alone I grieve — on me 
Danger sits light by land and sea, 

I follow where thou nilt; 
Either to bide the tempest's lour. 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, 
Or rush amid their naval power, 
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour. 

And die with hand on hilt." — 

XX. 

That elder leader's calm reply 

In steady voice was given, 
" In man's most dark extremity 

Oft succour dawns from heaven. 
Edward, trim thou the shattered sail, 
The helm be mine, and down the g^e 

Let our free course be driven; 
So shall we 'scape the western bay. 
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray. 
So safely hold our vessel's way. 

Beneath the castle wall; 
For if a hope of safety rest, 
'Tis on the sacred name of guest. 
Who seeks for shelter, storm distressed, 

Witliin a chieftain's hall. 
If not — it best beseems our worth, 
Our name, our right, our lofty birth, 

By noble hands to fall. " — 
XXI. 
The helm, to his strong arm consigned, 
Gave the reefed sail to meet the wind. 

And on her altered way. 
Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship, 
Like greyhound starting from the slip. 

To seize his flying pre)'. 
Awaked before the rushing prow. 
The mimic fires of ocean glow, 

Those lightnings of the wave;^ 
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides, 
And, flashing rourti, the vessel's sides 

With elvish lustre lave. 
While, far behind, their livid light 
To the dark billows of the night 

A gloomy splendour gave. 
It seems as if old ocean shakes 
From his dark brow the livid flakes 

In envious pageantry, 
To match the meteor light that streaks 

Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 
XXll. 
Nor lacked they steadier light to keep 
Their course upon the darkened deep: — 
Artornish, on her frowning steep, 

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung. 
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 



And landward far, and far to sea, 

Her festal radiance flung. 
By that blith beacon-light they steered, 

\Vhose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now appeared, 
As the cold moon her head upreared 

Above the eastern fell. 

XXlll. 

Thus guided, on their course they bore, 
Until they neared the mainland shore. 
When frequent on the hollow blast 
Wild shouts of merriment were cast, 
And wind and wave and seabird's cry 
With wassail sounds in concert vie 
Like funeral shrieks with revelry. 

Or like the battle-shout 
By peasants heard from cliffs on high, 
When triumph, rage, and agony, 

Madden the fight and rout. 
Now nearer yet, through mist and storm, 
Dimly arose the castle's form, 

And deepened shadow made. 
Far lengthened on the main below. 
Where, dancing in reflected glow, 

An hundred torches played. 
Spangling the wave with lights as vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain, 

Xhat dazzle slb they fade. 

XXIV. 

Beneath the castle's sheltering lee, 
They staid their course in quiet sea. 
Hewn in the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stair 

So straight, so high, so steep, 
With peasant's staff one valiant hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have manned, 
'Gainst hundreds armed with spear and brand, 

And plunged them in the deep.'* 
His bugle then the helmsman wound; 
Loud answered every echo round. 

From turret, i-ock, and baj'. 
The postern's hinges crash and groan. 
And soon the warder's cresset shone 
On those rude steps of slippery stone, 

To light the upward way. 
"Thrice welcome, holy sire!" he said; 
" Full long the spousal train have staid. 

And, vexed at thy delay. 
Feared lest, amidst these wildering seas, 
.The darksome night and freshemng breeze 

Had driven thy bark astray."— 
XXV. 
" Warder," the younger stranger said, 
" Thine erring guess some mirth had made 
In mirthful hour; but nights like these. 
When the rough winds wake western seas, 
Brook not of glee. We crave some aid 
And needful shelter for this maid. 

Until the break of day; 
For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

That's breathed upon by May; 
And for our storm-tossed skift" we seek 
Short shelter in this leeward creek, 
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak. 

Again to. bear away." — 
Answered the warder," In what name 
Assert ye hospitable claim ? ■ 

Whence come, or whither bound? 
Hath Erin seen your parting sails. 
Or come ye on Norweyan gales? 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



255 



And seek ye England's fertile vales, 

Or Scotland's mountain ground!"' — 
" Warriors — for other title none 
For some, brief space we list to own, 
Bound by a vow — warriors are we: 
In strife by land, and storm by sea, 

We have been known to fame; 
And these brief wol-ds iiave import dear, 
■When sounded in a noble ear, 
To harbour safe, and friendly cheer, 

That gives us rightful claim. 
Grant us tiie trivial boon we seek, 
And we in other realms will speak 

Fair of your courtesy; 
Deny — and be your niggard hold 
Scorned by the noble and tlie bold. 
Shunned by the pilgrim on the wold, 

And wanderer on the lea. "•'— 
XXVI. 
" Bold strangerj no — 'gainst claim like thine. 
No bolt revolves by hand Of mine, 
Thougli urged in tone that more expressed 
A monarch than a suppliant guest. 
Be what ye will, Artornish Hall 
On this glad eve is free to all. 
Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 
'Gainst our ally, great England's lord. 
Or mail upon your shoulders borne, 
To battle with the lord of Lorn, 
Or, outlawed, dwelt by greenwood tree 
With the fierce knight of Eilerslie, 
Or aided e'en the murderous strife, 
Wlien Comyn fell beneath the knife 
Of that fell homicide the Bruce, 
This night had been a term of truce. — 
Ho, vassals! give these guests your care, • 
And show the narrow postern stair." — 

XXVII. 

To land these two bold brethren leapt, 
(The weary crew their vessel kept,) 
And, lighted by the torches' flare. 
That seaward flung their smoky glare, 
The younger knight that maiden bare 

Half lifeless up the rock; 
On his strong shoulder leaned her head. 
And down her long dark tresses shed, 
As the wild vine, in tendrils spread. 

Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him followed close that elder lord. 
And in his hand a sheathed sword. 

Such as few arms could wield; 
But when he bouned him to such task. 
Well could it cleave the strongest casque, 

And rend the surest shield. 
XXVUI. 
The raised portcullis arch they pass, 
The wicket with'its bars of brass, 

The entrance long and low. 
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes strait, 
Where bowmen might in ambush wait, 
(If force or fraud should bm-st the gate,) 

To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post of wardj 
Was now defenceless and unbarred. 

And all the passage free 
To one low-browed and vaulted room. 
Where squire and yeoman, page and g^oom, 

Plied their loud revelry. 

XXIX. 

And " Rest ye here," the warder bade, 
" Till to our lord your suit is said. — 



And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, ■ 
And on these men who ask our aid, 

As if ye ne'er had seen 
A damsel tired of midnight bark. 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark. 

And bearing martial mien." — 
But not for Eacliin's reproof • 
Would page or vassal stand aloof. 

But crowded on to stare. 
As men of courtesy untaught, 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught. 

From one the foremost there, 
His chequered plaid, and in its shroud. 
To hide her from the vulgar crowd. 

Involved his sister fair. 
His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent, 

Made brief and stern excuse; — 
" Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall 
That decks thy lord in bridal hall, 

'Twere honoured by her use." — 

XXX. 

Proud was his tone, but calm; his eye 

Had that compelling dignity. 

His mien that bearing haught and high, 

Which common spirits fear; 
Needed nor word nor signal more. 
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er: 
Upon each other back they bore. 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appeared the seneschal. 
Commissioned by his lord to call 
The strangers to the baron's hall. 

Where Tcasted fair and free 
That Island prince in nuptial tide, 
With Edith there his lovely bride, 
And her bold brother by her side. 
And many a chief, the flower and pride 

Of western land and sea. 

Here' pause we, gentles, for a space; 
And, if our tale hath won your grace. 
Grant us brief patience, and again 
We will renew the minstrel strain. 



CAXTO ir. 
I. 

Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board ! 

Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair! 
Through the loud hall in joyous concert poured, 

Let mirth and music sound the dirge oi' care ! 
But ask thou not if happiness be thei-e, 

If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe. 
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear; 

Lift not the festal mask! — Aough to know. 
No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal wo. 

n. 

With beakers' clang-, with harpers' lay, 
With all that olden time deemed gay, 
The Island chieftain feasted high; 
But there was in his troubled eye 
A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flushed, and faded now. 
Emotions such as draw their birth 
From deeper source than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
And jester's tale went round in vain. 
Or fell but on his idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. 
Then would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy. 



256 



SCOTT'S POETICAL. WORKS. 



And call for pledge and lay, 
And, for brief space, of all the crowd, 
As he was loudest of the loud, 

Seemed gayest of the gay. 
III. 
Yet nought amiss the' bridal throng 
Marked in brief mirth, or musing long; 
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear. 
They gave to thouglits of raptures near. 
And his fierce starts of sudden glee, 
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd, 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud. 
And jealous of his honoured line. 
And that keen knight, De Argentine, i 
(From England sent on errand high. 
The western league more firm to tie,) 
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye. 
Pierced deeper through the mystery, 
And watclied, with agony and fear, , 

Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer. . 

IV. 
She watched — yet feared to meet his glance. 
And lie shunned her's; — till when by chance. 
They met, the point of foeman's lance 

Had given a milder pang! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed; — then sternly manned his heart 
To play his hard but destined part. 

And from the table sprang. 
"Fill me the mighty cup!" he said, 
"Erst owned b)- royal Somerled.2 
Fill it, till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 
And every gem of varied shine 
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine! 
To you, brave lord, and brother mine, 

Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 
The union of our house with thine. 

By this fair bridal-link!" 
V. 
" Let it pass round!" quoth he of Lorn, 
" And in good time — that winded horn 

Must of the abbot tell; 
The laggard monk is come at last." — 
Lord Ronald heard the bugle blast, 
And, on the floor at random cast, 

The untasted goblet fell. 
But when the warder in his ear 
Tells other news, his blither cheer 

Returns like sun of May, 
When through a thunder-cloud it beams; — 
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems 

As glad of brief delay. 
As some poor criminal might feel, 
When from the gibbet or the wheel 

Respited for a day. 

VI. 
" Brotlier of Lorn," with hurried voice 
He said, " And you, fair lords, rejoice! 

Here, to augment our glee. 
Come wandering knights from travel far. 
Well proved, they say, in strife of war. 

And tempest on the sea. — 
Ho! give them at your board such place 
As best their presences may grace, 

And bid them welcome free ! " 
With solemn step, and silver wand. 
The seneschal the presence scanned 



Of these strange guests;^ and well he knew 
How to assign their rank its due; 

For, though the costly furs 
That erst had decked their caps were torn, 
And their gay robes were over-worn, 

And soiled their gilded spurs. 
Yet such a high commanding grace 
Was in their mien and in their face, 
As suited best the princely dais, 

And royal canopy: 
And there he marshalled them their place, 

First of that company. 
VU. . 
Then lords and ladies spake aside, 
And angry looks the error chide. 
That gave to guests unnamed, unknown, 
A place so near their prince's throne; 

But Owen Erraught said, 
" For forty years a seneschal. 
To marshal guests in bower and hall 

Has been my honoured trade. 
Worship and birth to me are known. 
By look, by bearing, and by tone. 
Not by furred robe or broidered zone; 

And 'gainst an oaken bough 
I'll gage my silver wand of state. 
That these three strangers oft have sate 

In higher place than now." — 

vni. 

" I, too," the aged Ferrand said, 
" Am qualified by minstrel trade 

Of rank and place to tell; — 
Marked ye tlie younger stranger's eye, 
My mates, how quick, how keen, how high. 

How fierce its flashes fell. 
Glancing among the noble rout 
As if to seek the noblest out, 
Because the owner might not brook 
On any save his peers to look? 

And yet it moves me more, 
That stead}^, calm, majestic brow. 
With which the elder chief e'en now 

Scanned- the gay presence o'er, 
Ijike being of superior kind. 
In whose high-toned impartial mind 
Degrees of moi-tal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifterent weight. 
The lady too — though, closely tied. 

The mantle veil both face and eye. 
Her motion's grace it could not hide, 

Nor could her form's fair symmetry."— 
IX. 
Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
Loui'ed on the haughty front of Lorn. 
From underneath his bi'ows of pride, 
The stranger guests he sternly eyed, 
And whispered closely what the ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear; 

Then questioned, high and brief, 
"If, in their voyage, aught they knew 
Of the rebellious Scottish crew. 
Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew. 

With Carrick's outlawed chief {* 
And if, their winter's exile o'er. 
They harboured still Ijy Ulster's shore, 
Or lanched their gallej's on the main. 
To vex their native land again?" 

X. 
That younger stranger, fierce and high, 
At once confronts the chieftam's eye 

With look of equal scorn; 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



257 



" Of rebels have we nought to show; 
But if of royal Bruce thou'dst know, 

I warn thee he has s*orn, 
Ere thrice three days shall come and go, 
His banner Scottish winds shall blow, 
Despite each mean or mighty foe, 
From England's every bill and bow. 

To Allaster ofLoru." 
Kindled the mountain chieftain's ire, 
But Ronald quencVied the rising fire; 
" Brother, it better suits the time 
To cliase the night with Ferrand's rhyme. 
Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars 
That flow from these unhappy wars." — 
"Content," said l-orn; and spoke apart 
With Ferraud, master of his art. 
Then whispered Argentine, — 
*' The lay I named will carry smart 
To these bold strangers' haughty heart. 

If right this guess of mine." 
He ceased, and it was silence all, 
Until the minstrel waked the hall. 

XI. 

THE BROACH OF LOBN.S 

" Whence the broach of burning gold. 
That clasps the chieftain's mantle-fold, 
Wrought and chased with rare device, 
Studded fair with gems of price,^ 
On the varied tartans beaming, 
As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming, 
Fainter now, now seen afar, 
Fitful shines the northern star? 
" Gem, ne'er wrought on highland mountain. 
Did the fairy of the fountain. 
Or the mermaid of the wave. 
Frame thee in some coral cave? 
Did in Iceland's darksome mine 
Dwarf's sv'art hands thy metal twine? 
Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here. 
From England's love, or France's fear? 
XII. 

SONG CONTINUED. 

" No! — thy splendours nothing tell, 
Foreign art or faery spell. 
Moulded thou for monarch's use, 
By the over-weening Bruce, 
When the royal robe he tied 
O'er a heart of wrath and pride; 
Thence in triumph wert thou torn, 
By the victor hand of Lorn ! 

" When the gem was won and lost,. 
Wildly was the war-cry tossed! 
Rung aloud Bendourish Fell, • 
Answered Douchart's sounding dell, 
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 
When the homicide, o'ercome. 
Hardly 'scaped with scathe and scorn. 
Left the pledge with conquering Lorn! 
XIII. 

SONf? CONCLUDED. 

" Vain was then the Douglas brand. 
Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand,' 
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk. 
Making sure of murder's work^ 
Barendown fled fast away. 
Fled the fiery De la Haye,9 
When this broacli, triumphant boi'ne, 
Beamed upon the breast of Lorn. 

" Farthest fled, its former lord 
Left his men to brand and cord, 



Bloody brand of highland steel, 
Englisli gibbet, axe, and wheel. 
Let liim fly from coast to coast. 
Dogged b)' Comyn's vengeful ghost, ' 
While his spoils, in triumph worn. 
Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! "— 

XIV. 

As glares the tiger on his foes. 

Hemmed in by hunters, spears, and bows, 

And, ere he bounds upon the ring. 

Selects the object of his spring,^ 

Now on the bard, now on his lord. 

So Edward glai-ed and grasped his sword — 

But stern his brother spoke, — " Be still! 

What! art thou yet so wild of will, 

After high deeds and sufterings long. 

To chafe thee for a menial's song? — 

Well hast thou framed, old man, thy strains. 

To praise the hand that pays thy jiains;'" 

Yet something might thy song have told 

Of Lorn's three vassals, true and bold. 

Who rent their lord froni Bruce's liold, 

As underneath his knee he lay. 

And died to save him in the fray. 

I've'heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp 

Was clenched within their dying grasp. 

What time a hundred foemen more 

Rushed in and back the victor bore. 

Long after Lorn had left the strife. 

Full glad to 'scape witii limb and life. — 

Enough of this — and, minstrel, hold. 

As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold. 

For future lays a fair excuse. 

To speak more nobly of the Bruce. " — 

XV. 

" Now, by Columba's shrine, I swear, 
And every saint that's buried there, 
'Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries, 
" And for my kinsman's death he dies." 
As loudly Ronald calls — " Forbear! 
Not in my sight while bi-and I wear, . 
O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall. 
Or blood of stranger stain my hall! 
This ancient fortress of my race 
Shall be misfortune's resting-place. 
Shelter and shield of the distressed. 
No slaughter-house for shipwrecked guest. "^ 
" Talk not to me," fierce Lorn replied, 
" Of odds or matcli ! — when Comyn dieil, 
Three daggers clashed within his side! 
Talk not to me of sheltering hall. 
The church of God saw Comyn fall ! 
On God's own altar streamed his blood. 
While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood 
The ruthless murderer — e'en as now — 
With armed hand and scornful brow. — 
Up, all who love me ! blow on blow ! 
And lay the outlawed felons low!" — 

XVI. 

Tlien up sprung many a mainland lord, 
Obedient to their chieftain's word. 
Barcaldine's arm is high in air. 
And Kinloch-AUine's blade is bare, 
Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath. 
And clenched is Dermid's hand of death. 
Their muttered threats of vengeance swell 
Into a wild and warlike yell; 
Onward they press with weapons high. 
The aft'righted females shriek and fty, 
And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray 
Had darkened ere its noon of day, 



258 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But every chief of birth and fame, • 
That fi-om the Isles of Ocean came, 
At Ronald's aide that hour withstood 
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood. 

xvir. 

Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high, 
Lord of the misty hills of Skye, 
M'Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane, 
Duart, of bold Clan Gillian's strain, 
Fergus, of Canna's castled bay, 
M'DufHth, lord of Colonsay, 
Soon as they saw the broadswords glance. 
With ready weapons rose at once. 
More prompt, that many an ancient feud, 
Full oft suppressed, full oft renewed. 
Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle, 
And many a lord of ocean's isle. 
Wild was the scene — each sword was bare, 
Back streamed each chieftain's shaggy hair. 
In gloomy opposition set. 
Eyes, hands, and brandished weapons met : 
Blue gleaming o'er the social board. 
Flashed to the torches many a sword ; 
And soon those bridal lights may shine 
•On purple blood for rosy wine. 

XVIII. 
While thus for blows and death prepared, 
Each harp was up, each weapon bared. 
Each foot advanced, — a surly pause 
Still reverenced hospitable laws. 
All menaced violence, but alike 
Reluctant each the first to strike, 
(For aye accursed in minstrel line 
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,) 
And, matched in numbers and in might. 
Doubtful and desperate seemed the fight. 
Thus threat and murmur died away. 
Till on the crowded hall there lay 
Such silence, as the deadly still. 
Ere burst the thunder on the hill. 
With blade advanced, each chieftain bold 
Showed like the sworder's form of old. 
As wanting still the torch of life, 
To wake the marble into strife. 

XIX. 
That awful pause the stranger maid, > 

And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 
As to De Argentine she clung. 
Away her veil the stranger flung, 
And lovely, 'mid her wild despair. 
Fast streamed her eyes, wide flowed her hair. 
" O thou, of knighthood once the flower, 
Sure refuge in distressful hour. 
Thou, who in Judah well hast fought 
For our dear faith, and oft has sought 
Renown in knightly exercise. 
When this poor hand has dealt the prize, 
Say, can thy soul of honour brook 
On the unequal strife to look. 
When, butchered thus in peaceful hall, 
Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall!" — 
To Argentine she turned hor word. 
But her eye sought the Island lord. 
A flush like evening's setting flame 
Glowed on his cheek ; his hardy frame, 
As with a brief convulsion, shook: 
With hurried voice and eager look, — 
" Fear not," he said, " mv Isabel ! 
What said I— Edith!— all is well- 
Nay, fear not — I will well provide 
The safety of my lovely bride — 



My bride ?" — but there the accents clung 
In tremor to his faltering tongue. ■ 

XX. 

Now rose De Argentine, to claim 

The prisoners in his sovereign's name. 

To England's crown; who, vassals sworn, 

'Gainst their liege lord had weapon borne — 

(Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 

His care their safety to provide ; 

For knight more true in thought and deed 

Than Argentine ne'er spurred a steed) — 

And Ronald, who his meaning guessed, 

Seemed half to sanction the request. 

This purpose fiery Torquil broke ; — 

" Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke," 

He said, " and, in our islands, fame 

Hath whispered of a lawful claim. 

That calls the Bruce lair Scotland's lord, 

Though dispossessed by foreign sword. 

This craves reflection— but though right 

And just the charge of 'England's knight, 

Let England's crown her rebels seize. 

Where she has power; — in towers like these, 

'Midst Scottish chieftains summoned here 

To bridal mirth and bridal cheer. 

Be sure, with no consent of mine. 

Shall either Lorn or Argentine 

With chains or violence, in our sight, 

Oppress a brave and banished knight." — 

XXI. 

Then waked the wild debate again. 
With brawling threat and clamour vain. 
Vassals and menials, thronging in. 
Lent their brute rage to swell the din: 
When, far and wide, a bugle clang 
From the dark ocean upward rang. 
" The abbot comes !" they cry at once, 
"The holy man, whose fiivoured glance 
. Hath sainted visions knov^n : 
Angels have met him on the way 
Beside the blessed martyrs' bay, 

And by Columba's stone. 
His monks have heard their hymnings high 
Sound from the sunmiit of Dun-Y, 

To cheer his penancfe lone. 
When at each cross, on gjrth and wold, 
(Their number thrice an hundred fold,) 
His prayer he made, his beads he told. 

With aves many a one — 
He comes our feuds to reconcile, 
A sainted man from sainted isle ; 
We will his holy doom abide, — 
The abbot shall our strife decide." — 

XXII. 
Scarcely this fair accord was o'er. 
When through the wide revolving door 

The black-stoled brethren wind ; 
Twelve sandalled monks, who relics bore. 
With many a torch-bearer before. 

And many a cross behind. 
Then sunk each fierce uplifted hand, 
And dagger bright and flashing brand 

Dropped swifily at the sight; 
They vanished from the churchman's eye 
As shooting stars, that glance and die, 

Dart from the vault of night. 

XXIII. 
The abbot on the threshold stood, 
And in his hand the holy' rood ; 
Back on his shoidders flowed his hood. 
The torches' glaring ray 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



259 



Showptl, in its reil and flashing light, 
His withered cheek and amice wliite, 
His blue eye glistening cold and blight, 

His tresses scant and gray. 
" Fair lords," he said, " our lady's love, 
And peace be with you from above, 

And benedicite! — 
— But what means this ' no peace is here ! — 
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer? 

Or are these naked brands 
A seemly sliow for churchman's sight. 
When he comes summoned to unite • 

Betrothed hearts and hands?" 

XXIV; 

Then, cloaking hate witli fiery zeal. 
Proud Lorn first answered the appeal; — 

"Thou comest, O holy man. 
True sons of blessed church to greet, 
But little deeming here to meet 

A wretch, beneath the ban 
Of pope and churcli, fiir murder done 
E'en on the sacred altar-stone! — 
Well mayest thou wonder we should know 
Such miscreant here, nor lay him. low. 
Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, 
With excommunicated Bruce! 
Yet well I grant, to end debate. 
Thy sainted voice decide his fate." — 

XXV. 
Then Ronrdd pled the stranger's cause. 
And knighthood's oath and honour's laws; 
And Isabel, on bended knee. 
Brought prayers and tears to back the plea; 
And Edith lent her generous aid. 
And wept, and Lopn for mercy pra3'ed. 
•' Hence," he exclaimed, " degenerate maid! 
Was't not enough to Ronald's bower 
1 brought thee, like a paramour,'' 
Or bond-maid at her master's gate. 
His careless cold approach to wait? — 
But the Ijold lord of Cumberland, 
The gallant Cliftord, seeks thy hand; 
His it shall be — Xay, no reply! 
Henceitill those rebel eyes be dry."— 
With grief the abbot heard and sa'v, 
Yet nought relaxed his brow of awe. 

XXVl. 
Then Argentine, in England's nara«. 
So highly urged his sovereign's claim. 
He waked a spai-k, that, long suppressed, 
Had smouldered in lord Ronald's breast; 
And now, as from the flint the fire. 
Flashed forth at once his generous ire. — 
" Enough of noble blood," he said, 
" By English Edward had been shed. 
Since matchless Wallace first had been 
In mock'ry crowned with wreaths of green, '2 
And done to death by felon hand, 
For guarding well his father's land. 
Where's Nigel Bruce' and Be la Haye, 
And valiant Seton — where are they? 
Where Somerville, the kind and free? 
And Fraser, flower of chivalry ?'3 
Have they not been on gibbet bound. 
Their quarters flung to iiawkand hound, 
And hold we here a cold debate. 
To yield more victims to their fate? 
What! can the Englisii leopard's mood 
Never be gorged with northern blood? 
Was not the life of Athole shed. 
To sooth the tyrant's sickened bed?'* 



And must his word, at dying day. 
Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay ! — 15 
Thou frown'st, De Argentine. — My gage 
Is prompt to prove the strife I wage." — 

XXVII. 
<' Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight, 
" That thou shall brave alone the fight! 
By saints of isle and mainland both. 
By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath,)'^ 
Let Rome and EnglancI do their worst, 
Howe'er attainted or ajccursed, 
Jf Bruce shall e'er find friends again, 
Once more to brave a battle plain, 
If Douglas couch agairt his lance, 
*0r Randolph dare another chance. 
Old Torquil will not be to lack. 
With twice a thousand at his back. — 
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, 
Good abbot! for thou knowest of old, 
Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will 
Smack of the wild Norwegian still; 
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 
For England's wealth or Rome's applause." 

XXVIII. 
The abbot seemed with eye severe 
The hardy chieftain's speech to hear; 
Then on king Robert turned the monk, 
But twice his courage came and sunk, 
Confronted with the hero's look; 
Twice fell his eye, his accents shook. 
At length, I'esolved in tone and brow, 
Sternly he. questioned him — " And thou. 
Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead. 
Why I denounce not on thy deed 
That awful doom, which canons tell 
Shuts paradise, and opens hell; 
Anathema of power so dread*. 
It blends the living with the dead, 
Bids each good angel soar away. 
And every ill one claim his prey; 
Expels thee from the church's care. 
And deafens heaven against thy prayer; 
Arms every hand against thy life, 
Bans all who aid thee in the strife. 
Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant, 
With meanest alms relieves thy want; 
Haunts thee while living, — and, when dead. 
Dwells on thy yet devoted head. 
Rends honour's scutcheon from thy hearse, 
Stills o'er thy bier the holy ver.?e. 
And spurns thy corpse from hallowed ground. 
Flung like vile carrion to the hound! 
Such is the dire and desperate doom. 
For sacrilege decreed by Rome; 
And such the well-deserved meed 
Of thine unhallowed, ruthless deed." 

XXIX. 
" Abbot!" the Bruce replied, " thy charge 
It boots not to dispute at large. 
This much, howe'er, 1 bid thee know, 
No selfish vengeance dealt the blow. 
For Corny n died his country's foe. 
Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed 
Fulfilled my soon-repented deed. 
Nor censure those from whose stern tongue 
The dire anathema has rung. 
I only blame mine own wild ire. 
By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 
Heaven knows my purpose to atone, 
Far as I may, the evil done. 
And hears a penitent's appeal 
From papal curse and prelate's zeal. 



260 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



My first and dearest task achieved, 
Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, 
Shall many a priest in cope and stole 
Say requiem for red Comyn's soul, 
While I the blessed cross advance. 
And expiate this unhappy chance. 
In Palestine, with sword and lance.'' 
But, while content the church should know 
My conscience owns the debt I owe, 
Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
The name of traitor 1 return. 
Bid them defiance stern and high. 
And give them in tlieir throats the lie! 
These brief words spoke, 1 speak no more. 
Do what thou wilt; my shrift is o'er." 

XXX. 

Like man by prodigy amazed, 
Upon the king the abbot gazed; 
Then o'er his pallid features glance 
Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
His breathing came more thick and fast, 
And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
Strange rays of wild and wandering light; 
Uprise his locks of silver white. 
Flushed is his brow, through every vein 
In azure tide tlie currents sti-ain. 
And undistinguished accents broke 
The awful silence ere he spoke. 

XXXI. 

" De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread 

To speak my curse upon thy head,'^ 

And give tliee as an outcast o'er 

To him who burns to slied thy gore;' 

But, like the Midianite of old. 

Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controlled, 

I feel within mine aged breast 

A power that will not be repressed. i9 

It prompts my voiee, it swells my veins. 

It burns, it maddens, it constrains! 

De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 

Hath at God's altar slain thy foe; 

O'er-mastered yet by high behest, 

1 bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed!" 

He spoke, and o'er the astonished throng 

Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII. 

Again that light has fired his eye. 
Again his form swells bold and high, 
The broken voice of age is gone, 
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone: 
"Thrice vanquished on tlie battle-plain. 
Thy followers slaughtered, fled^ or ta'en, 
A hunted wanderer on the wild,2o 
On foreign sliores a man exiled, 
Disowned, deserted, and distressed, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed: 
Blessed in the liall and in the field, 
Under the mantle as the shield. 
Avenger of thy country's sliame. 
Restorer of her injured fame, 
Blessed in thy sceptre and tliy sword, 
De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful lord. 
Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame. 
What lengthened honours wait thy name! 
In (Ustant ages, sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, 
And teach his infants, in the use 
Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 
Go, then, triumphant! sweep along 
Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 



The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, 
Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt be blessed ! — 
Enough — my short lived strength decays, 
And sinks the momentary blaze. — 
Heaven hath our destined purpose broke, 
Not here must nuptial vow be spoke; 
Brethren, our errand here is o'er. 
Our task discharged. — Unmoor, unmoor !"- — 
His priests received the exhausted monk,. 
As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
Punctual his orders to obey, 
The train refused all longer stay. 
Embarked, raised sail, and bore awa)\ 

CANTO iir. 

I. 

Hast thou not marked, when o'er thy startled head 

Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolled, 
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 

Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold? 
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold. 

The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, 
The wall-flower waves not on the ruined hold, 

Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill. 
The savaee whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the ai-oan- 
inlhill! ^ ^ 

II. 
ArtornishI such a silence sunk 
Upon thy halls, when that gray monk 

His prophet-speech had spoke; 
And his obedient brethren's sail 
Was stretched to meet the southern gale 

Before a whisper woke. 
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear, 
Close poured in many an anxious ear, 

The solemn stillness broke; 
And still they gazed with eager guess, 
Where, in an oriel's deep recess. 
The Island prince seemed bent to press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer. 
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned to hear. 

m. 

Starting at length with frowning look, 
His hand he clenched, his head he shook. 

And sternly flung apart: — 
" And deem'st thou me so mean of mood. 
As to forget the mortal feud. 
And clasp the hand witli blood embrued 

From my dear kinsman's heart' 
Is this thy rede.' — a due return 
For ancient league and friendship sworn! 
But well our mountain proveib shows 
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows. 
Be it e'en so — believe, ere long. 
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong. — 
Call Edith — call the maid of Lorn! 
My sister, slaves! — for further scorn. 
Be sure nor she nor 1 will stay. — 
Away, De Argentine, awa)' ! — 
We nor ally nor brother know. 
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe." 

IV. 

But who the chieftain's rage can tell, 
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 
To highest tower the castle round, 
No lady Edith was there found! 
He shouted, "Falsehood! — treachery! — 
Revenge and blood! — a lordly meed 
To him that will avenge the deed ! 
A baron's lands!" — His frantic mood 
Was scarcely by the news withstood. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



261 



That Morag shared his sister's flight, 
And that, in hurry of the night, 
'Scaped noteless, and without remark. 
Two strangers sought the abbot's bark. 
" Man every galley! — fly — pursue! 
The priest his treachery shall rue ! 
Ay, and the time shall quickly come, 
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome 
Will pay his feigned prophecy!" 
Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry; 
And Cormac Doil in haste obeyed. 
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weighed, 
(For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.)i 
But others, lingering, spoke apart, 
*• The maid has given her maiden heart 

To Ronald of the Isles; 
And, fearful lest her brother's word 
Bestow her on that English lord. 

She seeks lona's piles; 
And wisely deems it best to dwell 
A vot'ress in the holy cell. 
Until these feuds, so fierce and fell, 

The abbot reconciles. " 

V. 

As, impotent of ire, the hall 

Echoed to Lorn's impatient call. ' 

" My horse, my mantle, and my train! 

Let none who honours Lorn remain!" 

Courteous, but stern, a bold request 

To Bruce De Argentine expressed — 

" Lord earl," he said,^" I cannot choose 

But yield such title to the Bruce, 

Though name and earldom both are gone, 

Since he braced rebel's armour on— 

But, earl or serf — rude phrase was thine 

Of late, and lanched at Argentine; 

Such as compels me to demand 

Redress of honour at thy hand. 

We need not to each other tell. 

That both can wield their weapons well; 

Then do me but the soldier grace. 

This glove upon thy helm to place. 

Where we may meet in fight; 
And I will say, as still I've said. 
Though by ambition far misled, i 

Thou art a noble knight." 

VI. 

" And 1," the princely Bruce replied, 
" Might term it stain on knighthood's pride, 
That the bright sword of Argentine 
Should in a tyrant's quam-el shine; 

But, for your brave request. 
Be sure the honoured pledge you gave 
In every battle field sliall wave 

Upon my helmet-crest; 
Believe, that if my hasty tongue 
Hath done thine honour causeless wrong, 

It shall be well redressed. 
Nor dearer to my soid was glove. 
Bestowed in youth by lady's love. 

Than this wliich thou hast given! 
Thus, then, my noble foe I greet; 
Health and high fortune till we meet, 

And then — what pleases heaven." 
VII. 
Thus parted they — for now, witii sound 
Like waves rolled back from rocky ground. 

The friends of Lorn retire; 
Each mainland chieftain, with his train, 
Draws to his mountain towers again, 



Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain. 

And mortal hopes expire. 
But through the castle double guard. 
By Ronald's charge, kept. wakeful ward, 
Wicket and gale were trebly barred 

By beam and bolt and chain; 
Then of the guests, in courteous sort. 
He prayed excuse for mirth broke short, 
And bade them in Artornish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Now torch and menial tendance led 
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, 
And beads were told, and aves said. 

And soon they sunk away 
Into such sleep, as wont to shed 
Oblivion on the weary head, 

After a toilsome day. 

VIII. 

But soon up-roused, the monarch cried 
To Edward, slumbering by his side, 

" Awake, or sleep for aye! 
E'en now there jarred a secret door — 
A taper light gleams on the floor — 

Up, Edward, up, I say ! 
Some one glides in like miduight ghost — 
— N ay, strike not ! 'tis our noble host. " 
Advancing then his tajjfer's flame, 
Ronald stept fortli, and with him came 
Dun vegan's chief — each bent the knee 
To Bruce, in sign of fealty. 

And proffered him his sword. 
And hailed him, in a monarch's stylo. 
As king of mainland and of isle, 

And Scotland's I'ightful lord. 
" And O," said Ronald, " Owned of heaven! 
Say, is my erring youth forgiven. 
By falsehood's arts from duty driven, 

^Vho rebel falchion drew. 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame, 
E'en while I strove against thy claim. 

Paid homage just and true?" — 
" Alas! dear j'outh, the unhappy time," 
Answered the Bruce, " must bear the crime. 

Since, guiltier far tiian you. 
E'en I——" he paused; for Falkirk's woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose.- , . 

The chieftain to his breast he pressed, 
And in a sigh concealed the rest. 

IX- / ^ 

They proffered aid, by arms and might. 

To repossess him in his right; 
But well their counsels must be weighed, 
Ere banners raised and musters made. 
For English hire and Lorn's intrigues 
Bound many chiefs in southern leagues. 
In answer, Bruee his purpose bold 
To his new vassals frankly told. 
" The winter woi-n in exile o'er. 
I longed for Carrick's kindred snore; 
I thouglit upon my native Ayr, 
And longed to see the burly fare 
That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 
Now echoes through my father's hall. 
But first my course to Arran led, 
Where valiant Lennox gathers head. 
And on the sea, by tempests tossed. 
Our barks dispersed, our purpose crossed, 
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun. 
Far from her destined course had run, 
AVlien that wise will, wliich masters ours. 
Compelled us to your friendly tower*. " — 



262 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then Torquil spoke: " The time craves speed! 

We must not linger in qui- deed, 

But instant pray our sovereign liege 

To shun the perils of a siege. 

The vengeful Lorn, witli all his powers, 

Lies but too near Artornish towers. 

And England's light-armed vessels ride. 

Not distant far, the waves of Clyde, 

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor. 

And sweep each strait, and guard each shore; 

Then, till this fresh alarm pass by. 

Secret and safe my liege must lie 

In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 

Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." — 

" Not so, brave chieftain," Ronald cried; 

•' Myself will on my sovereign wait. 

And raise inarms tlie men of Sleate, 

Whilst thou, renowned where chiefs debate, 

Shalt sway their souls by counsel sage. 

And awe them by thy locks of age." — 

— " And if my words in weight shall fail, 

This ponderous sword shall turn the scale." — 

XI. 

"The scheme," said Bruce, "contents me well; 

Meantime, 'twere besPthat Isabel, 

For safety, with my bark and crew, 

Again to friendly Erin drew. 

There Edward, too, shall with her wend, 

In need to cheer her and defend. 

And muster up each scattered friend." 

Here seemed it as lord Ronald's ear 

Would other counsel gladlier hear; 

But, all achieved as soon as planned. 

Both barks, in secret armed and manned, 

From out the haven bore; 
Gil ditt'erent voyage fortii they ply. 
This for the coast of winged Skye, 

And that for Erin's shore. 

XII. 
With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale. 
To favouring winds they gave the sail. 
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew, 
■ Ajid Ardnamurchan's hills were blue. 
But then the squalls blew close and hard, 
And, fain to strike the galley's yard, 

And take them to the oar. 
With these rude seas, in weary plight, 
They strove the live-long day and night, 
Nor till the dawning had a sight 

Of Skye's romantic shore 
Where Coolin stoops him to the west, 
They saw upon his shivered crest 

The sun's arising gleam; 
But such the labour and delay. 
Ere they were moored in Scavigh baj-, 
(For calmer lieaven compelled to slay,) 

He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, " if true mine eye. 
These are the savage wilds that lie 
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye;!* 

No human foot comes here, 
And, since tliese adverse breezes blow. 
If my good liege love hunter's bow, 
What binders Uiat on land we go, 

And strike a mountain-deer' 
Allan, my page, shall with us wend, 
A bow full deftly c;m he bend. 
And, if we meet an herd, may send 

A shaft shall mend our cheer. " — 



-Then each took bow and bolts in hand. 
Their row-boat lanched and leapt to land. 

And left their skiff and train, 
Wliere a wild stream, with headlong shook. 
Came brawling down its bed of rock. 

To mingle with the main. 
XIII. 
Awhile their route they silent made. 

As men who stalk for mountain-deer, 
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, 

" St. Mary! what a scene is here! 
I've traversed many a mountain-strand, 
Abroad and in my native land. 
And* it has been my lot to tread 
Where safety more than pleasure led; 
Thus, many a waste I've wandered o'er, 
Clombe many a crag, crossed many a moor. 

But, by my halidome, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this. 
Yet so sublime in barreiuiess. 
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press. 

Where'er I happed to roam." — 

Xl\. 

No marvel thus the monarch spake; 

For rarely human ej^e has known 
A scene so Mern as that dread lake. 

With its dark ledge of barren stone. 
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway 
Hath rent a strange and shattered way 

Through the rude bosom of the hill, 
And that each naked precipice. 
Sable ravine, and dark abyss. 

Tells of the outrage still. 
The wildest glen, but this, can show 
Some touch of nature's genial glow; 
On high Benmore green mosses grow, 
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe, 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben; 
But here, — above, around, below. 

On mountain or in glen. 
Nor tree, nor siirub, nor plant, nor flower. 
Nor aught of vegetative power, 

The weary eye may ken. 
For all is rocks at random thrown, 
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone. 

As if were here denied 
The sinumer sun, tlie spring's sweet dew. 
That clothe with many a varied hue 

The bleakest mountain aide. 

XV. 

And wilder, forivard as they wound. 
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound: 
Huge terraces of granite black 
Afforded rude and cumbered track'; 

For from the mountain ho:u-. 
Hurled headlong in some night of fear. 
When yelled the wojf and fled the deer. 

Loose crags liad toppled o'er; 
And some, chance-puised and balanced, lay. 
So that a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise. 
In nature's rage at randonj thrown. 
Yet trembling like the druid's stone 

On its precarious base. 
The evening mists, with ceaseless change. 
Now clotlied the mountains' lofty range, 

Now left their foreheads bare. 
And round the skirts their mantle furled, 
Or on the sable w aters curled. 
Or, on the eddying breezes whided. 

Dispersed in middle air. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



263 



Ami oft, condensed, at once they lower. 
When, brief nnd fierce, tlie mountain shower 

Pours like a torrent down, 
And wlien return the sun's glad beams, 
Whitened with foam a thousand streams 

Leap from the mountain's crown. 

XVL 

"This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers drear 
Are precipices sharp and sheer, 
Yielding no track for goat or deer, 

Save the black shelves we tread. 
How term you its dark waves? and how 
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow. 

And yonder peak of dread, 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts. 

Which seam its shivered head?" 
" Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim, 
From old CucliuUin, chief of fame. 
But bards, familiar in our isles 
Rather with nature's frowns than smiles, 
Full oft their careless humours please 
By sportive names for scenes like these. 
I would old Torquil were to show 
His maidens with their breasts of snow, 
Or that my noble liege were nigh 
To hear his nurse sing lullaby, 
(The maids — tall cliffs with breakei-s white, 
The nurse — a torrent's roaring might,) 
Or that your eye could see the mood 
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude. 
When dons the hag her whitened hood— 
'Tis thus our islesmen's fancy frames, 
For scenes so stern, fantastic names." — 

xvn. 

Answered the Bruce, " And musing mind 
Might here a graver moral find. 
These mighty cliffs, that heave on high 
Their naked brows to middle sky, 
Indifferent to the sun or snow, 
Where nought can fade, and nougiit can blow, 
May they not mark a monarch's fate. 
Raised high 'mid storms of strife and stale. 
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed, 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste? 
O'er hope and love and fear aloft 
High rears iiis crowned head — But soft! 
Look, underneath yon jutting crag i 

Are hunters and a slaughtered stag. ' 

Who may they be? But late you said 
No steps these desert regions tread!" 

XVI IL 

"So said I — and believed, in sooth," 
Ronald replied, " I spoke the truth. 
Yet now 1 spy, by yonder stone. 
Five men — they mark us, and come on; 
And by their badge on bonnet borne, 
I guess them of the land of Lorn, 
Foes to my liege." — ^" So let it be; 
I've faced worse odds than five to three — 
But the poor page can little aid; 
Then be our battle thus arrayed. 
If our free passage they contest; 
Cope tiiou with two, I'll match the rest." 
" Not so, my liege — for by my life, 
This sword shall meet the treble strife; 
My strengtii, my skill in arms, more small, 
And less the loss should Ronald fall. 
But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, 
Allan has sword as well as bow, 
19 



And were my monarch's order given. 
Two shafts should make our number even." 
" No! not to save my life!" he said; 
" Enough of blood rests on my head, 
Too rashlj' spilled — we soon shall know. 
Whether they come as friend or foe." 

XIX. 

Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh; 
Still less they pleased the monarch's eye. 
Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen;'* 
They moved with half-resolved pace. 
And bent on earth each gloomy lace. 
The foremost two were fair arrayed. 
With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid, 
And bore the arms of mountaineers, 
Daggtrs and broadswords, bows and spears. 
The three, tliat lagged sinall space behind. 
Seemed serfs of more degraded kind; 
Goat-skins or deer-hides, o'er them cast. 
Made a rude fence against the blast; 
Their arms and feet and heads were bare, 
Matted their beards, unshorn their hair; 
For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand, 
A club, an axe, a rusty brand. 

XX. 

Onward, still mute, they kept the track; 
"Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 
Said Bruce; " In deserts when they meet, 
Men pass not as in peaceful street." 
Still, at his stern command, they stood, 
And proffered greeting brief and rude, 
But acted courtesy so ill. 
As seemed of fear, and not of will. 
"Wanderers we are, as you may be; 
Men hither driven by wind and sea. 
Who, if you list to taste our cheer. 
Will share with you this fallow deer." 
" If from the sea, where lies your bark?" 
" Ten fathom deep it) ocean dark! 
Wrecked yesternight; but we are men. 
Who little sense of peril ken. 

The shades come down — tiie day is shut 

Will you go with us to our hut?" 

"Our vessel waits us in the bay; 

Thanks for your proffer — have good day. "— 

"Was that your galley, then, which rode 

Not far from shore when evening glowed?" 

" It was." — " Then spare your needless pain, 

There will she now be sought in vain. 

We saw her from the mountain head. 

When with St. George's blazon red 

A southern vessel bore in sigiit. 

And yours x-aised sail, and took to flight." 

XXI. 
"Now, by the rood, unwelcome news!" 
Tims with lord Ronald communed Brucej 
" Nor rests there light enough to show 
If this their tale be true or no. 
The men seem bred of churlisli kind, 
Yet rugged brows have bosoms kind; 
We will go with them — food and fire 
And siieltering roof our wants require. 
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep, 
And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. — 
Good fellows, tiianks; your guests we'll be. 
And well will pay the courtesy. 
Come, lead us where your lodging lies, 
— Nay, soft! we mix not companies. — 
Show us the patii o'er crag and stone, 
And we will follow you; — lead on." — 



264 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXII. 

They reached the dreary cabin, made 
Of sails against a rock displayed, 

And there, on entering, found 
A slender boy, -whose form and mien 
111 suited with such savage scene, 
In cap and cloak of velvet green. 

Low seated on the ground. 
His garb was such as minstrels wear, 
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
His youthful cheek was marred by care. 

His eyes in sorrow drowned. 
" "Whence this poor boy?" — As Ronald spoke. 
The voice his trance of anguish broke; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream. 
He raised his head with start and scream, 

And wildly gazed around; 
Then to the wall his face he turned. 
And his dark neck with blushes burned. 

XXIII. 

" Whose is the boy?" again he said. — 
" By chance of war our captive made; 
He may be yours, if you should hold 
That music has more charms than gold; 
For, though from earliest childhoodmute. 
The lad can deftly touch the lute. 
And on the rote and viol play, 
And well can drive the time away 

For those who love such glee; 
For me, the favouring breeze, when loud 
It pipes upon the galley shroud. 

Makes blither melody." 
" Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound?" 

" Ay; so his mother bade us know, 
A crone in our late shipwreck drowned, 

And hence the silly stripling's wo. 
More of the youth I cannot say. 
Our captive but since yesterday; 
When wind and weather waxed so grim. 
We little listed think of him. — 
But why waste time in i'dle words? 
Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swoi-ds." 
Sudden the captive turned his head, 
And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 
It was a keen and warning look. 
And well the chief the signal took. 

XXIV. 
" Kind host," he said, " our needs require 
A separate board and separate fire; 
For know, that on a pilgrimage 
Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
And sworn to vigil and to fast. 
Long as this hallowed task shall last, 
We never doff the plaid or sword. 
Or feast us at a stranger's board; 
And never share one common sleep. 
But one must still his vigil keep. 
Thus, for our separate use, good friend. 
We'll hold this hut's remoter end." — 
" A churlish vow," the eldest said, 
" And hard, melhinks, to be obeyed. 
How say you, if, to wreak tiie scorn, 
Tiiat pays our kindness harsh return. 
We siiould refuse to share our meal?" — 
— "Then say we, that our swords are steel! 
And our vow binds us not to fast. 
Where gold or force may buy repast." — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell. 
His teeth are clenched, his features swell; 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire, 
Before lord Ronald's glance of fire, 



Nor could his craven courage brook 
The monarch's calm and dauntless look. 
With laugh constrained, — "Let every man 
Follow the fashion of his clan! 
Each to his separate quarters keep, 
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep. "^ 

XXV. 
Their fire at separate distance burns. 
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns; 
For evil seemed that old man's eye, • 

Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
Still he avoided forward look, 
But slow and circumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance. 
By doubt and cunning marked at once, 
Which shot a mischief-boding raj. 
From under eyebrows shagged and gray. 
The younger, too, who seemed his son, 
Had that dark look the timid shun; 
The half-clad serfs behind them sate. 
And scowled a glare 'twixt fear and hate — 
Till all, as darkness onward crept. 
Couched down and seemed to sleep, or slept. 
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongueT 
Must trust liis eyes to wail his wrong J 
A longer watch of sorrow made. 
But stretched his limbs to slumber laid. 

XXVL 
Not in his dangerous host confides 
The king, but wary watch provides. 
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past. 
Then wakes the king, young Allan last; 
Tluis ranked, to give the youthful page 
The rest required by tender age. 
— What is lord Ronald's wakeful thought, 
To chase the languor toil had brought!' — 
(For deem not tliat he deigned to throw 
Much care upon sucii coward foe,) — 
He thinks of lovely Isabel, 
When at her foeman's feet she fell. 
Nor less when, placed in princely selle. 
She glanced on him M'itii favouring eyes. 
At Woodstock wlien lie won the prize. 
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair. 
In pride of place as 'mid despair, 
Must she alone engross his care. 
His thoughts to his betrothed bride. 
To E<lith, turn — O liow decide. 
When here his love and heart are given. 
And there his faith stands plight to heaven! 
No drowsy ward 'tis his to keep, 
For seldom lovers long for sleep. 
Till sung his midnight hymn the owl, 
Answered the dog-fox with his howl. 
Then waked the king — at his request, 
Lord Ronald stretched himself to rest. 

xxvn. 

What spell was good king Robert's, say 

To drive the weary night away? 

His was the patriot's burning thought. 

Of freedom's battle bravely tought. 

Of castles stormed, of cities freed, 

Of deep design and daring deed. 

Of England's roses reft and torn. 

And Scotland's cross in triumph worn. 

Of rout and rally, war and truce,— 

As hei'oes think, so tliought the Bruce. 

No marvel, 'mid sucIj musings high. 

Sleep shunned the monarch's thoughtful eye. 

Now over Coolin's eastern head 

'I'he grayish light begins to spread, 



'1^^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



265 



The otter to his cavern drew, 
And clamoured shrill the wakening mew; 
Then watched the page — to needful rest 
Tlie king resigned his anxious breast. 

XXVIII. 

To Allan's eyes was harder task, 
The weary watch their safeties ask. 
He trimmed tlic fire, and gave to shine 
With bickering light the splintered pine, 
Then gazed awhile where, silent laid. 
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid. 
But little fear waked in his mind, 
For he was bred of martial kind, 
And, if to manhood he arrive, 
May match the boldest knight alive. 
Then thought he of liis mother's tower. 
His little sister's g^-een-wood bower. 
How there the Easter-gambols pass, 
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass. 
But still before his weary eye 
In rays. prolonged tlie blazes die — 
Again he roused him — on the lake 
Looked forth, where now the twilight flake 
Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
On Cooliu's cliffs themist lay furled, 
The morning breeze the lake had cui-led; 
The short dark waves, heaved to the land, 
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand;— 
It was a slumb'rous sound — he turned 
To tales at which his youth had burned. 
Of pilgrim's path liy demon crossed. 
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost, 
Of the wild witch's baneful cot, 
And mermaid's alabaster grot, 
Who bailies her limbs in sunless well 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.5 
Thither in fancy wrapt he flies. 
And on his sight the vaults arise; 
That hut's dark walls he sees no more. 
His foot is on the marble floor. 
And o'er his head the dazzling spars 
Gleam like a firmament of stars! 
—Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak 
Her anger in that thrilling shriek? 
No! all too late, with Allan's dream 
Mingled the captive's warning scream. 
As from the ground he strives to start, 
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart! 
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes, — 
Murmurs his master's name, — and dies! 

XXIX. 

Not so awoke the king! his hand 
Snatched from the flame a knotted brand. 
The nearest weapon of his wrath; 
With this he crossed the murderer's path, 

And venged young Allan well! 
The spattered brain and bubbling blood 
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood, 

The miscreant gasped and fell ! 
Nor rose in peace the Island lord; 
One caitiff died upon his sword. 
And one beneath his grasp lies prone, 
In mortal grapple overthrown. 
But while lord Ronald's dagger drank 
The life-blood from his panting flank. 
The father ruffian of the band 
Behind him rears a coward hand! 

— O for a moment's aid. 
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow, 
Dash to the earth another foe. 

Above his comrade laid! 



And it is gained — the captive sprung 
On the raised arm, and closely clung, 

And, ere he shook him loose, 
The mastered felon pressed the ground. 
And gasped beneath a mortal wound, 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 
XXX. 
"Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark. 
Give me to know the purpose dark. 
That armed thy hand with murderous knife. 
Against offenceless stranger's life?" 
" No stranger thou!" with accents fell. 
Murmured the wretch, " 1 know thee well; 
And know thee for the foeman sworn 
Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn." 
— " Speak yet again, and speak the truth 
For thy soul's sake! — from whence this youth? 
His country, birth, and name drclare. 
And thus one evil deed repair." 
— " Vex me no more! — my blood runs cold- 
No more I know than I have told. 
We found him in a bark we sought 
Willi difterent purpose — and 1 thought *— " 
Fate cut him short; in blood and broil, 
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil. 

XXXI. 
Then, resting on his bloody blade. 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, 
" Now shame upon us both! — that boy 

Lifts his mute face to heaven, ,, 

And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high. 

For strange deliverance given. ■ 

His speechless gesture thanks hath paid. 
Which our free tongues have left unsaid!" 
He raised the youth with kindly word, 
Bui marked him sliudder at the sword; 
He cleansed it from its hue of death, 
And plunged the weapon in its sheath. 
" Alas, poor child ! unfitting part 
Fate doomed, when with so soft a heart. 

And form so slight as thine. 
She made thee first a pirate's slave, 
Then, in his stead, a patron gave 

Of wayward lot like mine; 
A landless prince, whose wandering life 
Is but one scene of blood and strife — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be. 
But he'll find resting-place for thee. 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
And well has Allan's fate been wroke; 
Come, wend we hence — the day has broke. 
Seek we our bark — I trust the tale 
Was false, that she had hoisted sail." 

XXXII. 
Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell, 
The Island loi-d bade sad farewell 
To Allan:—" Who shall tell this tale," 
He said, " in halls of Donagaile! 
Oh, who his widowed mother tell. 
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell! 
Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust my care, 
For mass and knell and funeral prayer; 
While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie, 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cty!" 
And now the eastern mountain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red; 
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak — 
(So earthly power at distance shows; 
Reveals his splendoiu-, hides his woes. ) 



266 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



O'er sheets of granite, tlark and broad, 
Rent and unequal lay the road. 
In sad discourse the warriors wind. 
And the mute captive moves behind. 



CANTO IT. 
I. 

Strangeh! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced 

The northei-n realms of ancient Caledon, 
Where the proud queen of wihlerness hath placed, 

By lake and cataract, her lonely throne; 
Sublime but sad delight tliy soul hath known. 

Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high. 
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown 

Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cr}^ 
And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning 
sky. 

Yes! 'twas sublime, but sad. — The loneliness 

Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye; 
And strange and awful fears began to press 

Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. 
Then hast thou wished some woodman's cottage 
nigh. 
Something that showed of life, though low and 
mean. 
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy, 
Glad sound, its cock's blith carol would have 
been. 
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows 
green. 

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes 

An awful thrill that softens into sighs; 
Such feelings rouse theui by dim Rannoch's lakes, 

In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise: 
Or, farther, where, beneath the northern skies. 

Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 

Of desert dignity to that dread sliore. 
That sees grim Coolin rise, and liearsCoriskinroar. 

II. 

Through such wild scenes the champions passed, 

When bold halloo and bugle-blast 

Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 

" There," said the Bruce, " rung Edward's horn I 

What can have caused sucii brief return? 

And see, brave Ronald, — sec him dart 

O'er stock and stone like hunted hart. 

Precipitate, as is the use. 

In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 

— He marks us, and his eager cry 

Will tell his news ere he be nigh."— 

III. 

Loud Edward shouts, " What make ye here, 
Warring upon the mountain deer. 

When Scotland wants her king? 
A bark from Lennox crossed our track. 
With her in speed 1 hurried back. 

These joyful news to bring— 
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale; 
Thy storm-tossed fleet hath Won its way 
With little loss to Brodick bay. 
And Lennox, with a gallant band. 
Waits but thy coming and command 
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand. 
There are blith news! — but mark the close! 
Edward, the deadliest of our foes. 
As with his host he northward passed. 
Hath on the borders breatlied his last." 



IV. 

Still stood the Bruce — his steady cheek 
AVas little wont his joy to speak, 

Cut then his colour rose: 
"Now, Scotland! shortly shall thou see, 
With God's high will, thy children free. 

And vengeance on thy ibes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs. 
Bear witness with me, heaven, belongs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier;' 
I took my knighthood at his hand. 
And lordship held of him, f.nd land, 

And well may vouch it here. 
That, blot the story from his page. 
Of Scotland ruined in his rage. 
You read a monarch brave and sage, 

And to his people dear." 
*' Let London burghers mom-n her lord, 
And Croydon monks his praise record," 

The eager Edward said; 
"Eternal as his own, my hate 
Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate, 

Anrl dies not with the dead! 
Such hate was his on Solway's strand, 
When vengeance clenched his palsied hand. 
That pointed yet to Scotland's land,2 

As his last accents prayed 
Disgrace and curse upon his heir, 
If he one Scottish head should spare, 
Till stretched upon the bloody lair. 

Each rebel corpse was laid ! 
Such hate was his, when,his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of death, 
And bade his bones to Scotland's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host, 
As if his dead and stony eye 
Could still enjoy her misery! 
Such hate was his, — dark, deadly, long; 
Mine, — as enduring, deep, and strong!" 

V. 
" Let women, Edward, war with words, 
With curses monks, but men with swords; 
Nor doubt of living foes, to sate 
Deepest revenge and deadliest hate. 
Now, to the sea! behold the beacli. 
And see tlie galleys' pendants stretch 
Their fluttering length down favouring gale! 
Aboard! aboard! and hoist the sail. 
Hold we our way for Arran first, 
Where met in arms our friends dispersed; 
Lennox the loyal, and De la Haye, 
And Boyd the bold in battle fray, 
I long the hardjf band to head. 
And see once more my standard spread. — 
Does noble Ronald share our course, 
Or stay to raise his Island force?" 
"Come weal, come wo, by Bruce's side," 
Replied the chief, " will Ronald bide. 
And since two galleys yonder ride. 
Be mine, so please my liege, dismissed 
To wake to arms the clans of Uist, 
And all who hear the Minche's roar, 
On the Long Island's lonely shore. 
The nearer isles, with slight delay, 
Ourselves may summftn in our way; 
And soon on Arran's shore shall meet, 
With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet, 
If aught avails their cliieftain's hest 
Among the islesmen of the west." 

VI. 
Thus was their venturous council said. 
But, ere their sails the galleys spread. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



267 



Coriskin dark and Coolin high 
Echoed the dirge's doleful crj'. 
Along that sable lake passed slow, 
Fit scene for such a sight of wo, 
The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore 
The murdered Allan to the shore. 
At every pause, with dismal shout, 
Their coronach of grief rung out. 
And ever, when they moved again. 
The pipes resumed their clamorous strain, 
And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail, 
Mourned the young heir of Donagaile. 
Round and around, from clift'and cave. 
His answer slern old Coolin gave, 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languished the mournful notes, and died. 
For never sounds, by mortal made, 
Attained his high and haggard head. 
That echoes but the tempest's moan. 
Or the deep thunder's rending groan. 

VIL 

Merrily, merrily, bounds the hark, 

She bounds before the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch 

Is joyous in her sail! 
With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse, 

The cords and canvas strain,, 
The waves, divided by her force, 
In rippling eddies chased her course, 

As if they laughed again. 
Not down the breeze more blithly flew, 
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, 

Than the gay galley bore 
Her course upon that favouring wind, 
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind. 

And Slapin's caverned shore. 
■'Twas tiien that warlike signals wake 
Dunscaitli's dark towers and Eisord's lake, 
And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head 
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread; 
A summons these of war and wrath. 
To the brave clans of Sleate and Strath, 

And, ready at the siglit. 
Each warrior to his weapon sprung. 
And targe upon his siioulder flung. 

Impatient for the fight. 
M'Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray. 
Had charge to muster their array. 
And guide their barks to Brodick-bay, 

ATII. 

Signal of Ronald's high command, 

A beacon gleamed o'er sea and iand. 

From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray, 

Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay. 3 

Seek not the giddy crag to climb, 

To view the turret scatiied by time;. 

It is a task of doubt and fear 

To aught but goat or mountain-deer. 

But rest thee on the silver beach. 

And let the a^ed herdsman teach 

His tale of former day; 
His cur's wild clamour he shall chide, 
And for thy seat, by ocean's side. 

His varied plaid display; 
Then tell, how with their chieftain came, 
In ancient times, a foi-eign dame 

To yonder tun-et gray; 
Stern was her lord's suspicious mind. 
Who in so rude a jail confined 

So soft aiid fair a thrall I 



And oft when moon on ocean slept. 
That lovely lady sate and wept 

Upon the castle-wall. 
And turned her eye to southern climes. 
And thought perchance of happier times, 
And touched her lute by fits, and sung 
Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
And still, when on the cliff and bay 
Placid and pale the moonbeams play, 

And every breeze is mute. 
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear 
Steals a strange pleasure mixed with fear. 
While from tiiat clift" he seems to hear 

The murmur of a lute, 
And sounds, as of a captive lone, - 
That mourns her woes in tongue unknown. — 
Strange is the tale — but all too long 
Already hath it staid the song — 

Yet who may pass them by, 
That crag and tower in ruins gray. 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

The tribute of a sigh! 

IX. 

Merrily, men-ily, bounds the bark 

O'er the broad ocean driven; 
Her path by Ronin's mountains dark 

The steersman's hand hath given. 
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent 

Their hunters to the shore,'' 
And each his ashen bow unbent. 

And gave his pastime o'er,' 
And at the Island lord's command. 
For hunting spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scoor-Eigg next a warning light 
Summoned lier warriors to tiie fight; 
A numerous race, ere stern Macleod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode, ^ 
When all in vain the ocean cave 
Its refuge to its victims gave. 
The chief, relentless in his wrath. 
With blazing heath blockades the path; 
In dense and stifling volumes rolled. 
The vapour filled the caverned hold ! 
The warrior's threat, the infant's plain. 
The mother's screams, were heard in vain; 
The vengeful chief maintains his fires. 
Till in the vault a tribe expires! 
The bones which strew that cavern's gloom, 
Too well attest their dismal doom. 



Merrily, merrily, goes the bark 

On a breeze from the northward free. 
So shoots through the morning skv the lark. 

Or the swan through the summer sea. 
The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, 
And Ulva dark and Colonsay, 
And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Staffa round.'' 
Then all imknown its columns rose. 
Where dark and undisturbed repose 

The cormorant had found. 
And the shy seal had quiet home. 
And weltered in that woud'rous dome, 
Where, as to shame the temples decked 
By skill of earthl)^ architect. 
Nature herself, it seemed, would raise 
A minster to her Maker's praise! 
Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns, or her arches bend; 
Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, 



268 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And still, between each awful pause, 

From the high vault an answer draws, 

In varied tone prolonged and high, 

That mocks the organ's melody. 

Nor doth its entrance IVont in vain 

To old lona's holy fane, 

That Nature's voice might seem to say, 

" Well hast thou done, frail child of clay ! 

Thy humble powers that stately shrine 

Tasked high and hard — but witness mine!" — 

XI. 

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark. 

Before the gale she bounds; 
So darts the dolphin from the shark. 

Or the deer before the hounds. 
They left Loch-Tua on their lee. 
And they wakened the men of tlie wild Tiree, 

And the chief of the sandy Coll; 
They paused not at Columba's isle. 
Though pealed the bells from the holy pile 

With long and measured toll; 
No time for matin or for mass, . 

And the sounds of the holy summons pass 

Away in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord 
Their signal saw, and grasped his sword. 
And verdant Hay called her host, 
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 

Lord Ronald's call obey. 
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore 
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, 

And lonely Colonsay; 
—Scenes sung by him who sings no more!' 
His bright and brief career is o'er. 

And mute his tuneful strains; 
Quenched is his lamp of varied lore. 
That loved tiie light of song to pour; 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has Letden's cold remains ! 

XII. 

Ever the breeze blows merrily, 
But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 
Lest, rounding wild Cantire, they meet 
The southern'foemen's watchful fleet, 

They held unwonted way; — 
Up Tarbat's western lake they bore. 
Then dragged their bark the isthmus o'er, 8 
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore, 

Upon the eastern bay. 
It was a wond'rous sight to see 
Topmast and pennon glitter free, 
Higii raised above the green-wood tree. 
As on dry land the gallej' moves. 
By cliff and copse and alder gi-oves. 
Deep import from that selcouth sign, 
Did many a mountain seer divine; 
For ancient legends told the Gael, 
That when a rojal bark should sail 

O'er Kilmaconnel moss. 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail, 
And every foe should faint and quail 

Before her silver cross. 

XIII. 

Now lanched once more, the inland sea 
'I'hey furrow with fair augur)% 

And steer for Arran's isle; 
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-glioil, "the Mountain of the Wind," 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind, 

Aad bade Loch-Ranza smile. ^ 



Tliither their destined course they drew; 
It seemed the isle her monarch knew, 
So brilliant was the landward view. 

The ocean so serene; 
Each puny wave in diamonds rolled 
O'er tlie calm deep, where hues of gold 

With azure strove and green. 
The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower. 
Glowed with the tints of evening's hour, 

The beech was silver sheen. 
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, 
And, oft renewed, seemed oft to die. 

With breatldess pause between. 

who, with speech of war and woes, 
Would wish to break the soft repose 

Of such enchanting scene! 

XIV. 
Is it of war lord Ronald speaks' 
The blush that dies his manly cheeks, 
The timid look, and downcast eye. 
And faltering voice the theme deny. 
And good king Robert's brow expressed, 
He pondered o'er some high request. 

As doubtful to approve; 
Yet in his e}e and lip the while 
Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile, 
Which manhood's graver mood beguile. 

When lovers talk of love. 
Anxiousihis suit lord Ronald pled; 
— " And for my bride betrothed," he said, 
" My liege has heard the rumour spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate — I claim no right 
To blame her for her hasty flight; 
Be joy and happiness her lot! 
But she hath fled the bridal-knot. 
And Lorn recalled his promise plight. 
In the assembled chieftains' siglit. 
When, to fulfil our fathers' band, 

1 profl'ered all I could — my hand — 

I was repulsed with scorn; 
Mine honour I should ill assert, 
And worse the feelings of my heart, 
If I should play a suitor's part 

Again to pleasure Lorn." 

XV. 

" Young lord," the royal Rruce replied, 
" That question must the church decide: 
Yet seems it hard, since rumours state 
Edith takes Clittbrd for her mate. 
The very tie, whicli she hath broke. 
To thee should still be binding yoke. 
But, for my sister Isabel — 
The mood of woman who can tell .' 
I guess the champion of the rock, 
Victorious in the tourney shock. 
That knigiit unknown, to whom the prize 
Slie dealt, had favour in her eyes; 
But since our brotlier Nigel's fate. 
Our ruined house and hapless state. 
From worldly joy and hope estranged, 
Much is the hapless mourner changed. 
Perchance," here smiled the noble king, 
" This tale may other musings bring. 
Soon shall we know — yon mountains hide 
The little convent of St. Bride; 
There, sent by Edward, she must stay, 
Till fate shall give more prosperous day; 
And thither will 1 be.ar thy suit. 
Nor will thine advocate be mute." — 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



269 



XVI. 

As thus they talked in eainest mood. 

That speechless hoy beside them stood. 

He stooped his head ag;ainst the mast. 

And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 

A grief that would not be repressed, 

But seemed to burst his youthful breast. 

His hands against his forehead held, 

As if by force his tears repelled. 

But through his fingers, long and slight. 

Fast trilled the drops of crystal bright. 

Edward, who walked the deck apart. 

First spied the conflict of the heart. 

Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind 

He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind; 

By force the slender hand he drew 

From those poor eyes that streamed with dew. 

As in his hold the stripling strove, — 

('Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love,) 

Away his tears the warrior swept. 

And bade shame on him that he wept. 

" 1 would to heaven, thy helpless tongue 

Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong! 

For, were he of our crew the best. 

The insult went not unredressed. 

Come, cheer thee; thou art now of age 

To be a warrior's gallant page; 

Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair 

O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear, 

To hold my bow in hunting grove. 

Or speed on errand to my love: 

For well I wot thou wilt not tell 

The temple where my wishes dwell." — 

XVll. 

Bruce intei-posed, — " Gay Edward, no, 

This is no youth to hold thy bow. 

To fill thy goblet, or to bear 

Thy message light to lighter fair. 

Thou art a patron all too wild 

And thoughtless, for this orphan child. 

See'st thou not how apart he steals, 

Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals? 

Fitter by far in yon calm cell 

To tend our sister Isabel, 

With fiuher Augustin to share 

The peaceful change of convent prayer, 

Than wander wild adventures through, 

With such a reckless guide as you." — 

"Thanks, brother!" Edward answered gay, 

" For the high laud thy words convey ! 

But we may learn some future day, 

If thou or I can this poor boy 

Protect the best, or best employ. 

Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand; 

Lanch we the boat, and seek the land. " — 

XVIII. 

To Land king Robert lightly sprung, 

And thrice aloud his bugle rung, 

With note prolonged, and varied strain. 

Till bold Ben-ghoil replied again. 

Good Douglas then, and De la Haye, 

Had in a glen a hart at bay, 

And Lennox cheered the laggard hounds, 

When waked that horn the green-wood bounds. 

•'It is the foe!" cried Boyd, who came 

In breathless haste with eye on flame, — 

•'It is the foe! — Each valiant lord 

Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword!" 

" Not so," replied the good lord James, 

"That blast no English bugle claims. 



Oft have I heard it fire the fight. 
Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 
Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear, 
If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear! 
Each to Loch-Ranza's margin spring; 
That blast was winded by the king!" — i" 

XIX. 

Fast to their mates the tidings spread, 

And fast to shore the warriors sped. 

Bursting from glen and green-wood tree, 

High waked their loyal jubilee! 

Around the royal Bruce they crowd, 

And clasped his hands, and wept aloud. 

Veterans of early fields were there. 

Whose helmets pressed their hoary hair, 

Whose swords and axes bore a stain 

From life-blood of the red-haired Dane; 

And boys, whose hands scarce brooked to wield 

The heavy sword or bossy shield. 

Men too were there, that bore the scars 

Impressed in Albyn's woful wars. 

At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight, 

Teyndrum's dread rout and Methven's flight. 

The might of Douglas there was seen. 

There Lennox with his graceful mien; 

Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded knight; 

The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light; 

The heir of murdered De la Haye, 

And Boyd the grave, and Set on gay. 

Around their king regained they pressed. 

Wept, shouted, clasped him to their breast. 

And young and old, and serf and lord. 

And he who ne'er unsheathed a sword, 

And he in many a peril tried, 

Alike i-esolved the brunt to bide, 

And live or die by Bruce's side ! 

XX. 

Oh, War! thou hast thy fierce delight. 
Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright! 
Such gleams, as from thy polished shield 
Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field ! 
Such transports wake, severe and high. 
Amid the pealing conquest-crj-; 
Scarce less, when, after battle lost. 
Muster the remnants of a host. 
And as each comrade's name they tell 
Who in the well-fought conflict fell. 
Knitting stern brow o'er flashing eye. 
Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 
WaiTiors! — and where are warriors found, 
If not on martial Britain's ground? 
And who, when waked with note of fire. 
Love more than they the British lyre'' 
Know ye not, hearts to honour dear ! 
That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe. 
At which the heart-strings vibrate high. 
And wake the fouritains of tlie eye' 
And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace 
Of tear is on his manly face. 
When, scanty reliques of tiie train 
That hailed at Scone his early reign, 
This patriot band around him hung. 
And to his knees and bosom clung) 
Blame ye the Bruce?— his brother blamed. 
But shared the weakness, while, ashamed 
With haughty laugh his head he turned, 
And dashed away the tear he scorned. 'i 

XXI. 

'Tis morning, and the convent bell 
Long time had ceased its matin knell, 
VVithin thy walls, saint Bride I 



270 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



An aged sister sought the cell 
Assigned to lady Isabel, 

And hurriedly she cried, 
"Haste, gentle lady, haste — there waits 
A noble stranger at the gales; 
Saint Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen 
A knight of such a princely mien; 
His errand, as he bade me tell, 
Is with the lady Isabel." 
The princess rose, for on her knee 
Low bent, she told her rosary,— 
" Let him by thee his purpose teach; 
I may not give a stranger speech. " 
" Saint Bride forefend, thou royal maid!" 
The portress crossed herself, and said, — 
" Not to be prioress might I 
Debate his will, his suit deny." 
" Has earthly show then, simple fool, 
Power o'er a sister of thy rule. 
And art thou, like the worldly train. 
Subdued by splendours light and vain'" 

XXII. 

•'No, lady! in old eyes like mine 
Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine! 
Nor grace his rank attendants vain, 
One youthful page is all his train. 
It is the form, the eye, the word, 
The bearing of that stranger lord; 
His stature, manly, bold, and tall, 
Built like a castle's battled wall. 
Yet moulded'in such just degrees. 
His giant-strength seems lightsome ease. 
Close as the tendrils of the vine 
His locks upon his forehead twine, 
Jet-black, save where some touch of gi'ay 
Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 
Weather and war their rougher trace 
Have left on that majestic face; — 
JBut 'tis his dignity of eye! 
There, if a suppliant, would I fly, 
Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief, 
Of sympathy, redress, relief— 
That glance, if guilty, would I dread 
More than the doom that spoke me dead!"- 
" Enough, enough," the princess cried, 
«• 'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride! 
To meaner front was ne'er assigned 
Such mastery o'er the common mind — 
Bestowed thy high designs to aid, 
How long, O heaven! how long delayed! 
Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce 
My darling brother, royal Bruce!" 

XXIll. 
They met like friends who part in pain, 
And meet in doubtful hope again. 
But when subdued that fitful swell. 
The Bruce surveyed the humble cell; 
" And this is thine, poor Isabel, — 
That palkt-couch, and naked wall, 
I'or room of state, and bed of pall; 
For costly robes and jewels rai-e, 
A string of beads and zone of hair; 
And for the trumpet's sprightly call 
To sport or banquet, grove or hall. 
The bell's grim voice divides thy care, 
'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer! 
O ill for thee, ray royal claim 
From the first David's sainted name! 
O wo for thee, that while he sought 
Hi8 riglit, thy brother feebly fought!" 



XXIV. 

" Now lay these vain regrets aside. 
And be the unshaken Bruce!" she cried. 
" For more I glory to have shared 
The woes thy venturous spirit dared, 
When raising first thy valiant band 
In rescue of thy native land. 
Than had fair fortune set me down 
The partner of an empire's crown. 
And grieve not that on pleasure's stream 
No more I drive in giddy dream. 
For heaven the erring pilot knew. 
And from the gulf the vessel drew. 
Tried me with judgments, stern and great. 
My house's ruin, thy defeat, 
Poor Nigel's death, till, tamed, 1 own. 
My hopes are fixed on heaven alone; 
Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win 
My heart to this vain world of sin." — 

XXV. 
" Nay, Isabel, for sucli stern choice. 
First wilt thou wait tliy brother's voice; 
Then p(mder if in convent scene 
No softer thouglits might intervene — 
Say they were of that unknown knight, 
Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight — 
Naj', if his name such blush you owe, 
Victorious o'er a fairer foe!" — 
Truly his penetrating eye 
Hath caught tliat blush's passing die, — 
Like the last beam of evening tiirown 
On a white cloud, — just seen and gone. 
Soon with calm cheek and steady eye. 
The princess made composed reply: 
"1 guess my brother's meaning well; 
For not so silent is the cell, 
But we have heard the islesmen all 
Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call. 
And mine eye proves that knight unknown 
And the brave Island loi-d are one. — 
Had then his suit been earlier made. 
In his own name, with tliee to aid, 
(But that his plighted faith forbade,) 

I know not But thy page so near?— 

This is no tale for menial's ear." — 

XXVI. 
Still stood that page, as far apart 

As the small cell would space afford- 
With dizzy eye and bursting lieart, 

He leaned his weight on Bruce's sword, 
The monarch's mantle too he bore. 
And drew the fold his visage o'er. 
" Fear not for him — in murderous strife," 
Said Bruce, "his warning saved my life: 
Full seldom parts he from my side; 
And in his silence 1 confide. 
Since he can tell no tale again. — 
He is a boy of gentle strain. 
And I have purposed he shall dwell 
In Augustin the chaplain's cell, 
And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 
Mind not his tears; I've seen them flow. 
As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 
'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 
Unfit against the tide to pull. 
And those that with the Bruce would sail. 
Must learn to strive witli stream and gale. — 
But forward, gentle Isabel — 
My answer for lord Ronald tell. "— 

XXVII. 
" This answer be to Ronald given— 
The heart he asks is fixed on heaven. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



271 



My love was like a summer flower, 

That withered in the wintry hour, 

Born but of vanity and pride, 

And with these sunny visions died. 

If further press liis suit — then say, 

He should his plighted troth obey; 

Troth plighted both with ring and word, 

And sworn on crucifix and sword. — 

Oh, shame thee, Robert! I have seen 

Thou hast a woman's guardian been: 

E'en in extremity's dread hour, 

When pressed on tliee tlie southern power, 

And safety, to all human sight. 

Was only found in rapid fligiit. 

Thou heard'st a wretciied female plain 

In agony of travail-\)ain, 

And thou didst bid tliy little band 

Upon the instant turn and stand, '2 

And dare the worst the foe might do, 

Rather than, like a knight untrue, 

Leave to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress. — 

And wilt thou now deny tiiine aid 

To an oppressed and injured maid, 

E'en plead for Ronald's perfidy. 

And press liis fickle faith on me? — 

So witness heaven, as true I vow. 

Had I those eartliiy feelings now. 

Which could my former bosom move 

Ere taught to set its hopes above, 

I'd spurn each profter he could bring. 

Till at my feet he laid the ring, 

The ring and spousal ctmtract both. 

And fair acquittal of his oath. 

By her who brooks his perjured scorn. 

The ill-requited maid of liorn!" — 

XXVUl. 
With sudden impulse forward sprung 
The page, and on her neck he hung; 
Then, recollected instantly, 
His head he stooped, and bent his knee. 
Kissed twice the hand of Isabel, 
Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 
Tiie princess, loosened from his hold. 
Blushed angry at his bearing bold; 

But good king Robert cried, 
" Chafe not — by signs lie speaks his mind. 
He heard the plan my care designed. 

Nor could his transports hide. — 
But, sister, now bethink thee well; 
No easy choice the convent cell; 
Trust, I shall play no tyrant part. 
Either to force thy hand or heart, 
Or suffer that lord Ronald scorn. 
Or wrong for thee, the maid of Lorn. 
But think, — not long the time has been. 
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen, 
And would'st the ditties best approve. 
That told some lay of hapless love. 
Now are thy Avishes in tliy power, 
And thou art bent on cloister bower! 
O! if our Edward knew the change, 
How would his busy satire range. 
With many a sarcasm varied still 
On woman's wish, and woman's will!" 

XXIX. 
" Brother, I well believe," she said, 
"E'en so would Edwai'd's part be played. 
Kindly in heart, in word severe, 
A foe to thought, and grief, and fear, 
He holds his humour uncontrolled; 
But thou art of another mould. 



Say then to Ronald, as I say, 

Unless before my feet he lay 

The ring which bound the faith he swore, 

By Edith freely yielded o'er, 

He moves his suit to me no more. 

Nor do I promise, e'en if now 

He stood absolved of spousal vow, 

That I would change my purpose made, 

To shelter me in lioly siiade. — ■ 

Brother, for little space, farewell! 

To other duties warns the bell." 

XXX. 
" Lost to the world," king Robert said, 
M'hen he had left tlie royal maid, 
" Lost to the world by lot severe, 
O what a gem lies buried here. 
Nipped by misfortune's cruel frost. 
The buds of fair atteclion lost! 
But what have 1 wiili love to do.' 
Far sterner cares my lot pursue. 
— Pent in this isle we may not lie, 
Nor would it long our wants supply. 
Riglit opposite, the mainland towers 
Of my own Turnberry court our powers — 
— Alight not my fatlier's beadsman lioar, 
Culhbert, who dwells upon the shore. 
Kindle a signal-flame, to show 
The time propitious for the blow! — . 
It shall be so — some friend shall bear 
Our mandate wit!) dispatch and care; 
Edward shall find the messenger. 
That fortress ours, the island fleet 
May on the coast of Carrick meet. 
O Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 
To wreak thy wrongs in battle line, 
To raise my victor head, and see 
Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free,— > 
That glance of bliss is all 1 crave. 
Betwixt my labours and my grave!" 
Then down the hill lie slowly went. 
Oft pausing on the steep descent, 
And readied the spot where his bold train 
Held rustic camp upon the plain. 

CANTO V. 

I. 

On fair Loch-Ranza streamed the early day. 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curled 

Fi'om the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
And circling mountains sever from the world. 

And there the fisherman his sail unfurled. 
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-ghoil, 

Before the hut the dame her spindle twirled 
Courting the sunbeam as siie plied her toil, — 

For, wake where'er he may, man wakes to care 
and toil. 

But other duties called each convent maid. 

Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell; 

Sung were the matins, and the mass was said, 
And every sister sought her separate cell. 

Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. 
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer; 

The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell 
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair. 

As stooped her gentle head in meek devotion there. 
II. 
She raised her eyes, that duty done. 
When glanced upon the pavement stone, 
Gemmed and enchased, a golden ring. 
Bound to a scroll with silken string. 
With few brief words inscribed to tell 
"This for the lady Isabel. " ' 



272 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Within, the writing farther bore, — 
" 'Twas with this ring his plight he swore, 
With this his promise I restore; 
To her who can the heart command, 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And O! for better fortune born, 
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn!" 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes, 
Kut vanished in the blush of shame, 
That, as its penance, instant came. 
" O thought unworthy of my race I 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
A moment's throb of joy to own. 
That rose upon her hopes o'ertbrown! — 
Thou pledge of vows too well believed, 
Of man ingrate and maid deceived. 
Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
Another heart to hope in vain ! 
For thou slialt rest, thou tempting gaud. 
Where worldly thoughts are overawed. 
And worldly splendours sink debased."— 
Then by the cross the ring she placed. 

111. 

Next rose the thought, — its owner far. 
How came it here througb bolt and bar? — 
But the dim lattice is a-jar — 
She looks abroad — the morning dew 
A light short step had brushed anew. 

And there were foot-prints seen 
On the carved buttress rising still, 
Till on the mossy window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. 
The ivy twigs were torn and frayed. 
As if some climber's steps to aid. — 
But who the hardy messenger 
Whose venturous path these signs infer' — 
" Strange doubts are mine! — Mona, draw nigh;'' 
— Nought 'scapes old Mona's curious eja- 
" What strangers, gentle mother, say. 
Have sought tiiese holy walls to-day?" 
" None, lady, none of note or name, 
Only your brother's foot-page came. 
At peep of dawn — I prayed him pass 
To chapel where they said the mass; 
But like an arrow he shot by. 
And tears seemed bursting from his eye." 

. IV. 

The truth at once on Isabel, 

As darted by a sunbeam, fell. 

•' 'Tis Edith's self! — her speechless wo. 

Her form, her looks, the secret show ! 

— Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 

And to my royal brother say, 

1 do conjure him seek my cell. 

With that mute page he loves so well." 

" What! know'st thou not his warlike host 

At break of day has left our coast? 

My old eyes saw them from ti>e tower. 

At eve they couched in green-wood bower. 

At dawn a bugle-signal, made 

By their bold lord, their ranks arrayed; 

Up sprung the spears through bush and tree. 

No time for benedicitel 

Like deer, that, rousing from their lair, 

Just shake the dew-drops from their hair, 

And toss their armed crests aloft, 

Such matins theirs!" — " Good mother, soft — 

Where does my brother bend his way?" 

" As I have heard, for Brodick-bay, 



Across the isle — of barks a score 
Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er. 
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore." 
" If such their jjurpose, deep the need," 
Said anxious Isabel, " of speed! 
Call father Auguslin, good dame." 
'I'he nun obeyed, tbe fallier came. 

V. 
" Kind fathei-, hie without delay. 
Across the hill to Brodick-bay ! 
This message to the Bruce be given; 
I pray him, by his hopes of heaven. 
That, till he speak with me, he stay ! 
Or, if his haste brook no delay, 
Tiiat he deliver, on my suit. 
Into thy charge that stripling mute. 
Thus prays his sister Isabel, 
For causes more than she may tell — 
Away, good father! — and take heed, 
Tliat life and death are on thy speed." — 
His cowl the good old priest did on. 
Took his piked staff and sandalled shoon, 
And, like a palmer bent by eld. 
O'er moss and moor his journey held. 

VI. 
Heavy and dull the foot of age. 
And rugged was the pilgrimage; 
But none was there beside, whose care 
Might such important message bear. 
Through birchen copse he wandered slow, 
Stunted and sapless, thin and tow; 
By many a mountain stream he passed. 
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast. 
Dashing to foam their waters dun. 
And sparkling in tbe summer sun. 
Round his gray head the wild curlew 
In many a fearless circle flew. 
O'er chasms he passed, where fractures wide 
Craved wary e)'e and ample stride;' 
He crossed his brow beside the stone. 
Where druids erst heard victims groan, 
And at the cairns upon the wild. 
O'er many a heathen hero piled, 2 
He breathed a timid prayer for those 
Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose. 
Beside Macfarlane's cross he staid, 
There told his hours wilbin tbe shade, 
And at the stream his thirst allayed. 
Thence onward journeying slowly still. 
As evening closed he reached the hill. 
Where rising through the woodland green, 
Old Brodick's gothic towers were seen. 
P'rom Hastings, late their English lord, 
Douglas had won them by tiie sword.^ 
Tiie sun that sunk behind tbe isle 
Now tinged them witii a parting smile. 

VII. 
But though the beams of light decay, 
'Twas bustle all in Brodick-ba3\ 
The Bruce's followers crowd tiie shore. 
And boats and barges some unmoor. 
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar; 
Their ej'es oft turned where glimmered far 
What might have seemed an early star 
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light 
Was all too flickering, fierce and bright. 
Far distant in the south, tlie ray 
Shone pale amid retiring day, 

But as, on Carrick shore. 
Dim seen in outline faintly blue. 
The shades of evening closer drew. 
It kindled more and more. 



i 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES- 



273 



The monk's slow steps now press the sands, 
And now amid a scene he stands, 

Full strange to churchman's eye; 
Warriors, who, arming for the fight, 
Rivet and clasp their harness light. 
And twinkling spears, and axes bright, 

And helmets flasliing high; 
Oft, too, with unaccustomed ears, 
A language much unmeet he hears,* 

While hastening all on board, 
A s stormy as the swelling surge 
That mixed its roar, the leaders urge 
Their followers to the ocean verge. 

With many a hauglity word. 

>■■ VIIT. 
Through that wild throng the fatlier passed, 
And reached the royal Bruce at last. 
He leant against a stranded boat. 
That the approaching tide must float, 
And counted every rippling wave, 
As higher yet her sides they lave, 
And oft the distant fire he eyed. 
And closer yet his hauberk tied. 
And loosened in its sheath his brand. 
Edward and Lennox were at hand; 
Douglas and Ronald had the care 
The soldiers to the barks to share. — 
The monk approached and homage paid; 
♦' And art thou come," king Robert said, 
" So far, to bless us ere we part'" — 
— " My liege, and with a loyal heart! — 
liut other charge 1 have to tell," — 
And spoke the hest of Isabel. 
— "Now, by saint Giles," the monarch cried, 
••This moves me much! — this morning tide, 
I sent the stripling to saint Bride, 
With my commandment there to bide." — 
— " Thither he came the portress showed, 
But there, my liege, made brief abode." — 

IX. 

" 'Twas 1," said Edward, " found employ 

Of nobler import for the boy. 

Deep pondering in my anxious mind, 

A fitting messenger to find. 

To bear thy written mandate o'er 

To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore, 

1 chanced, at early dawn, to pass 

Tlie chapel gate to snatch a mass. 

1 found the stripling on a tomb 

Low-seated, weeping for the doom 

That gave his youth to convent gloom. 

1 told my purpose, and his eyes 

Flashed joyful at the glad surprise. 

He bounded to the skiff, the sail 

Was spread before a prosperous gale. 

And well my charge he hath obe3'ed; 

For, see ! the ruddy signal made, 

That Cliftbrd, with his merry-men all. 

Guards carelessly our father's hall."^ 

X. 
»'0 wild of thought, and hai'd of heart!" 
Answered the monarch, "on a part 
Of such deep danger to employ 
A mute, an orphan, and a boy ! 
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife. 
Without a tongue to plead for life ! 
Now, were my right restored by heaven, 
Edward, my crown I would have given, 
Ere, tiirust on such adventure wild, 
1 periled thus the helpless cliild." 



— Offended half, and half submiss, 

"Brother and liege, of blame like this," 

Edward replied, " I little dreamed. 

A stranger messenger, 1 deemed, 

Might safest seek the beadsman's cell, 

Where all thy squires are known so well. 

Noteless his presence, sharp his sense. 

His imperfection his defence. 

If seen, none can his errand guess; 

If ta'en, his words no tale express — 

Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 

Might expiate gi-eater fault than mine." — 

" Rash," said king Robert, "was the deed — 

But it is done. — Embark with speed! — 

Good father, say to Isabel 

How this unhappy chance befel; 

If well we tfirive on yonder shore. 

Soon shall my care her i)age restore. 

Our greeting to our sister bear. 

And tliink of us in mass and prayer." — 

XI. 
" Ay!" said the priest, " while this poor hand 
Can chalice raise or cross command. 
While my old voice has accents' use. 
Can Augustin forget the Bruce?" — 
Then to his side lord Ronald pressed. 
And whispered, " Bear thou this request. 
That when by Bruce's side I fight. 
For Scotland's ci'own and freedom's right. 
The princess grace her kniglit to bear 
Some token of her favouring care; 
It shall be shown where England's best 
May shrink to see it on my crest. 
And for the hoy — since weightier care 
For royal Bruce the times prepare, 
The helpless youth is Ronald's charge. 
His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." — 
He ceased; for many an eager hand 
Had urged the barges from the strand. 
Their number was a score and ten. 
They bore tfirice three score chosen men. 
With such small force did Bruce at last 
The die for death or empire cast! 

XII. 
Now on the darkening main afloat, 
Ready and manned rocks every boat; 
Beneath tlujir oars the ocean's might 
Was dashed to sparks of glimmering light. 
Faint and more faint, as oft' they bore. 
Their armour glanced against the shorej 
And, mingled with the dashing tide, 
Tlieir murmuring voices distant died. — 
" God speed them!" said llie priest, as d.ark 
On distant billows glides each bark: 
" O heaven! when swords for freedom sliine. 
And monarch's right, the cause is tliine! 
Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 
Beat down the banners of the foe ! 
And be it to the nations known. 
That victory is from God alone!" — 
As up the hill his path he drew. 
He turned, his blessings to renew. 
Oft turned, till on the darkened coast 
All traces of their course were lost; 
Then slowly bent to Brodick tower. 
To shelter for the evening hour. 

Xlll. 
In night the fairy prospects sink. 
Where Cumray's isles witli verdant link 
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde; 
The woods of Bute no more descried 



t 



.274 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Are gone — and on the placid sea 

1 he rowers plied their task with glee, 

While hands that knightly lances bore 

Impatient aid tlie labouring oar. 

The half Faced moon shone dim and pale, 

And glanced against the whitened sail; 

But on that ruddy beacon light 

Each steersman kept the helm aright, 

And oft, for such tiie king's command. 

That all at once might reach the strand. 

From boat to boat loud shout and iiail 

Warned them to crowd or slacken sail. 

Soutli and by west the arn)ada bore, 

And near at length the Carrick shore. 

As less and less the distance grows. 

High and more higli tlie beacon rose; 

The light, that seemed a twinkling star. 

Now blazed portentous, tierce, and far. 

Dark-red tiie heaven above it glowed, 

Dark-red the sea beneath it flowed. 

Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim. 

In blood-red light her islets swim; 

Wild scream tlie dazzled sea-fowl gave. 

Dropped from their crags on plashing wave, 

The deer to distant covert drew, 

The black-cock deemed it day, and crew. 

Like some tall castle given to flame. 

O'er half the land the lustre came. 

"Now, good my liege, and brother sage. 

What think ye of mine elfin page?" 

*' Row on!" the noble king replied, 

" We'll learn the truth whate'er betide; 

Yet sure the beadsman and the child 

Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild." — 

XIV. 

With that the boats approached the land. 

But Edward's grounded on the sand; 

The eager kniglit leaped in the sea 

Waist deep, and first on shore was he. 

Though every barge's hardy band 

Contended which should gain the land. 

When that strange light, which, seen afar, 

Seemed steady as the polar star, 

Now, like a prophet's fiery chair, 

Seemed travelling the realms of air. 

Wide o'er the sky the splendour glows 

As that portentous meteor rose; 

Helm, axe, and falchion, glittered bright, 

And in the red and dusky light 

His comrade's face each warrior saw. 

Nor marvelled it was pale with awe. 

Then high in air the beams were lost. 

And darkness sunk upon the coast. — 

Ronald to heaven a \)rayer addiessed. 

And Douglas ci-ossed his dauntless breast; 

"Saint James protect usi" Lennox cried. 

But reckless Edward spoke aside, 

»' Deemest thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame 

Red Comyn's angry spirit came, 

Or would thy dauntless heart endure 

Once more to make assurance sure?" 

" Hush !" said tlie Bruce, " we soon shall know. 

If this be sorctn-er's empty show, 

Or stratagem of southern foe. 

The moon shines out — upon the sand 

Let every leader rank his band." — 

XV. 

Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 
That ruddy liglit's unnatural die; 
The dubious cold reflection lay 
On the wet sands and quiet bay. 



Beneath the j-ocks king Robert drew 

His scattered files to order due, 

Till shield compact and serried spear 

In the cool light shone blue and clear. 

Then down a path that sought the tide. 

That speecldess page was seen to glide; 

He knelt him lowly on tiie sand, 

And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 

" A torch," the monarch cried; " What, ho! 

Now shall we Culhberl's tidings know." — 

But evil news the letters bare, 

The Clifford's force was strong and ware. 

Augmented, too, that very mom, 

By mountaineers who came witli Lorn. 

Long harrowed bj' oppressor's hand, 

Courage and faith had fled the land. 

And over Carrick, dark and deep. 

Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. — 

Cuthbert had seen that beacon flame, 

Unwitting from what source it came. 

Doubtful of perilous event, 

Edward's mute messenger he sent. 

If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 

I'o warn him from the fatal shore. 

XVL 
As round the torch the leaders crowd, 
Bruce read these chilling news aloud. 
" What council, nobles, have we now? 
To ambush us in green-wood bough. 
And take the chance which fate may send 
To bring our enterprise to end; 
Or shall we turn us to the main 
As exiles, and embark again?" 
Answered fierce Edward, " Hap what may, 
In Carrick, Carrick's lord must stay. 
I wouUl not minstrels told tlie tale, 
' Wild-fire or meteor made us quail." 
Answered the Douglas, " If my liege 
May win yon walls by storm or siege. 
Then were each brave and patriot heart 
Kindled of new for loyal part." 
Answered lord Ronald, " Not for shame, 
Would I that aged Torquil came, 
And found, for all our empty boast. 
Without a blow we fled the coast. 
I will not credit tliat this land. 
So famed for warlike heart and hand, 
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 
Will long with tyrants hold a truce." 
" Prove we our fate — the brunt we'll bide!" 
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried; 
So said, so vowed, the leaders all; 
So Bruce resolved; " And in my hall 
Since the bold southern make their home. 
The hour of payment soon shall come. 
When with a rough and rugged host 
Clift'ord may reckon to his cost. 
Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell, 
I'll lead where we may shelter well." 

XVII. 
Now ask you whence that wond'rous light. 
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight? 
It ne'er was known"' — yet gray-haired eld 
A superstitious credence held. 
That never did a mortal hand 
Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand: 
Nay, and that on the self-same night 
When Bruce crossed o'er, still gleams the light. 
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor, 
And glittering wave and crimsoned shore 
But whether beam celestial, lent 
Bv heaven to aid the king's descent, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



275 



Or fire liell-kiiitiled from beneath, 
To liuv liini to defeat and death, 
Or were it Ijiit some meteor strange. 
Of such as oft through midnight range, 
Startling the traveller late and lone, 
I know not — and it ne'er was known. 

xvin. 

Now np the rocky pass they drew, 

And Ronald, to his promise true, 

Still made his arm the stripling's stay. 

To aid him on the rugged way. 

•' Now cheer thee, simple Amadine! 

Why throbs that silly heart of thine'" — 

— That name the pirates to their slave, 

(In Gffilic 'lis the changeling) gave — 

" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm? 

Uo not my plaid-folds hold thee warm? 

Hath not the wild bull's treble hide 

This targe for thee and me supplied? 

Is not Glan-CoUa's sword of steel? 

And, trembler, can'st thou terror feel? 

Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart; 

From Ronald's guard tliou shalt not part." — 

— O ! many a shaft, at random sent. 

Finds mark the archer lit'Je meant! 

And many a word, at raa Jom spoken, 

May sooth or wound a heart that's broken! 

Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified. 

Close drew the page to Ronald's sidej 

A wild delirious thrill of joy 

Was in that hour of agony. 

As up the steepy pass he strove, 

Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love! 

XIX. 
The barrier of that iron shore. 
The rock's steep ledge, is now climbed o'er; 
And from the castle's distant wall. 
From tower to tower the warders call: 
Tiie sound swings over land and sea. 
And marks a watchful enemy. — 
They gained the chase, a wide domain 
Left for the castle's sylvan reign, ■? 
(Seek not the scene — the axe," the plough, 
The boor's dull fence, have marred it now,) 
But then, soft swept in velvet green 
The plain with many a glade between, 
Whose tangled alleys far invade 
The depth of the brown forest shade. 
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn, 
Fair shelter for the sportive faun; 
There, tufted close with copse-wood green. 
Was many a swelling liillock seen; 
And all around was verdure meet 
For pressure of the fairies' feet. 
The glossy holly loved the park. 
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark. 
And many an old oak, worn and bare, 
With all its shivered boughs, was there. 
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. 
The gallant monarch sighed to see 
Those glades so loved in childhood free. 
Bethinking that, as outlaw now, 
He ranged beneath the forest bough. 

XX. 

Fast o'er the moonlight chase they sped. 
Well knew the band that measured tread. 
When in retreat or in advance, 
The serried warriors move at once; 
And evil were the luck, if dawn 
Descried them on the open lawn. 



Copses they traverse, brooks they cross. 
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss. 
From the exhausted page's brow 
Coid drops of toil ai-e streaming now; 
With effort faint and lengthened pause, 
His weary step the stripling draws. 
" Nay, droop not yet!" the warrior said; 
"Come, let me give thee ease and aid! 
Strong are mine arms, and little care 
A weight so slight as tliine to bear. 
What! wilt thou not' — capricious boy! 
Then thine own limbs and strength employ. 
Pass but this night, and pass thy care, 
I'll place thee with a lady fair. 
Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell 
How Ronald loves fair Isabel!" 
Worn out, dislieartened, and dismayed, 
Here Amadine let go the ]ilaid; 
His trembling limbs their aid refuse, 
He sunk among the midnight dews! 

XXI. 

What may be done' — the night is gone — 

The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 

Eternal shame, if at the brunt 

Lord Ronald grace not battle's frcmt! 

" See yonder oak, witiiin whose trunk 

Decay a darkened cell hath sunk; 

Enter, and rest thee there a space. 

Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. 

I will not be, believe mc, far; 

But must not quit the ranks of war. 

Well will 1 mark the bosky bourne, 

And soon to guard thee lience, retrn-n. 

Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy! 

But sleep in peace, and wake in joy." 

In sjlvan loilging close bestowed. 

He placed the page, and onward strode 

With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook. 

And soon the marching band o'ertook. 

XXII. 

Thus strangely left, long sobbed and wept 

The page, till, Avearied out, he slept. 

A rough voice waked his dream — " Nay, here. 

Here by this thicket, passed tiie deer — 

Beneath that oak okl Ryno staid — 

What have we here' — a Scottish plaid. 

And in its folds a stripling laid? 

Come forth ! thy name and business tell ! 

What, silent? — then I guess tliee well. 

The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell. 

Wafted from Annan yester morn — 

Come, comrades, we will straight return. 

Our lord may choose the rack should teach 

To this young lurcher use of speech. 

Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast.' 

" Nay, but he weeps and stands agiiast; 

Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not; 

'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot." 

Tiie hunters to the castle sped. 

And there the hapless captive led. 

XXIII. 

Stout ClifFord in the castle-court 
Prepared h'nn for the morning sport; 
And now with Lorn held deep discourse. 
Now gave command for hound and horse. 
War-steeds and palfteys pawed the ground. 
And many a deer-dog howled around. 
To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word 
Replying to that southern lord. 
Mixed with this clanging din, might seem 
The phantasm of a fevered dream. 



276 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The tone upon liis ringing ears 
Came like tiie sounds which fancy hears, 
When in rtide waves or roaring winds 
Some words of wo the muser finds, 
Until more loudly and more near, 
Their speech arrests the page's ear. 

XXIV. 

" And was she thus," said Clifford, " lost? 

The priest will rue it to his cost! 

What says the monk;"' — "The holy sire 

Owns that, in mascjuer's quaint attire. 

She sought his skiff, disguised, unknown 

To all except to him alone. 

But, says the priest, a hark from Lorn 

Laid them aboard tliat verj' morn. 

And pirates siezed her for their prey. 

He proffered ransom-gold to pa}'. 

And they agreed — but ere told o'er, 

The winds blow loud, the billows roar; 

They severed, and they met no more. 

He deems — such tempest vexed the coast — 

Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 

— So let it be, witli the disgrace 

And scandal of her lofty race ! 

Thrice better she had ne'er been bom, . 

Than brought her infamy on Lorn!" 

oXXV. 

Lord Clifford now the captive spied ;- 

"Whom, Herbert, hast thou there?" he cried. 

" A sp)' was siezed within the chase, 

An hollow oak his lurking place." — 

" What tidings can the youth afford?" — 

" He plays tlie mute." — " Then noose a cord — 

Unless brave Loru reverse the doom 

For his plaid's sake." — " Clan-Colla's loom," 

Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 

Rather the vesture than the face, 

" Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine; 

Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 

Give him, if my advice you crave, 

His own scathed oak: and let him wave 

In air, unless, bv terror wrung, 

A frank confession find his tongue—^ 

Nor shall he die without his rite; 

— Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight. 

And give Clan-Colla's dirge tiiy breath, 

As they convey him to his death." 

" O brother! cruel to the last!" 

Through the poor captive's bosom passed 

The thought, but, to his purpose true. 

He said not, though he sighed, "Adieu!" — 

XXVI. 

And will he keep his ptn-pose still, 

In sight of that last closing ill, 

When one poor breath, one single word, 

May freedom, safety, life, afford? 

Can he resist the instinctive call, 

For life, that bids us barter all? — 

Love, strong as death, his heart hath steeled, 

His nerves hath strung — he will not yield! 

Since that poor breath, that little word, 

May yield lord Ronald to the sword. — ■ 

Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide. 

The griesly headsman's by his side; 

Along the green wood chase tliey bend. 

And now tiieir march has ghastly end! 

That old and shattered oak beneath, 

Tliey destine for the place of deatlj. 

— VViiat thoughts are his, wiiile all in vain 

His eye for aid explores the plain? 



What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear, 
He hears tlie death-prayer muttered near' 
And must he die such death accurst, 
Or will tliat bosom-secret burst? 
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew, 
His trembling lips are livid blue; 
The agony of parting life 
Has nought to match that moment's strife! 

XXVII. 

But other witnesses are nigh, 

Wiio mock at fear, and death defy! 

Soon as the dire lament was played, 

It waked the lurking ambuscade. 

'rhe Island lord looked forth, and spied 

Tlie cause, and loud in fury cried, 

" By iieaven they lead the page to die, 

And mock me in his agony! 

They shall abye it!" — On his arm 

Bruce laid strong grasp, "They shall not harm 

A ringlet of the stripling's hair; 

But, till 1 give the word, forbear. 

— Douglas, lead fifty of our force 

Up yonder hollow water-course, 

And couch thee midway on the wold, 

Between the flyers and'their hold: 

A spear above the copse displayed, 

Be signal of the ambush made. 

— Edward, witli forty spearmen, straight 

Through yonder copse approach the gate, 

And, when thou hearest the battle din. 

Rush forward, and the passage win. 

Secure the drawbridge — storm the port — 

And man and guard tlie castle-court. — 

The rest move slowly forth with me. 

In shelter of the forest tree, 

Till Douglas at his post I see." 

XXVIII. 

Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
Compelled to wait the signal blown. 
Hid, and scarce hid, by green-wood bough. 
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now, 
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue. 
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue. — 
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye, 
Sees the dark death-train moving by, 
And heedfvd measures oft the space, * 
The Douglas and his band must trace, 
Ere they can reach their destined ground. 
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound, 
Now cluster round the direful tree 
'IMiat slow and solemn company. 
While hymn mistuned and muttered pra)'er 
The victim for his fate prepare. — 
Wliat glances o'er the green-wood shade' 
The spear that marks the ambuscade! — 
" Now, noble chief! I leave thee loose; 
Upon them, Ronald," said the Bruce. 

XXIX. 

" The Bruce, the Bruce!" to well-known cry 
His native rocks and woods reply. 
"The Bruce, tlie Bruce!" in that dread word 
The knell of hundred deaths was heard. 
The astonisiied southern gazed at first. 
Where the wild tempest was to burst. 
That waked in that presaging name! 
Before, behind, around it came! 
Half-armed, surprised, on every side 
Hemmed in, hewed down, they bled and died. 
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged. 
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged ! 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



277 



Full soon the few who fought were sped, 
Not- hetter was their lot who fleii, 
And met, 'mid terror's wild career, 
The Douglas's redoubted spear! 
Two hundred yeomen on that morn 
The castle left, and none return. 

XXX. 
Not on their flight pressed Ronald's brand, 
A gentler duty claimed his hand. 
He raised the page, where on the plain 
His fear had sunk him with the slain: 
And, twice that morn, surprise well near 
Betrayed the secret kept by fear. 
Once, when, with life returning, came 
To the boy's lip lord Ronald's name. 
And hardly recollection drowned 
The accents in a murmuring sound: 
And once, when scarce he could resist 
The chieftain's care to loose the vest, 
Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast. 
But then the Bruce's bugle blew. 
For martial work was yet to do. 

XXXI. 
A harder task fierce Edward waits. 
Ere signal given, the castle gates 

His fury had assailed; 
Such was his wonted reckless mood, 
Yet desperate valour oft made good, 
E'en by its daring, venture rude, 

Where prudence might have failed. 
Upon the bridge his strength he threw, 
And struck the iron chain in two 

By which its planks arose; 
The warder nest his axe's edge 
Struck down upon the threshold ledge, 
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge! 

The gate they may not close. 
Well fought the southern in the fray, 
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day, 
But stubborn Edward forced his way 

Against an hundred foes. 
Loud came the cry, " The Bruce, The Bruce!' 
No hope or in defence or truce, 

Fresii combatants pour in; 
Alad with success, and drunk with gore. 
They drive the struggling foe before. 

And ward on ward they win. 
Unsparing was the vengeful sword. 
And limbs were lopped and life-blood poured, 
The cry of death and conflict roared. 

And fearful was the din ! 
The startling horses plunged and flung. 
Clamoured the dogs till turrets rung. 

Nor sunk the fearful cry. 
Till not a foeman was there found 
Alive, save those who on the ground 

Groaned in their agony ! 

xxxn. 

The valiant Clifford is no more; 

On Ronald's broadsword streamed his gore. 

But better hap had he of Lorn, 

Who, by the foemen backward borne. 

Yet gained with slender train the port. 

Where lay his bark beneath the fort, 

And cut the cable loose. 
Short were his shrift in that debate. 
That hour of fury and of fate. 

If Lorn encountered Bruce ! 
Then long atid loud the victor shout 
From turret anil from tower rung out. 

The rugged vaults replied; 



And from the donjon tower on high. 
The men of Carrick may descry 
Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry 
Of silver, waving wide! 

XXXITI. 

The Bruce hath won his fathers' hall!^ 

— " Welcome, brave friends and comrades all, 

W'elcome to mirth and joy! 
The first, the last, is welcome here, 
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer, 

To this poor speechless boy. 
Great God ! once more my sire's abode 
Is mine — behold the floor I trode 

In tottering infancy ! 
And there the vaulted arch, whose sound 
Echoed my joyous shout and bound 
In boyhood, and that rung around 

To youth's unthinking glee! 
O first, to thee, all gracious heaven. 
Then to mj' friends, my thanks be given!" 
He paused a space, his brow he crossed — 
Then on the board liis sword he tossed. 
Yet streaming hot; with southern gore 
From hilt to point 'twas crimsoned o'er. 

XXXIV. 
" Bring here," he said, " the mazers four. 
My noble fathers loved of yore. 9 
Thrice let them circle round the board. 
The pledge, ' fair Scotland's rights restored!* 
And he Avhose lip shall touch the wine, 
W^ithout a vow as true as mine. 
To hold both lands and life at nought. 
Until her freedom shall be bought, — 
Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 
And lasting infamy his lot! 
Sit, gentle friends! our hour of glee 
Is brief, we'll spend it joyously! 
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams. 
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 
Well is our country's work begun. 
But more, far more, must yet be done! — 
Speed messengers the country through; 
Arouse old friends, and gather new;io 
Warn Lanark's kniglits to gird their mail. 
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts. 
The fairest forms, the truest hearts !'i 
Call all, call all ! from Reedswair path, 
To the wild confines of Cape- Wrath; 
Wide let the news through Scotland ring, 
The northern eagle claps his wing!" 

»■ 

CAJnfl) TI. 

I. 

O WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget 

The emotions of the spirit-rousing time. 
When breathless in the mart the couriers met. 

Early and late, at evening and at prime; 
When the loud cannon and the merry chime 

Hailed news on news, as field on field was won, 
When hope, long doubtful, soared at length sub- 
lime. 

And our glad eyes, awake as day begun. 
Watched Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the ris- 
ing sun! 

O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and 
fears ! 

The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed, 
The waste, the wo, the bloodshed, and the tears, 






278 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



That U-ackeJ with terror twenty rolling years. 
All was forgot in that blilh jubilee! 

Her downcast eye e'en pale Affliction rears, 
To sigh a thankful prayer, aniid the glee. 

That hailed tlie despot's tall, and peace and liberty ! 

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode, 
When 'gainst the invaders turned the battle's 
scale. 

When Brace's banner had victorious flowed 
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;' 

When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,^ 
And fiei-y Edward i-outed stout St. John, 3 

When Kandolph's war-cry swelled the southern 
gale,4 
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won, 

And Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory 
done. 

11. 
Blith tidings flew from baron's tower, 
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower, 
And waked the solitary cell, 
Where lone saint Bride's recluses dwell. 
Princess no more, fair Isabel, 
A vot'ress of the order now, 
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear 
Dim veil and woollen scapulaire. 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair. 

That stern and rigid vow, 
Did it condemn the transport high, 
Which glistened in thy watery eye. 
When minstrel or when palmer told 
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the boldi" — 
And whose the lovely form, that shares 
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers? 
No sister she of convent shade; 
So say these locks in lengthened braid, 
So say the blushes and the sighs, 
The tremors that unbidden rise. 
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame, 
The brave lord Ronald's praises came. 

III. 
Believe, his fathers' castle won. 
And his bold enterprise begun. 
That Bruce's earliest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore; 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Concealed her from a sister's eyes; 
And sister-like in love they dwell 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Bruce's slow assent allows 
Fair Isabel the veil and vows: 
And tliere, her sex's dress regained, 
The lovely maid of Lorn i-emained, 
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far 
Resounded with the din of war; 
And many a montli and many a day. 
In calm seclusion wore away. 

• IV. 

These days, these months, to years had worn, 
When tidings of high weight were borne 

To that lone Island's shore; 
Of all the Scottisli conquests made 
By the first Edward's ruthless blade. 

His son retained no more. 
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers, 
Beleaguered by king Robert's powers; 

AnU tliey took term of truce,'' 
If England's king should not relieve 
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve, 

To yield them to the Bruce. 



England was roused on every side, 
Courier and post and lierald hied, 

To summon prince and peer. 
At Berwick-bounds to meet their liege," 
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege. 

With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh — they mustered fast. 
By beacon and by bugle blast 

Forlli marshalled for the field; 
There rode each knight of noble name, 
There England's hardy archers came. 
The land tliey trode seemed all on flame. 

With banner, blade, and shield! 
And not famed England's powers alone. 
Renowned in arms, the summons own; 

For Neustria's knigiits obeyed, 
Gascoyne hath lent her horsemen good, 
• And Cambria, but of late subdued, 
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,'' 
And Connaught poured from waste and wooJ 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 

Dark Eth O'Conner swayed." 
V. 
Right to devoted Caledon 
The storm of war rolls slowly on, 

With menace deep and dread; 
So the dark clouds, with gathering power, 
Suspend awhile tlie threatened shower. 
Till every peak and summit lower 

Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye 
King Robert marked the tempest nigh! 

Resolved the brunt to bide, 
His royal summons warned the land, 
That all who owned their king's command 
Should instant take the spear and brand. 

To combat at his side. 
O, who may tell the sons of fame. 
That at king Robert's bidding came, 

To battle for the right! 
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 
From Solway-Sands to Marshal's moss. 

All bouned tlicin for the fight. 
Such news the royal courier tells, 
Wiio came to rouse dark Arran's dells; 
But farther tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel in secret hear. 
These in her cloister walk, next ijiorn. 
Thus shared she with the maid of Lorn- 

Vf. 
" My Edith, can 1 tell how dear 
Our intercourse of hearts sincere 

Hath been to Isabel? — 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart, 
Wlien I must say the words, we part! 

The cheerless convent-cell 
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee; 
Go thou where tiiy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell. 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed, 
Though Robert know s that Lorn's high maid 
And his ])oor silent page were one. 
Versed in the fickle heart of man, 
Earnest and anxious hath he looked 
How Ronald's heart the message brooked 
Tliat gave him, with her last farewell. 
The charge of sister Isabel, 
To think upon thy better right, 
And keep the faith his promise plight. 
Forgive him for thy sister's sake, 
At first if vain repinings wake — 

Long since that mood is gone: 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



279 



Now dwells he on thy juster claims. 
And oft his breach oflaith he blames- 
Forgive him for thine own!" — 
VII. 
" No! never to lord Ronald's bower 

Will I again as paramour " 

" Na)', hush thee, too impatient maid, 

Until my final tale be said ! — 

The good king Robert would engage 

Edith once more his elfin page. 

By her own heart, and her own eye, 

Her lover's penitence to try — 

Safe in his royal ciiarge, and free, 

Should sucli thy final purpose be, 

Again unknown to seek the cell, 

And live and die with Isabel." 

Thus spoke the maid — king Robert's eye 

Might have some glance of policy; 

Dunstaftnage had the nionarcii ta'eti, 

And Lorn had owned king Robert's reign; 

Her brother had to England fled. 

And there in banishment was dead: 

Ample, through exile, death, and flight, 

O'er tower and land was Edith's right; 

This ample right o'er tower and land 

Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand. 

VIII. 

Embarrassed eye and blushing cheek, 
Pleasure, and shame, and fear bespeak! 
Yet much the reasoning Edith made; 
" Her sister's faith she must upbraid, 
Who gave such secret, dark and dear. 
In council to another's ear. 
Wh)' should she leave the peaceful cell ? 
How should slie part with Isabel? 
How wear that strange attire agen? 
How risk herself 'midst martial nien? 
And how be guarded on the way ? 
At least she might entreat delay." 
Kind Isabel, with secret smile. 
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile. 
Reluctant to be thougiit to move 
At the first call of truant love. 

IX. 
Oh, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake. 
The aspen's tremblmg leaves must shake; 
When beams the sun through Ajjril's shower, 
It needs must bloom, the violet flower; 
And love, howe'er the maiden strive, 
Must with reviving hope revive! 
A thousand soft excuses came. 
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame. 
Pledged by their sires in earliest youth, 
He had her plighted faith and truth-^ 
Then, 'twas her liege's strict command, 
And she, beneath his royal hand, 
A ward in person and in land: 
And, last, she was resolved to stay 
Only brief space — one little day — 
Close bidden in her safe disguise 
From all, but most from Ronald's e)es — 
But once to see him more! — nor blame 
Her wish — to hear him name her name! 
Then, to bear back to solitude 
The thought, he had his falsehood rued! 
But Isabel, who long had seen 
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien, 
And well herself the cause might know, 
Thovigh innocent, of Edith's wo, 
Joyed, generous, that revolving time 
Gave means to expiate the crime. 

20 



lli,s;li srlowed her bosom as she said, 
" Well shall her sufferings be repaid!" 
Now came tlie parting hour — a band 
From Arran's mountains left the land; 
Their chief, Filz-Louis,9 had the care 
The speechless Amadine to bear 
To Bruce, with honour, as behoved 
To page the monarch dearly lov$d. 

X. 
The king had deemed the maiden bright 
Should reach him long before the fight, 
But storms and fate iier com-se delay: 
It was on eve of battle-daj-, 
When o'er the Gillie's hill she rode. 
The landscape like a furnace glowed, 
And far as e'er the eye was borne. 
The lauces waved like autumn corn. 
In battles four beneath their eye. 
The forces of king Robert lie.'" 
And one below the hill was laid. 
Reserved for rescue and for aid; 
And three, advanced, formed va'ward line, 
'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine. 
Detached was each, yet each so nigh 
As well might mutual aid supply- 
Beyond, the southern host appears,'' 
A boundless wilderness of spears. 
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam. 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam; 
And wiiere the heaven joined with the hill. 
Was distant armour flashing still. 
So wide, so far, tiie boundless host 
Seemed in the blue horizon lost. 

XL 
Down from the hill the maiden passed, 
At the wild show of war aghast; 
And tr.iversed first the rearward host, 
Reserved for aid where needed most 
The men of Carrick and of Ayr, 
Lennox and Lanark too, were there, 

And all the western land; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chieftains ranked their files^', 

In many a plaided band. 
There, in the centre, proudly niised. 
The Bruce's royal standard blazed. 
And there lord Ronald's banner bore , 

A galley driven by sail and oar. 
A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made 
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed. 
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid 

By these Hebrideans worn; 
But O! unseen for three long years, 
Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair maid of Lorn ! 
For one she looked — but he was far 
Busied amid the i-anks of war — 
Yet with affection's troubled eye 
She marked his banner boldly fly, 
Gave on the countless foe a glance. 
And thought on battle's desperate chance. 

XH. 
To centre of the va'ward line 
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. 
Armed all on foot, that host appears 
A serried mass of glimmering spears. 
There stood the Marcher's warlike band, 
The warriors there of Lodon's land: 
Ettrick and Liddel bent the yew, 
A band of archers fierce though few; 



280 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



The men ofNilh and Annan's vale, 
And the bold S])('ar.s ofTeviotdale; — 
The dauntless Douglas these obey, 
And tiie young Stuart's gentle sway. _ 
Norlh-ea'stwanI by saint Ninian's shrine. 
Beneath tierce llandolph's cliai'ge, combine 
The warriors Avhom the hardy north 
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 
The rest of Scotland's war array 
With Edward Hrucc to westward lay, 
Where Bannock, with his broken bank 
And deep ravine, protects their flank: 
Behind them, screened by sheltering wood. 
The gallant Keith, lord-marshal, stood; 
His men-at-arms bear mace and lance. 
And plumes that wave, and helms that glance. 
Thus fair divided by tlie king, 
Centre, and right, and left-ward wing, 
Composed his front; nor distant far 
Was strong reserve to aid the war. 
And 'twas to front of this array, 
Her guide and Edith made their way. 

XIII. 
Here must they pause; for, in advance. 
As far as one might pilch a lance. 
The monarch rode along the van,'3 
The foe's approaching force to scan, 
His line to marshal and to range, 
\nd ranks to square, and fronts to change. 
Alone he rode — from head to heel 
Sheathed in his ready arms of steel; 
Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight. 
But, till more near the shock of fight. 
Reining a palfrey low and light. 
A diadem of gold was set 
Above his bright steel bassinet. 
And clasped within its glittering twine 
Was seen the glove of Argentine: 
Truncheon or leading staff he lacks, 
Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. 
He ranged his soldiers for the fight, 
Accoutred thus, in open sight 
Of either host. — Three bowshots far, 
Paused the deep front of England's war, 
And i-ested on their arms awhile. 
To close and rank their warlike file, 
And hold high council, if that nigiit 
Should view the strife, or dawning light. 

XIV. 

O gay, yet fearful to behold, 

Flashing with steel and rough with gold, 

And bristled o'er with bills and spears. 
With plumes an<l pennons waving fair, 
Was that bright battle-front! for there 

Rode England's king and peers; 
And who, that saw the monarch ride. 
His kingdom battled by his side. 
Could tlien his direful doom foretell! — 
Fair was his seat in knightly sellc, 
And in his sprightly eye whs set 
Some spark of the Plantagenet. 
Though light and wandering was his glance. 
It flashed at sight of shield and lance. 
"Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine, 
Yon knight who marshals liius their line?" — 
" The tokens on his helmet tell 
The Bruce, my liege: I know him well." — 
" And shall the audacious traitor brave 
The presence where our l)anners wave?" — 
*' So please my liege," aaid Argentine, 
** Were he but horsed oij steed like mine, 



To give him fair and knightly chance, 
I would adventure foilh my lance." — 
" In battle-day," the king replied, 
" Nice tourney rules are set aside. 
— Still must the itbel dare our wrath? 
Set on him — sweep him from our path!"— 
And, at king Edward's signal, soon 
Dashed from the ranks sir Henry Boune. 

XV. 

Of Hereford's high blood he came, 

A race renowned for knightly fame. 

He burned before his monarch's eye — 

To do some deed of chivalry. 

He spurred his steed, he couched his lance. 

And darted on the Bruce at once. 

As motionless as rocks, that bide 

The wr:>th of the advancing tide. 

The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast beat high. 

And dazzled was each gazing eye — 

The heart had hardly time to think. 

The eyelid scarce had time to wink. 

While on the king, like flash of flame, 

Spurred to full speed the war-horse came ! 

The partridge may the falcon mock, 

If that slight palfrey stand the shock — 

But, swerving from the knight's career. 

Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear. 

Onward the baffled warrior bore 

His course — but soon his course was o'er! 

High in his stirrups stood the king. 

And gave his battle-axe the swing. 

Right on De Boune, tlie whiles he passed, 

Fell that stern dint — the first-— the last! 

Such strength upon tlie blow was put. 

The helmet ci'ashed like hazel-nul; 

The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp. 

Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp. 

Springs from the blow the startled horse, 

Drops to the plain the lifeless corse; 

First of that fatal field, how soon. 

How sudden, fell the fierce De Bouue ! 

XVI. 
One pitying glance the monarch sped. 
Where on the field his foe lay dead; 
Then gently turned his palfrey's head, 
And, pacing back his sober way, 
Slowly he gained his own array. 
There round their king the leaders crowd. 
And blame his recklessness aloud. 
That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear 
A life so valued and so dear. 
His broken weapon's shaft surveyed 
The king, and careless answer made, — 
" My loss may pay my folly's tax; 
I've broke my trusty battle-axe." 
'Twas then Fitz-Eouis, bending low. 
Did Isabel's commission show; 
Edith, disguised, at distance stands. 
And hides her blushes with her hands. 
Tlie monarches brow has changed its hue. 
Away the gory axe he threw. 
While to the seeming pag;e he drew. 

Clearing war's terrors from his eye. 
Her hand with gentle ease he took, 
With such a kind protecting look, 

As to a weak and timid boy 
Might speak, that elder brother's care 
And elder brother's love were there. 

XVII. 

" Fear not," he said, " young Amadine!" 
Then whispered, " Still that name be thine. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



281 



Fate plaj's her wonted fantasy, 

Kind Amadine, witli ihee and me, 

And sends thee here in doubtful hour. 

Hut soon we are beyond her power; 

For on tliis chosen battle-plain, 

Victor or vanquished, I remain. 

Do thou to yonder hill repair; 

l"he followers of our host are there. 

And all who may not weapons bear. 

Fitz-Louis have him in thy care. 

Joyful we meet, if all go well: 

If not, in Arran's holy cell 

Thou must take part with Isabel; 

For brave lord Ronald, too, liath swoni, 

Not to regain tlie maid of Lorn, 

(The bliss on earth he covets most,) 

Would he forsake his battle-post. 

Or shun ttie fortune that may fall 

To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. 

But, hark! some news these trumpets tell; 

Forgive my haste — farewell — farewell." 

And in a lower voice he said, 

"Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet maid!" 

XVIII. 
*' What train of dust, with trumpet-sound 
And glimmering spears, is wheeling rouiul 
Our left-ward flank.!""" — tlie monarch cried 
To Moray's earl, who rode beside. 
*' Lo! round thy station pass the foes! 
Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." — 
The earl his visor closed, and said, 
*' M)' wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade.— ^ 
Follow, my household!" — And they go 
Like lightning on the advancing foe. 
*'My liege," said noble Douglas then, 
"Earl Randolph has but one to ten: 
Let me go forth his hand to aid !" — 
— " Stir not. The error he hath made, 
Let him amend it as he may; 
I will not weaken mine array." 
Then loudly rose the conflict-cry, 
And Douglas's l)rave heart swelled high, — 
♦' My liege," he said, " with patient ear 
I must not Moray's death-knell hear!" — 
"Then go — but speed thee back again." — 
Forth sprung the Douglas with his train; 
But, when they won a rising hill. 
He bade his followers hold them still. — 
*'See, see! the routed southern fly! 
The earl hath won the victory. 
Lo! where yon steeds run masterless, 
His banner towers above the press. 
Rein up; our presence would impair 
The fame we come too late to sliare." 
Back to the host the Douglas rode. 
And soon glad tidings are abroad. 
That, Dayncouvt by stout Randolph slain, 
His followers fled with loosened rein. 
That skirmish closed the busy day, 
And, couched in battle's prompt aixay, 
Each army on their weapons lay. 

It was a night of lovely June, 

High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 

Demayet smiled beneath her ray; 
Old Stirling's towers arose in light. 
And, twined in links of silver bright. 

Her winding river lay. 
Ah, gentle planet! other sight 
Sh:dl greet thee next returning night, 
Of broken arms and banners tore. 
And marshes dark with human gore. 



And piles of slaughtered men and horse. 
And Forth that floats the frequent corse. 
And many a wounded wretch to plain 
Beneath thy silver light in vain! 
But now, from England's host, the cry 
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry. 
While from the Scottish legions pass 
The murmui'ed [>rayer, the early mass! 
Here, numbers had presumption given; 
There, bands o'erniatch'd sought aid froni heaven, 

XX. 

On Gillie's hill, whose height commands 
The battle-field, fair Edith stands. 
With serf and page unfit for war. 
To eye the conflict from afar. 
O! with what doubtful agony 
She sees the dawning tint the sky ! 
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun. 
And glistens now Demayet dun; 
Is it the lark that carols shrill. 

Is it the bittern's early hum? 
No! — distant, but increasing still. 
The trumpet's sound swells up tlie hill. 

With the deep murmur of the drum. 
Responsive from the Scottish host. 
Pipe clang and bugle-sound were tossed, '5 
His breast and brow each soldier crossed. 

And started from the ground; 
Armed and arrayed for instant fight. 
Rose archer, spearman, squire, and kniglit, 
And in the pomp of battle bright 

Tlie dread battalia frowned. 
XXI. 
Now onward, and in open view. 
The countless ranks of England dreWj'S 
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide. 
When the rough west hath chafed his pride. 
And his deep roar sends challenge wide 

To all that bars liis way! 
In front the gallant archers trode. 
The men-at-arms behind them rode. 
And midmost of the phalanx broad 

The monarch held his sway. 
Beside him many a war-horse fumes. 
Around him waves a sea of plumes, 
Where many a knight in battle known. 
And some who spurs had first braced on. 
And deemed that fight should see them won. 

King Edward's bests obey. 
De Argentine attends his side. 
With stout De Valance, Pembroke's pride. 
Selected champions from the train. 
To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 
— At once before his sight amazed. 

Sunk banner, spear, and shield; 
Each weapon-point is downward sent. 
Each warrior to the gi'ound is bent. 
"The rebels, Argentine, repent! 

For pardon they have kneeled." — 
" Ay ! — but they bend to other powers. 
And other pardon sue than ours! 
See where yon barefoot abbot stands. 
And blesses them with lifted hands !i7 
Upon the spot where they have kneeled. 
These men will die, or win the field. "— 
— "Then prove we if they die or win! 
Bid Gloster's earl the fight begin."— 

XXII. 

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high, 
Just as the northern ranks arose. 



"*• 



282 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Signal for England's archei^ • 
To halt and bend their bows. 
Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace, 
Glanced at the intervening space, 
And raised his left hand high; 
To the right ear the cords they bring— 
— At once ten thousand bow-strings ring, 

Ten thousand arrows fly ! 
Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
The c'easeless fury of tlieir shot; 

As fiercely and as fast, 
Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing, 
As the wild hail stones pelt and ring 

Adown December's blast. 
Nor mountain targe of tough hull-hide, 
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide; 
Wo, wo to Scotland's bannered pride, 

If the fell shower may last! 
Upon the right, behind the wood. 
Each by his steed dismounted, stood 

The Scottish chivalry; — 
— With foot in stiiTup, hand on mane. 
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
His own keen heart, his eager ti'ain, 
Until the archers gained the plain; 

Then, " mount, ye gallants free!" 
He cried; and, vaulting from the ground, 
His saddle every horseman found, 
On high their glittering crests they toss, 
As springs the wild-fire from the moss; 
The shield hangs down on every breast, 
Each ready lance is in the rest, 

And loud shouts Edward Bruce, — 
"Forth, marshal, on the peasant foe! 
We'll tame the terrors of their bow, 
And cut the bow-string loose!" — '^ 
XXIII. 
Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks, 
They rushed among the archer ranks. 
No spears were there the shock to let, 
No stakes to turn the charge were set. 
And how shall yeoman's armour slight 
Stand the long lance and mace of might? 
Or what may their short swords avail, 
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail? 
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. 
High o'er their heads the weapons swung. 
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 
Give note of triumph and of rout! 
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. 
Their English hearts the strife made good; 
Borne down at length on every side. 
Compelled to flight, they scatter wide. — 
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, 
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee! 
The broken bows of Bannock's shore 
Shall in the green-wood ring no more! 
Round Wakefield's merry may-pole now, 
The maids may twine the summer bough, 
May northward look with longing glance, 
For those that wont to lead the dance. 
For the blith archers look in vain ! 
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en. 
Pierced thi-ough, trod down, by thousands slain, 
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 

XXIV. 
The king with scorn beheld their flight. 
•' Are these," he said, " our yeomen wight? 
Each braggart churl could boast before. 
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore!i9 
Fitter to plunder chase or park, 
Than make a manly foe their mark.— 



Forward, each gentleman and knight! 
Let gentle blood show generous might. 
And chivalry redeem the iiglit!" — 
To right-ward of the wild affray. 
The field showed fair and level way; 

But, in mid space, the Bruce's care 
Had bored the ground with many a pif, 
With turf and brushwood hidden yet, 

That formed a ghastly snare. 
Rushing, ten thousand horsfemen came. 
With spears in rest, and hearts on flame, 

'Pfiat panted for the shock I 
With blazing crests and banners spread, 
And trumpet-clang and clamour dread. 
The wide plain thundered on their tread. 

As far as Stirling rock. 
Down! down! in headlong overthrow. 
Horseman and horse, the foremost go,20 

Wild floundering on the field! 
The first are in destruction's gorge. 
Their followers wildly o'er them urge; — 

The knightly helm and shield. 
The mail, the acton, and the spear. 
Strong hand, higli heart, are useless here! 
Loud from the mass confused the cry 
Of dying warriors swells on high. 
And steeds that shriek in agony I'' 
They came like mountain-torrent red, 
Tliat thunders o'er its i-ocky bed; 
They broke like that same torrent's wave. 
When swallowed by a darksome cave. 
Billows on billows "burst and boil. 
Maintaining still the stern turmoil, 
And to their wild and tortured groan 
Each adds ixew terrors of his own! 

XXV. 

Too strong in courage and In might 
Was England yet, to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here; 
Names that to fear were never known. 
Bold Norfolk's earl De Brotherton, 

And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
There Gloster plied the bloody swoi'd. 
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came, 
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame — 
Names known too well in Scotland's war. 
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after years, 
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
With caution o'er the ground they tread. 
Slippery with blood and piled with dead. 
Till hand to hand in battle set. 
The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side. 
Raged the full contest far and wide. 
Tlien was the strength of Douglas tried, 
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride. 
And well did Stewart's actions grace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race! 

Firmly they kept their ground; 
As firmly England onward pressed. 
And down went many a noble crest. 
And rent was many a valiant breast. 

And slaughter revelled round. 

XXVI. 

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set, 
Unceasing blow by blow was met; 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



283 



The groans of those who fell 
AVere drowned amid the shriller clang, 
That from the blades and harness rang, 

And in the battle-yell. 
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot. 
Both southern fierce and hardy Scot; — 
And O! amid that waste of life. 
What various motives fired the strife ! 
The aspiring noble bled for fame. 
The patriot for his country's claim; 
This knight his youthful strength to prove, 
And that to win his lady's love; 
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood, 
From habit some, or hardihood. 
But ruffian stern, and soldier good. 

The noble and the slave. 
From various cause the same wild road, 
On the same bloody morning, trode, 

To that dark inn, the grave ! 

XXVIl. 

The tug of strife to flag begins. 
Though neither loses yet nor wins. 
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust, 
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
And Randolph ipes his bloody brow, 
Nor less had toiled each southern knight, 
From morn till mid-day in the fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
Beaucharap undoes his visor-clasp. 
And Montague must quit his spear. 
And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere! 
The blows of Berkley fall less fast. 
And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast 

Hath lost its lively tone; 
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word. 
And Percy's shout was fainter heard, 

" My merry-men, fight on!" — 

XXVHI. 

Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye. 
The slackening of the storm could spy. 
" One eftort more, and Scotland's free! 
Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 

Is firm as Ailsa rock. 
Rush on with highland sword and targe, 
I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge ;^2 

Now, forward to the sliock!" — 
At once the spears were forward thrown, 
Against the sun the broadswords shone; 
The pibroch lent its maddening tone, 
And loud king Robert's voice was known— 
" Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail! 
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 

The foe is fainting fast ! 
Each strike for parent, child, and wife, 
For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 

The battle cannot last!" — 

XXIX. 

The fresh and desperate onset bore 
The foes three furlongs back and more. 
Leaving their noblest in their gore. 

Alone, De Argentine 
Yet bears on higii his red cross shield, 
Gathers the relics of the field. 
Renews the ranks where they have reeled. 

And still makes good the line. 
Brief strife, but fierce, his effijrts raise 
A bright but momentary blaze. 
Fair Edith heard the southern shout. 
Beheld them turning from the rout. 



Heard the wild call their trumpets sent. 
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 
That rallying force, combined anew, 
Appeared, in her distracted view. 

To hem the isles-men round; 
" O God ! the combat they renew, 

And is no rescue found! 
And ye that look thus tamely on. 
And see your native land o'erthrown, 
O! are your hearts of llesh or stone?" — 

XXX. 
The multitude that watched afar, 
Rejected from the ranks of war. 
Had not unmoved beheld the fight. 
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right; 
Each heart had caught the patriot's spark, 
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk. 
Bondsman and serf; e'en female hand 
Stretched to the hatchet or the brand; 
But, when mute Amadine they heard 
Give to their zeal his signal-word, 

A frenzy fired the throng: — 
" Portents and miracles impeach 
Our sloth — the dumb our duties teach 
And he that gives the mute his sptjech, 

Can bid the weak be strong. 
To us, as to our lords, ai-e given 
A native eai-th, a promised heaven; 
To us, as to our lords, belongs 
The vengeance for our nation's wrongs. 
The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, warms 
Our breasts as theirs — To arms, to arms!" 
To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear,— 
And mimic ensigns high they rear, 23 
And, like a bannered host afar. 
Bear down on England's wearied war. 

XXXI. 
Already scattered o'er the plain. 
Reproof, command, and counsel vain, 
The rearward squadrons fled amain, 

Or made but doubtful stay; — 
But when they marked the seeming show 
Of fresh and fierce and marshalled foe. 

The boldest broke array. 
O! give their hapless prince his due!-' 
In vain the royal Edward threw 

His person 'mid the spears. 
Cried " Fight!" to terror and despair. 
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair. 

And cursed their caitift' fears; 
Till Pembroke turned his bridle reiiij 
And forced him from the fatal plain. 
With them rode Argentine, until 
They gained the summit of the hill. 

But quitted there the traiti: 
" In yonder field a gage I left, — 
I must not live of fame bereft; 

I needs must turn again. 
Speed hence, my liege, for on your trace 
The fiery Douglas takes the chase, 

I know his banner well. 
God send my sovereign joy and bliss. 
And many a happier field than this! — 

Once more, my liege, farewell." — 
XXXII. 
Again he faced the battle-field, — 
Wildly they fly, are sLiin, or yield. 
"Now then," he said, and couclied his spear 
" My course is mn, the goal is near; 
One effort more, one brave career, 

Must close this race of mine. " 



284 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then, in his stirrups rising high, 
He shouted loud his battle-cry, 

" Saint James for Argentine !" 
And, of the bold pursuers, four 
The gallant knight from saddle bore; 
But not unharmed — a lance's point 
Has found his breast-plate's loosened joint, 

An axe has razed his crest; 
Yet still on Colonsay's fieix;e lord, 
"Who pressed the chase with gor}- sword. 

He rode with spear in rest, 
And through his bloody tartans hored. 

And through his gallant breast. 
Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer 
Yet writhed him up against tlie spear, 

And swung his broadsword i-ound! 
— Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuisb gave way. 
Beneath that blow's tremendous sway, 

The blood gushed from the wound; 
And the grim lord of Colonsay 

Hath turned him on the ground, 
And laughed in death-pang, tliat his blade 
The mortal thrust so well repaid. 

XXXIIT. 

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done. 
To use his conquest boldly won; 
And gave command for horse and spear 
To press the southern's scattered rear. 
Nor let his broken force combine, 
— When tlie war-cry of Argentine 

Fell faintly on his ear! 
" Save, save his life," he cried, " O save 
The kind, the noble, and the brave!" — 
The squadrons round free passage gave, 

The wounded knight drew near. 
He i-aised his red-cross shield no more. 
Helm, cuish, and breast-plate streamed with 

gore; 
Yet, as he s.iw the king advance. 
He strove e'en then to couch his lance — 

The effort was in vain ! 
The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse; 
Wounded and weary, in mid course, 

He stumbled on the plain. 
Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
To raise his head, his helm to loose; — 

"Lord earl, the day is thine! 
My sovereign's charge, and adverse fate, 
Have made our meeting all too late; 

Yet this maj' Argentine, 
As boon from ancient comrade, crave — 
A christian's mass, a soldier's grave. "- 

XXXIV. 

Bruce pressed his dying hand — its grasp 
Kindly replied; but, in his clasp. 

It stiffened and grew cold — 
And, " O fiirewell!" the victor cried, 
" Of chivah'y the flower and pride, 

The arm in battle bold. 
The courteous mien, the noble race. 
The stainless faith, the manly face!- 
Bid !Ninian's convent light their shrine, 
For late wake of De Argeniine. 
O'er belter knight on death bier laiil. 
Torch never gleamed nor mass was said!" — 

XXXV. 
Nor for De Argentine alone. 
Through Ninian's church these torches shone. 
And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.25 
That yellow lustre glimmered pale. 
On broken ]>lale and bloodied mail, 



Rent crest and shattered coronet, 

Of baron, earl, and banneret; 

And the best names that England knew. 

Claimed in the death-prayer dismal due. 

Yet mourn not, land of fame ! 
Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield 
Retreated from so sad a field. 

Since Norman William came. 
Oft may thine annals justly boast 
Of battles stern by Scotland lost; 

Cirudge not her victory. 
When for lier freeborn rights she strove; 
Kiglits dear to all who freedom love. 

To none so dear as thee I 

XXXVI. 

Turn we to Rrnce, whose curious ear 
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear; 
With lism an liundred voices tell 
Of prodigy and miracle, 

" For the mute page had spoke. "^ 
" Page!" said Fitz-Louis, " rather say. 
An angel sent from realms of day, 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw his plume and bonnet drop. 
When hurrying from the mountain top; 
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave. 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as light upon the green. 
As if iiis pinions waved unseen." — 
"Spoke lie with none?" — "With none— one 

word 
Burst when he saw the Island lord, 
Returning from the battle-field." — 
"What answer made the chief?" — "He kneeled, 
Durst- not look up, but muttered low. 
Some mingled sounds that none might know, 
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear, 
As being of superior sphere." — 

XXXVH. , 

E'en upon Bannock's bloody plain. 
Heaped then with thousands of the slain, 
'Mid victor monarch's musings high. 
Mirth laughed in good king Robert's eye. 
" And bore lie such angelic air. 
Such noble front, sncli waving hairi" 
Hath Ronald kneeled to him?" he said, 
" Then must we call tlie church to aid — 
Our will be to the abbot known. 
Ere these strange news are wider blown. 
To Camhus-Kenneth straight he pass. 
And deck the churcii for solemn mass. 
To pay, for high deliverance given, 
A nation's thanks to gracious heaven. 
Let him array, besides, such state. 
As should on princes' nuptials wait. 
Ourself the cause, through frtrtune's spite. 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will gr.ace, with early morn, 
Tiie bridal of the maid of Lorn." 

COXCLUSIO.V. 

Go forth, my song, upon thy venturous way; 

Go boldly forth; nor yet thy master blame, 
Who chose no patron for his humble la)'. 

And graced thy numbers with no friendly name. 
Whose partial zeal might smootli thy path to fame. 

There ivas — and O! how many sorrows crowd 
Into tliese two brief words! there luan a claim 

By generous friendship given — had fiUe allowed. 
It well had bid thee rank the pi'oudest of the proud! 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



285 



All angel now — yet little less than all, 

Wliile still a pilgrim in our world lielow! 
Wliat 'vails it us that patience to recal, 

M^liich hid its own, to sooth all other wo; 
What 'vails to tell, how virtue's purest glow 

Siione yet more lovely in a form so fair; — 
And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know. 

That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair, 
Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither 
there ! 

NOTES TO CANTO I. 
"L Thy nigged halls, AVtornish! rung. — P. 251. 

The ruins of the castle of Artornish are situated 
upon a promontory, on the IMorven, or mainland 
side of the sound of Mull, a name given to the 
deep arm of the sea which divides that island from 
the continent. The situation is wild and romantic 
in the highest degree, having on the one hand a 
high and precipitous chain of rocks overhanging 
the sea, and on tiie other the narrow entrance to 
the heautiful salt-water lake, called Loch-AUine, 
■which is in many places finely fringed with copse- 
wood. The ruins of Artornish are not now very 
considerable, and consist chiefly of the remains of 
an old keep, or tower, with fragments of outward 
defences. But, in former days, it was a place of 
great consequence, being one of the principal 
strong-holds which the lords of the Isles, during 
the period of their stormy independence, possess- 
ed upon the mainland of Argyleshire. Here they 
assembled what popular tradition calls their par- 
liaments, meaning, I suppose, their coKr/jfeTOere, 
or assembly of feudal and patriarchal vassals and 
dependents. From ttiis castle of Ai-tornisli, upon 
the 19th day of October, 1461, John de Yle, de- 
signing himself earl of lloss and lord of the Isles, 
granted, 'in the sl3'le of an independent sovereign, 
a commission to his trusty and well beloved cou- 
sins, Ronald of the Isles, and Duncan, arehdean 
of the Isles, for empowering them to enter into a 
treaty with the most excellent prince Edward, hy 
tlie grace of God, king of France and England, and 
lord of Ireland. Edward IV, on his part, named 
Laurence bishop of Durham, the earl of Worces- 
ter, the prior of St. John's, lord Wenlock, and 
Mr. Robert Stillington, keeper of the privy seal, 
his deputies and commissioners, to confer with 
those named by the lord of the Isles. The confe- 
rence terminated in a treaty, by which the lord of 
the Isles agreed to become a vassal to the crown 
of England, and to assist Edward IV and James 
earl of Douglas, then in banishment, in subduing 
the realm of Scotland. 

The first article provides, that John de Isle, earl 
of Ross, with his son Donald 'Balloch, and his 
■"randson John de Isle, with all their subjects, men, 
people, and inhabitants, become vassals and liege- 
men to Edward IV of England, and assist him in 
his wars in Scotland or Ireland; and then follow 
the allowances to be made to the lord of the Isles, 
in recompense of his military service, and the pro- 
visions for dividing such conquests as theirunited 
ai'ins should make upon the mainland of Scotland 
among tlie confederates. These appear such curi- 
ous illustrations of the period, that they are here 
subjoined: ' 

" Item, The seid John erle of Rosse, shall, from 
the seid fest of Wliitlesontyde next comyng, yere- 
ly, durying his lyf, have and take, for fees and 
wages in tvm of peas, of the seid most high and 
christien i)rince c. marc slerlyng of Englysli mo- 



ney; and in time of wei-re, as long as he shall en- 
tende with hismyghtand power in the seid werres, 
in maner and fourme aboveseid, he shall have 
wages of cc. lib. sterlyng of English money yearly; 
and after the rate of the tyme that he shaU'be oc- 
cupyed in the seid werres. 

" Item, The seid Donald shall, from the seid 
feste of Whittesontide, have and take, during his 
lyf, yerly, in tyme of peas, for his fees and wages, 
XX 1. sterlyng'of English money; and, when he 
shall be occupied and intend to the wen-e, with his 
myght and power, and in manner and fourme 
aboveseid, he shall have and take, for his wages 
yearly, xl 1. sterlynge of Englvsh money; or for 
the rate of the tyme of wen-e -^^ — 

" Item, The seid John, sonn and heire apparent 
of the said Donald, shall have and take, yerely, 
from the seid fest, for his fees and wages,"in the 
tyme of peas, x 1. sterlynges of Englvsh money; 
and for tyme of werre, and his intendyng there- 
to, in maner and fourme aboveseid, he shall have, 
for his fees and wages, yerely xx 1. sterlvnges of 
Englysh money; or after the rate of the tyme that 
he shall be occupied in the werre: And' the seid 
John, th'erle Donald and John, and eciieof them, 
shall have good and sufficiaunt paimentof the seid 
fees and wages, as wel for tyme of pees as of werre, 
according to these articules and appoyntements. 
Item, It is appointed, accorded, concluded, and 
finally determined, that, if it so be that hereafter 
the seid reaume of Scotlande, or the more part 
therof, be conquered, subdued, and brought to the 
obeisance of the seid most'high andciuistien [)rincc, 
and his heires, or successoures, of the seid Lio- 
nell, in fourme aboveseid descendyng, be the as- 
sistance, helpe, and aide of the seid Jolin erle of 
Rosse, and Donald, and of James erle of Douglas, 
then, the seid fees and wages for the tyme of peas 
cessyng, the same erles and Donald shall have, hy 
the grannte of the same most christien prince, all 
the possessions of the seid reaume beyond Scottishe 
see, they to be dep:u-ted equally betwix them; eche 
of tliem, his heires and successours, to iif/lde his 
parte of the seid most christien prince, his heires, 
and successours, for evermore, in right of his 
croune of England, by homage and feaute to he 
done therefore. 

"/to)!. If so be that, by the aide and assistance 
of the seid James erle of Douglas, tlie said reaume 
of Scotlande be conquered and subdued as above, 
then he shall have, enjoie, and inherite all his own 
possessions, landes, and inheriuance, on this syde 
the seid Scottishe see; that is to saye, betwixt'the 
seid Scottishe see and England, such he hatii en- 
joied and be possessed of before this; there to holdo 
them of the seid" most high and christien prince, 
his heires, and successours, as is abovese'id, for 
evermore in right of the croune of Englande, as 
weel the seid erle of Douglas, as his heires and 
successours, by homage and feaute to be done there- 
fore." — Rymer's Fcedera, Conventions. Literse et 
ciijiiscunque geneiis ActaPublica,M. vol. v, 1741. 

Such was the treaty of Artornish; but it does not 
appear that the allies ever made any very active 
effort to realize their ambitious designs. It will 
serve to show both the power of these reguli, and 
their independence of the crown of Scotland. 

It is only farther necessary to say of the castle 
of Artornish, that it is almost opposite to the bay 
of Aros, in the island of Mull, where there was 
another castle, the occasional residence of the lord 
of the Isles. 



286 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



2. Riiik- Heinkai's seal tlivougli surges davk 
Will long pursue the minsti-L-rs bark.— P. 251. 

The seal displays a taste for music, ^vllich could 
scarcely be expected from liis habits and local pye- 
diiectioiis. Tliey will long follow a boat in which 
any musical instrument is played, and even a tune 
simply wliistled has attractions for tliem. The 
dean of tlie Isles says of Heiskar, a small uninha- 
bited rock, about twelve (Scottish) miles from tlie 
isle of Uist, that an infinite slaughter of seals takes 
place there. 

3. dark Mull! tliy miglity sound.— P. 252. 

The sound of Mull, which divides tliat island 
from the continent of Scotland, is one of the most 
strikins^ scenes which the Hebrides aflbrd to the 
traveller. Sailing from Oban to Arcs, or Tober- 
mory, thro\igli a narrow channel, yet deep enough 
to bear vessels of the largest burthen, he has on 
his left tlie bold and mountainous shores of Mull; 
on the right those of that (fistrict of Argylesliire, 
called Morven, or Morvern, successively indented 
by deep salt-water lochs, running up many miles 
inland. To the south-eastward arises a prodigious 
range of mountains, among which Cruachan-Ben 
is pre-eminent. And to the north-east is the no less 
huge and picturesque range of the Ardnamurchan 
hills. Many ruinous castles, situated generally 
upon clift"s overhanging the ocean, add interest to 
the scene. Those of Dunolly and Dunstaffnage 
are first passed, tlien that of Dnart, formerly be- 
longing to the chief of the warlike and powerful 
sept of Macleans, and the scene of Miss Baillie's 
beautiful tragedy, entitled the Family Legend. 
Still passing on to the northward, Artornish and 
Aros become visible upon the opposite shores, 
and, lastlv, Mingarry, and other ruins of less dis- 
tinguished note. In fine weather, a grander and 
more impressive scene, both from its natural beau- 
ties, and associations with ancient history and tra- 
dition, can hardly be imagined. When the wea- 
ther is rougli, the passage is both difticult and dan- 
gerous, fi-om the narrowness of the channel, and 
in part from the number of inland lakes, out of 
which sally forth a number of conflicting and 
thwarting tides, making the navigation perilous to 
open boats. The sudden flaws and gusts of wind 
■which issue without a moment's m arning from the 
mountain glens are equally formidable. So that 
in unsettled weather, a stranger, if not much ac- 
customed to the sea, may sometimes add to the 
other sublime sensations excited by the scene, that 
feeling of dignity which arises from a sense of 
danger. 

4. From Hirt 

To tlie green Hay's fertile shorg.- P. 252. 

The number of the western isles of Scotland ex- 
ceeds two hundred, of which St. Kilda is the most 
northerly, anciently called Hirth, or Hift, pro- 
bably from " earth," being in fact the whole globe 
to its inhabitants, llay, which now belongs almost 
entirely to Walter Campbell, esq. of Shawfield, 
is by far the most fertile of the Hebrides, and has 
been greatly improved under the spirited and sa- 
gacious management of tiie present proprietor. 
This was in ancient times tiie principal abode of 
the lords of tlie Isles, being, if not tlie largest, the 
most important island of tlieir archipeltjgo. In 
Martin's time, some relics of their gi'andeur 
■were yet extant. " Loch-Finlagan, about three 
miles in circumference, aftbrds salmon, trouts, and 
eels: this lake lies in the centre of the isle. The 



isle Finlagan, from which this lake hath lis 
name, is in it. It is famous for being once the court 
in Avhicli the great Mack-Donald, king of the Isles, 
had his residence; his houses, chapel, &c. are now 
ruinous. His guards de corps, called Luch-tach, 
kept guard on the lakeside nearest to the isle: the 
walls of their houses are still to be seen there. 
The high court of judicature, consisting of four- 
teen, sat always here; and there was an appeal to 
them from all the courts in the Isles: the eleventh 
share of the sum in debate was due to the princi- 
pal judge. There was a big stone of seven foot 
square in which there was a deep im])ression made 
to receive the feet of Mack-Donald; for he was 
crowned king of tiie Isles standing in this stone, 
and swore that he would continue his vassals in 
the possession of their lands, and do exact justice 
to all ids subjects: and then liis father's sword was 
put into his hands. I'he bishop of Argyle and se- 
ven priests anointed him king, in presence of all 
the heads of the tribes in the Isles and continent, 
and were his vassals: at which time the orator re- 
hearsed a catalogue of his ancestors, &c." — JMar- 
tin''s Account of the Western Ides, octavo, London, 
1716, p. 240, 1. 

5. Mingarry, sternly placed, 

O'erawes the woodland and the waste.— P. 252. 

-The castle of Mingarry is situated on the sea- 
coast of the district of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, 
which are tolerably entire, are surrounded by a 
very high wall, forming a kind of polj'gon, for the 
purpose of adapting itself to the projecting angles 
of a precipice overhanging the sea, on which the 
castle stands. It was anciently the residence of 
the Mac-Ians, a clan of .Mack-Donalds descended 
from Ian, or John, a grandson of Angus Og, lord 
of the Isles. The last time that Mingarry was of 
military importance, occurs in the celebrated Lea- 
bhar dearg, or Red-book of Clanronald, a MS. re- 
nowned in the Ossianic controversy. AUaster 
Mac-Donald, commonly called Colquitto, who 
commanded the Irish auxiliaries, sent over by the 
earl of Antrim during the great civil war to the 
assistance of Montrose, began his enterprize in 
1644, by taking the castles of Kinloch-Alline and 
Mingarry, the last of which made considerable 
resistance, as might, from the strength of the si- 
tuation, be expected. In the meanwhile, Allaster 
Mac-Donald's ships, which had brought him over, 
were attacked in Loch Eisord, in Skye, by an ar- 
mament sent round by the covenanting parliament, 
and his own vessel was taken. This circumstance 
is said chiefly to have induced him to coiitinue in 
Scotland, where there seemed little prospect of 
raising an army in behalf of the king. He had no 
sooner moved eastward to join Montrose, a junc- 
tion which he eftected in the braes of Athole, than 
the marquis of Argyle besieged the castle of Min- 
garry, but without success. Among other war- 
riors and chiefs whom Argyle summoned to his 
cam]) to assist upon this occasion, was .John of 
Moidart, the captain of Clanronald. Clanronald 
appeared ; but, far from yielding eftectual assistance 
to Arg3le, he took the opportunity of being in 
arms to lay waste the disti-ict of Sunart, then be- 
longing to the adherents of Argyle, and sent part 
(ifllie spoil to reliiMt' tlie c;istleo'f Mingarry. Thus 
the castle was maiiilaiiied until relieved by Allas- 
ler Mae-Donalil (Cobjuitto,) who had l)een de- 
tached for the purpose by Montrose. These j)ar- 
ticulars :u-e hardly worth mentioning, were they 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



287 



not connected witli the memorable successes of 
Montrose, related by an eye-witness, and liither- 
to unknown to Scottish liistorians. 

6. The heir of mighty Somerled.— P. 252. 
Somerled was tliane of Argyle and lord of the 
Isles, about the middle of the twelfth century. He 
seems to have exercised his authority in both ca- 
pacities, independent of the crown of Scotland, 
against which he often stood in hostility. He made 
various incursions upon the western lowlands dur- 
ing the reign of Malcolm IV, and seems to have 
made peace with him upon the terms of an inde- 
pendent prince, about the year 1157'. In 1164, he 
resumed the war against Malcolm, and invaded 
Scotland witli a large, but probably a tumultuary 
army, collected in the Isles, in the mainland of 
Argylesliire, and in the neighbouring provinces of 
Ireland. He was defeated aiul slain in an engage- 
ment with a very inferior force, near Renfrew. 
His son Gillicolane fell iti the same battle. This 
mighty chieftain married a daughter of Olaus, king 
of Man. From him our genealogists deduce two 
dynasties, distinguished in the stormy history of 
tlie middle ages; the lords of the Isles descended 
from his elder son Ronald, and the lords of Lorn, 
vho took their surname of M'Douga], as descend- 
ed of his second son Dougal. That Somerled's ter- 
ritories upon the mainland, and upon the islands, 
should have been thus divided between his two 
sons, instead of passing to the elder exclusively, 
may illustrate the uncertainly of descent among 
the great highland families, which we shall pre- 
Eentl)^ notice. 

7. Lordoflhelsles.— P. 252. 

The representative of this independent princi- 
pality, for such it seems to liave been, tliough ac- 
knowleding occasionally the pre-eminence of the 
Scottish crown, was, at the period of the poem, 
Angus, called Angus Og; but the name has 
been, euphonix gratia, exchanged for that of Ro- 
nald, which frequently occurs in the genealogy. 
Angus was a protector of Robert Bruce, whom he 
received in his castle of Uunnaverty, during the 
time of his greatest distress. As 1 shall be equally 
liable to censure for attempting to decide a con- 
troversy which has long existed between three dis- 
tinguished chieflainsof this family, who have long 
disputed the representation of the lord of the Isles, 
or for leaving a question of such importance alto- 
gether untouched,! choose, in the first place, to give 
such information as I have been able to derive from 
highland genealogists, and which, for those who 
have patience to investigate such subjects, really 
contains some curious information concerning the 
liistory of the Isles. In the second place, I shall of- 
fer a few remarks upon the rules of succession at 
that period, without pretendiiigto decide their bear- 
ing upon the question at issue, which must depend 
upon evidence which 1 have had no opportunity to 
examine. . 

" Angus Og," says an ancient manuscript trans- 
lated from the tiaelic, " son of Angus Mor, son of 
Donald, son of Ronald, son of Somerled, high chief 
and superior lord of Innisgall, (or the Isles of the 
Gael, the geuenvl name given to the Hebrides,) he 
married a daughter of Cunbui, namely, Cathan; 
she was mother to John, son of Angus, and with 
her came an unusual portion from Ireland, viz. 
twenty-four clans, of whom twenty-four' families 
in Scotland are descended. Angus had another 
son, namely, young John Fraoch, whose descend- 



ants are called Clan-Ean of Glencoe, and the M 
Donalds of Fraoch. This Angus Ug died in Jsla, 
where his body was interred; liis son Joint succeed- 
ed to the inlieritance of limisgall. He had good de- 
scendants, namely, ' three sons procreate of Ann, 
daughter of Rodric, high chief of Lorn, and one 
daugliter, Mary, married to John Maclean, laird 
of Duart, and Lauchlao, his brother, laird of Coll; 
she was interred in the church of tiie Black Nuns. 
The eldest sons of John were Ronald, Godfrey, 
and Angus. — ; — He gave Ronald a great inheritance. 
These were the lands wiiich he gave him, viz. 
from Kilcumin in Abertarf to the river Seil, and 
from thence to Beilli, norlli ol Eig and Rum, and 
the two Uists, and from tlience to the foot of the 
river Glaichan, and threescore long ships. John 
married afterwards Margaret Stewart, daughter to 
Robert Stewart, king of Scotland, called John 
Fernyear; she bore him three good sons, Donald 
of tlie Isles, the heir, John the Tainister [i. e. 
I'liane,) the second son, and Alexander Carrach. 
John had another son called Alarcos, of whom the 
clan Macdonald of Cuoc, in Tirowen, are descend- 
ed. 'J'his John lived long, and made donations to 
Icolumkill; he covered the chapel of Eorsay-Elan, 
the chapel of Finlagan, and the chapel of the Isle 
of Tsuibhne, and gave the proper furniture for the 
service of God, upholding the clergj' and monks; 
he built or repaired the church of tlie Holy Cross 
immediately before his death. He died at his own 
castle of Ardtorinish; many priests and monks 
took the sacrament at his funeral, and they em- 
balmed ihe body of this dear man, and brought 
it to Icolumkill; the abbot, monks, and vicar, 
came as they ought to meet the king of Fiongal,* 
and out of great respect to his memory mourned 
eight days and nights over it, and laid it in the 
same grave with his father, in the church of Or an, 
1380. 

" Ronald, son of John, was chief ruler of the 
Isles in his father's life-time, and was old in the 
govei-nment at his father's death. 

" He assembled the gentry of tiie Isles, brought 
the sceptre from Kildonan in Eig, and delivered it 
to ids brother Donald, who was thereupon called 
M'Donald, and Donald lord of the lsle6,t contrary 
to the opinion of tlie men of tlie Isles. 

"Ronald, son of John, sonof Angus Og, was a 
great supporter of the cliurch and clergy; his de- 
scendants are called Clanronald, He gave flie lauds 
of Tiruma, in Uist, to the minister of it for ever, 
for the honour of God and Ciolumkill; he was pro- 
prietor of all the lands of the nortii along the coast 
and the Isles; he died in the year of Christ, 1386, 
in his own mansion of Castle Tirim, leaving five 
children. Donald of the Isles, son of John, son of 
Angus Og, the brother of Ronald, took possession 
of Innisgall by the consent of liis brother and the 
gentry thereof: they were ail obedient to him; he 
married Mary Lesly, daugliter to the earl of Ross, 
and by her came the earldom of Ross to the M' 
Donalds. After his succession to tlial earldom, he 
was called M'Donald, lord of tlie Isles, and eari 
of Ross. There are many things written of him in 
other places. 

" He fought the battle of Garioch, {i. e. Hariaw,) 
against duke Murdock, the governor: the earl of 
Mar commanded the army, in support of his claim 
to the earldom of Ross; wliicli was ceded to him 
by king James the First, after his I'eleasefrom the 



Western isles and ailjuccnt coast. 



t Innisgall. 



^1 



288 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



king of England, and duke Murdoch, his two sons 
and retainers, were beheaded: he gave lands in 
;Mu11 and Isla to tlie minister of Hi, and every 
privilege which the minister of lona had formerly, 
besides vessels of gold and silver to Columkill, for 
the monasteiT, and became himself one of the fra- 
ternity. He left issue, a lawful heir, to Innisgall 
and Ross, namely, Alexander, the son of Donald: 
he died in Isla, and his body was interred in the 
south side of the temple of (Jran. Alexander, call- 
ed Jolin of the Isles, son of Alexander of the Isles, 
son of Donald of the Isles. Angus, the third son 
of >Tohn, son of Angus Og, married the daughter 
of John, the son of "Allan, which coiuiexion caused 
some disagreement betwixt the two families about 
their' marches and division of lands, the one party 
adhering to Angus, and the oilier to John: the dif- 
ferences increased so much, that John obtained 
from Allan all the lands betwixt Mhan Fahda, 
(L c. the long river) and aid na sioiniachti. e. the 
fox-buru brook), in the upper part of Cantyre. 
Allan went to the king to complain of bis son-in- 
law; in a sliort time thereafter, there happened to 
be a great meeting about this young Angus's lands 
to the north of Inverness, where he was murdered 
by his own harper, Mac-Cairbre, by cutting his 
throat with a long knife. He* lived a year tliere- 
after, and mauy of those concerned were deliver- 
ed up to the king. Angus's wife was pregnant at 
the time of his murder, and she bore him a son, 
who was named Donald, and called Donald Du. 
He was kept in confinement until he was thirty 
years of age, when he was released by the men of 
Glencoe, by the strong hand. After this enlarge- 
ment, he can\e to the Isles, and convened the gen- 
try tiiercof. There hapjiened great feuds betwixt 
these families while Donald Du was in confinement, 
insomucli that Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchau destroy- 
ed the greatest jiart of tlie posterity of John Mor, 
of the isles and Cantyre. For Joim Calbanach, 
Eouof John, sonof Donald Hallach, son of John Mor, 
son of John, sou of Angus Og, (tlie chief of the de- 
scendants of John Mor,) and John Mor, son of 
John Cathanach, aiul young John, son of Jolm Ca- 
thanach, and young Donald Ballach, son of John 
Cathanach, were treacherously taken by Mac-Cean 
in the island of Finlagan, in Isla, andcarried to Ed- 
inburgh, wliere he got them hanged at the liurrow- 
uiuir, and their bodies were buried in the church of 
St. Antlrtjuy, called the New Cliurch. There were 
none left alive at that time of the children of John 
Cathanach, except Alexander, the son of John Ca- 
thanach, and Agues Flacli, who concealed them- 
selves in the glens of Ireland. Mac-Cean, hearing 
of their hiding-places, went to cut down the woods 
of these glens, in order to destroy Alexander and 
extirpate the whole race. At length Mac-Cean 
and Alexan(}er met, were reconciled, and a mar- 
riage alliance took place; Alexander married Mac- 
Cean's daughter, and she brought him good chil- 
dren. The Mac-Donalds of the nortli had also de- 
scendants; for, after tlie death of John, lord of the 
Isles, and earl of lloss, and the murder of Angus, 
Alexaiuler, the son of Archibald, the son of Alex- 
ander of the Isles, took possession, and John was 
in possession of the earldom of Ross, and the 
north bordering country; he married a daughter of 
the earl of Moray, of whom some of the men of 
the north had descended. The Mac-Kenzies rose 
against Alexander, and fought the battle called 



* The murderer 1 prtsume, uol tlie man who was mur- 
Uereil. 



Slar na Paire. Alexander had only a few of the 
men of Ross at the battle. He went after that bat- 
tle to take possession of the Isles, and sailed in a 
ship to the south to see if he could find any of tlie 
posterity of John Mor alive, to rise along with him, 
but Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchau watched him as 
he sailed past, followed him to Oransay, and Co- 
lonsay, went to the house where he was, and he 
and Alexander, son of John Cathanach, murdered 
him there. 

"A good while after these things fell out, Donald 
Galda, son of Alexander, son of Ai'chibald, be- 
came major; he, with the advice and direction of 
the earl of Moray, came to the Isles, and Mac- 
Leod of the Lewis, and many of the gentry of the 
Isles, rose with him: they went by the promontory 
of Ardnamurchau, where they met Alexander, the 
son of John Cathanach, were reconciled to him, 
he joined his men with theirs against Mac-Cean 
of Ardnamurchan, came upon hip at a place call- 
ed the Silver Craig, where he and bis three sons, 
and a great luiniber of his people, were killed, and 
Donald Galda was immediately declared Mac-Do- 
nald: and, after the affair of Ardnamurchan, all 
the men of the Isles yielded. to him, but he did not 
live above seven or eight weeks after it; he died 
at Caruaborg, in Mull, without issue. He had three 
sisters, daughters of Alexander, son of Archibald, 
who were portioned in the north upon the conti- 
nent, but tlie earldom of Ross was kept for them. 
Alexander the son of Archibald, had a natural son, 
called John Cam, of whom is descended Achnacoi- 
chan, in Raiiioch, and Donald Gorm, son of Ro- 
nald, son of Alexander Diison, of John Cam. Do- 
nald Du, son of Angus, son of John of tlie Isles, 
son of Alexander of the Isles, son of Donald of the 
Isles, son of John of the Isles, son of Angus Og, 
namely, the true heir of the Isles and Ross, came 
after his release from captivity to the Isles, and 
convened the men thereof, and he and the earl 
of Lennox agreed to raise a great army for the 
purpose of taking possession, and a ship came front 
England with a supply of money to carry on the 
war, which landed at Mull, and the money was 
given to Mac-Lean of Duart tohe distributed among 
the commanders of the army, which they not re- 
ceiving in proportion as it should li.ave been dis- 
tributed among them, caused the army to disperse, 
which, when the earl of Lennox heard, he disband- 
ed his own men, and made it up with tlie king: 
Mac-Donald went to Ireland to raise men, but he 
died on his way to Dublin, at Drogheda, of a fever, 
without issue of either sons or daughters." 

In this history .may be traced, though the bard 
or seanuachie touches such a delicate discussion 
with a gentle hand, the point of difference between 
the three principal septs descended from the lords 
of the Isles. The first question, and one of no easy- 
solution, where so little evidence is produced, re- 
spects the nature of the connexion of John, called 
by the archdean of the Mes "the good John of 
Ua," and " the last lord of the Isles," with Anne, 
(laughter of Roderick Mac-Dougal, bldi chief ol 
Lorn. In the absence of positive evidence, pre- 
sumptive must be resorted to, and 1 own it appears 
to render it in the highest degree improbable that 
this connexion was otherwise than legitimate. In 
the wars between David II and Edward Baliol, 
John of the Isles espoused the Baliol interest, to 
which he was probably determined by his alliance 
with Roderick of Lorn, who was, from every fa- 
mily predilection, friendly to Baliol and hostile to 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



289 



Bruce. It seems absurd to suppose, that between dart, the ancestors of the captains of Clanronald, 
two chiefs of the same descent, and nearly equal was the eldest son of Ronald, the son of John of 



power and rank (though the Mac-Dougals had 
been much crushed by Robert Bruce,) such a con 
nection should have been that of concubinage; and 
it appears more likely that tlie tempting offer of 
an alliance with the Bruce family, when they had 
obtained the decided superiority in Scotland, in- 
duced "the good John of 11a" to disinherit to a 
certain extent his eldest sou Ronald, who came of 
a stock so unpopular as the Mac-Dougals, and to 
call to his succession his younger family, born of 
Margaret Stuart, daughter of Robert, afterwards 
king of Scotland. The setting aside of this elder 
branch of his family was most probably acondition 
of his new alliance, and his being received into 
favour with the dynasty he had always opposed. 
Nor were the laws of succession at this early pe- 
riod so clearly understood as to bar such transac- 
tions. The numerous and strange claims set up to 
the crown of Scotland, when vacant by the death 
of Alexander 111, make it manifest how very little 
the indefeasible hereditary right of primogeniture 
■was valued at that period. In fact, the title of the 
Bruces themselves to the crown, though justlj- the 
most popular, when assumed with the determina- 
tion of asserting the independence of Scotland, 
was, upon pure principle, greatlj' inferior to that 
of Baliol. For Bruce, the competitor, claimed as 
son of Isabella, seco«f/ daughter of Uavid, earl of 
Huntingdon, and John Baliol, as grandson of Mar- 
garet, the elder daughter of that same earl. So that 
the plea of Bruce was founded upon the very loose 
idea, that, as the great grandson of David 1, king 
of Scotland, and the nearest collateral relation of 
Alexander 111, lie was entitled to succeed, in ex- 
clusion of the great great grandson of the same 
David, though by an elder daughter. This maxim 
.savoured of the ancient practice of Scotland, which 
often called a brother to succeed to the crown as 
nearer in blood than a grand-child, or even a son 
of a deceased monarch. But, in trutli, the maxims 
of inheritance in Scotland were sometimes de- 
parted from at periods when they were much 
more distinctly understood. Sucli a transposition 
took place in the family of Hamilton, in 1513, 
when the descendants of James, 3d lord, by lady 
Janet Home, were set aside, vvitli an appanage of 
great value indeed, in order to call to the succes- 
sion those whicli he had Jjy a subsequent marriage 
with Janet Beaton. In short, many other examples 
might be quoted to show that the question of le- 
gitimacy is not always determined by the fact of 
succession; and there seems reason to believe that 
Ronald, descendant of "John of 11a," by Ann of 
Lorn, was legitimate, and therefore lord of the 
Isles de jure, though de facto his younger half 
brotlier, Donald, son of his father's second mar- 
riage with the princess of Scotland, superseded 
him in his riglit, and apparently by ids own con- 
sent From this Donald so preferred is descended 
the family of Sleate, now lords Mac-Donald. On 
the other hand, from Ronald, the excluded heir, 
upon whom a very large appanage was settled, de- 
scended the chiefs of Glengary and Clanronald, 
each of whom had large possessions, and a nume- 
rous vassalage, and boasted a long descent of war- 
like ancestry. Their common ancestor, Ronald, 
was murdered by the earl of Ross at the monaste- 
ry of Elcho, A. D. 1346. 1 believe it has been 
subject of fierce dispute, wlicther Donald, who 
carried on the line of Glengary, or Allan of Moi- 



Ila. A humble lowlander may be jjermitted to 
waive live discussion, since a seannachie of no 
small note, who wrote in the 16lh centuiy, ex- 
presses himself upon this delicate topic iu the fol- 
lowing words: — 

" 1 have now given you an account of every 
thing you can expect of the descendants of the clan 
Colla, {/. e. the Mac-Donalds,) to the death of 
Donald Du at Drogheda, namely, the true line of 
those who possessed the Isles, Ross, and the moun- 
tainous countries of Scotland. It was Donald, the 
son of Angus, that was killed at Inverness, by his 
own harper (Mac-i'Cairbre,) son of John of the 
Isles, son of Alexander, son of Donald, son of John, 
son of Angus Og. And I know not which of his 
kindred or relations is the true heir, except these 
five sons of John, the son of Angus Og, whom 1 
here set down for you, namely, Roi#ld and God- 
frey, the two sons of the daughter of Mac-Donald 
of Lorn, and Donald and John Mor, and Alexan- 
der Carrach, the three sons of Margaret Stewart, 
daughter of Robert Stewart, king of Scotland." — 
Leabhar Dearg. 

8. the bouse of Lom.— P. 252. 

The house of Lorn, as we observed in. a former 
note, was, like the lords of the Isles, descended 
from a son of Somerled, slain at Renfrew, in 1164. 
This sc^i obtained the succession of his mainland 
territories, comprehending the greater part of the 
three districts of Lorn, in Argyleshire, and of 
course might rather be considered as petty princes 
than feudal barons. They assumed the patiftnymie 
appellation of Mac-Dougal, by which they are dis- 
tinguished in the historj' of the middle ages. The 
lord of Lorn, who tlourislied during tlie wars of 
Bruce, was Allaster (or Alexander) Mac-Dougal, 
called Allaster of Argyle. He had married the 
third daughter of John, called the Red Comyn,* 
who was slain by Bruce in the Dominican church 
at Dunifries, and hence he was a mortal enemy of 
that prince, and more than once reduced him to 
great straits during the early and distressed period 
of his reign, as we shall have repeated occasion 
to notice. Bruce, when he began to obtain an as- 
cendency in Scotland, took the first opportunity 
iu his power to requite tliese injuries. He march- 
ed into Argyleshire to lay waste the country. John 
of Lorn, son of the chietuin, was posted with his 
followers in the formidable pass between Dalmally 
and Bunawe. It is a narrow path along the vero-e 
of tlie huge anil precipitous mountain, called Cru- 
achan Ben, and guarded on the other side by a 
precipice overhanging Loch Awe. The pass seems 
to the eye of a soldier as strong, as it is wild and . 
romantic to that of an ordinary traveller. But the 
skill of Bruce had anticipated this difficulty. While 
his main body, engaged in a skirmish with the 
men of Lorn, detained their attention to tlie front 
ot theirposition, James of Douglas, with sir Alex- 
ander Fraser, sir William Wiseman, and sir 
Andrew Grey, ascended the mountaii, with a se- 



* The aunt, according to lord Haik's. But the genea- 
logy IS distinctly given by Wiutoun:— 

The third daiighter of Red ComjTi, 
Alysander of Argyle spie, 
'look and wedded til his wife. 
And on her he gat until his life, 
John of Lorn, the whilk gut 
Ewen of Lorn after that. 

IV/ntouu's C/iroiiuic, Book viii, c. vi, line 20r>. 



290 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lect body of ai-clieiy, and obtained iwssession of 
tbe heights whicii commanded the pass. A volley 
of arrows descending upon them directly warned 
tlie Argyleshire men of their perilous situation, 
and their resistance, which had hitlierto been bold 
and manly, was changed into a precipitate flight. 
The deep and rapid river of Awe was then (we 
learn the fact from Burbour with some surprise) 
crossed by a bridge. This bridge the mountaineers 
attempted to demolish, but Bruce's followers were 
too close upon their rear: they were, therefore, 
without refuge and defence, and were dispersed, 
with great slaughter. John of Lorn, suspicious of 
the event, had early betaken himself to the galleys 
which he liad upon the lake; but the feelings which 
Barbour assigns to him, while witnessing the rout 
and slaughter of his followers, exculpate him from 
the charge of cowardice. 

" To John of Lorn it should displease, 
I trow, when he his men might see 
Be slain and chased in the hill. 
That he might set no help theretill. 
But it angers as greatumly 
To i;ood hearts tliat are wcu'thy. 
To see their foes fulfill their will 
As to themselves to thoU the ill." 

After this decisive engagement, Bruce laid waste 
Argyleshire, and besieged DunstafFnage castle, on 
the western shore of Lorn, compelled it to surren- 
der, and placed in that principal strong-hold of 
the Mac-l)ougals a garrison and governc^- of his 
own. The elder Mac-Dougal, now wearied with 
the contest, submitted to the victor: but his son, 
" rebellious," says Barbour, " as he wont to be," 
fled to England by sea. When the wars between 
the Bruce and Baliol factions again broke out in 
the reign of David 11, the lords of Lorn were again 
found upon the losing side, owing to their hereditar 
ry enmity to the house of Bruce. Accordingly, 
upon the issue of that contest, they were deprived 
by David II and his successor of by far the greater 
part of their extensive territories, which were con- 
ferred upon Stewart, called the knight of Lorn. 
The house of Mac-Dougal, continued, however, 
to survive the loss of power, and aftbrds a very 
rare, if not an unique, instance of a family of such 
unlimited power, and so distinguished during the 
middle ages, surviving the decay of their grandeur, 
and flourishing in a yn-ivate station. The castle ot 
Duuolly, near Oban, with its dependencies, was 
the principal part of what remained to them, with 
their right of chieftainship over the families of their 
name and blood. These they continued to enjoy 
until the year 1715, when the representative in- 
curred the penalty of forfeiture, for his accession 
to the insurrection of that period; thus losing the 
remains of his inheritance, to replace upon the 
throne the descendants of those princes, whose 
accession his ancestors had opposed at the expense 
of their feudal grandeur. The estate was, however, 
restored about 1745, to the father of the present 
proprietor, whom family experience had taught 
the iiazard of interfering with the established go- 
vernment, and who remained q\iict upon that oc- 
casion. He tlierefore regained his property when 
many highland chiefs lost theirs. 

Nothing can be more wildly beautiful thau the 
situation of DnnoUy. The ruins are situated upon 
a bold and precipitous in-omohtory, overhanging 
Loch Etive, and distant about a mile from the vil- 
lage and port of Oban. The principal part which 
remains is the donjon or keep; but fragments of 
otiier buildings, overgrown with ivy, attest that it 



had once been a place of importance, as large ap- 
parently as Artornish or Dunstafiiiage. These 
fragments inclose a court-yard, of which the keep 
probably formed one side; the entrance being by 
a steep ascent from the neck of the isthmus, foi"- 
merly cut across by a moat, and defended doubt- 
less by outworks and a draw-bridge. Beneath the 
castle stands the present mansion of the family, 
having on the one hand Loch Etive, with its islands 
and mountains, on the other two romantic emi- 
nences tufted with copse-wood. There are other 
accompaniments suited to the scene, in particular 
a huge upright pillar, or detached fragment of that 
sort of rock called plum-pudding stone, upon the 
shore, about a quarter of a mile from the castle. 
It is called dach-na-cau, or the dog's pillar, be- 
cause Fingal is said to have used it as a stake to 
which he bound his celebrated dog Bran. Others 
say, that when the lord of the Isles came upon a 
visit to the lord of Lorn, the dogs brought for his 
sport were kept beside this pillar. Upon the whole, 
a more delighttul anti romantic spot can scarce be 
conceived; and it receives a moral interest from 
the considerations attached to the residence of a 
family, once powerful enough to confront and de- 
feat Robert Bruce, and now sunk into the shade 
of private life. It is at present possessed by Pat- 
rick M'Dougal, esq., the lineal and undisputed re- 
presentative of the ancient lords of Lorn. The 
heir of Dunolly fell lately in Spain, figluing under 
the duke of Wellington^— a death well becoming 
his ancestry. 

9. Those lightnings of tlie wave.— P. 254. 
The phenomenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is 
one of the most beautiful and interesting which is 
witnessed in the Hebrides: at times the ocean ap- 
pears, entirely illuminated around the vessel, and 
a long train of lambent coruscations are perpetu- 
ally bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pur- 
suing her wake through the darkness, lliese phos- 
phoric appearances, concerning the origin of which 
n.aturalists are not agreed in opinion, seem to be 
called into action by the rapid motion of the ship 
through the water, and are probably owing to the 
water being saturated with tish-spawn, or other 
animal substances. They remind one strongly of 
tiie description of tlie sea-snakes in Mr. Cole- 
ridge's wild, but highly poetical ballad of the An- 
cient Mariner: — 

" Beyond the shadow of the ship 
I watched the water-snakes. 
They moved in tracks of shining wliite. 
And when they reared, the elvisli light 
Fell off in hoary flakes." 
10. Hewn in the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stair 

So straight, so high, so steep. 
With peasant's staff one valiant li.tnd 
Might well the dizzy i)ass have maimed, 
'Gainst hundreds armed with spear and brand, 
And plunged thciu in the deep.— P. 254. 
The fortress of a Hebridean chief was almost al- 
ways on the sea-shove, for the fticility or commu- 
nication which the ocean afl'orded. Nothing can 
be more wild tlian the situations which they ciiose, 
and the devices by which the architects endeavour- 
ed to defend tlieni. Narrow stairs and arched 
vaults were the usual mode of access, and the draw- 
bridge appe.'U'S at Dunstaflnage, and elsewhere, to 
have fallen from the gate of the building to the top 
of such a staircase; so th.it any one, advancing with 
hostile purpose, found himself in a state of expos- 
ed and precarious elevation, with a gulf between 
him and the object of his attack. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



291 



These fortresses were guarded with equal care. 
The duty of the watch devolved chiefly upon an 
officer called the Cockman, who had the charge of 
challenging all who a\)proache(l the castle. The 
very ancient family of Macneil of Barra kept this 
attendant at their castle about an hundred years ago. 
Martin gives the following accouVit of the difficulty 
■which attended his procuring entrance there: — 

" The little island Kismul lies about a quarter 
of a mile from the south of this isle, (Barra;) it 
is the seat of Macneil of Barra; there is a stone- 
Avall round it two stories high, reaching the sea; 
and within the wall there is an old tower and an 
hall, with other houses about it. There is a little 
magazine in the tower, to which no stranger has 
access. I saw the otticer called the Cockman, and 
an old cock he is; when I bid him ferry me over 
the water to the island, he told me that he was but 
an inferior officer, his business being to attend in 
the tower; but if (says he) the constable, who then 
stood on the wall, will give you access, I'll ferry 
you over. I desired him to procure me the con- 
stable's permission, and I would reward him; but 
having waited some hoiu-s for the constable's an- 
swer, and not receiving any, 1 was obliged to re- 
turn without seeing this famous fort. Macneil and 
his lady being .ibsent, was the cause of this diffi- 
culty, and of my not seeing the place. I was told, 
some weeks after, that the constable was very ap- 
prehensive of some design I might have in view- 
ing the fort, and thereby to expose it to the con- 
quest oif a foreign power; of which I supposed there 
was no great cause of feai\ " 

NOTES TO CAXTO It. 



-De Argentine.— P. 256, 



Sir Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one of 
the most accomplished knights of the period, lie 
had served in the wars of Henry of Luxemberg 
with such high reputation, that he was, in popular 
estimation, the third worthy of the age. Those to 
whom fame assigned precedence over him were, 
Henry of Luxemberg himself, and Robert Bruce. 
Argentine had warred in Palestine, encountered 
thrice with the Saracens, and had slain two anta- 
gonists in each engagement. An easy matter, he 
said, for one christian knight to slay two pagan 
dogs. His death corresponded with his high clia- 
racter. With Aymer de Valence, earl of Pem- 
hroke, he was appointed to attend immediately 
upon the person of Edward II. When the day was 
utterly lost, they forced the king from the field. 
De Argentine saw the king safe from immediate 
danger, and then took his leave of him: "God be 
with you, sir," he suid, "it is not my wont to fly. " 
So saying, he turned his horse, cried his war-cry, 
plunged into the midst of the combatants, and was 
slain. Baston, a I'hyming monk who had been 
brought by Edward to celebrate his expected tri- 
umph, and who was compelled by the victors to 
compose a poem on his defeat, mentions with some 
feeling the death of sir Giles de Argentine: — 
Nobilis Argenten, pugil inclyte, dulcis Egidi, 
Vix seieram mentem cum te succuiiibere vidi. 

*' The first line mentions the tliree chief i-equi- 
sites of a true knight — noble birth, valor, and cour- 
teousness. Few Leonine couplets can be produced 
that have so much sentiment. 1 wish that I could 
have collected more ample memorials concerning 
a character altogether diffijrent from modern man- 
ners. Sir Giles de Argentine was a hero of ro- 



mance in real life." So observes the excellent lord 
Hailes. 

2. " Fill me the migTity cup!" he said, 

" Erst owned by royal Soraerled."— P. 256. 

A Hebridean drinkiiig-cup, of the most ancient 
and curious workmanship, has^been long preserv- 
ed in the castle of Dunvegan, in Skye, the romantic 
seat of Mac-Leod, of Mac-Leod, the chief of that 
ancient and powerful clan. The liorn of Rorie 
More, preserved in the*same family, and recorded 
by Dr. Johnson, is not to be compared with this 
piece of antiquity, which is one of the greatest cu- 
riosities in Scotland. The following is a pretty 
accurate description of its shape and dimensions, 
but cannot, I fear, be perfectly understood without 
a drawing. 

This very curious piece of antiquity is nine 
inches and three-quarters in inside deptlfi, and ten 
and a half in height on the outside, the extreme 
measure over the lips being four inches and a half. 
The cup is divided into two parts by a wrought 
ledge, beaiUifully ornamented, about three-fourths 
of an inch in hi-eadth. Beneath this ledge the shape 
of the cup is rounded off, and terminates in a flat 
circle, like that of a tea-cup; four short feet sup- 
port the whole. Above the projecting ledge the 
shape of the cup is nearly square, projecting out- 
ward at the brim. The cup is made of wood, (oak 
to all appearance, ) but most curiously wrought and 
embossed with silver work, which projects from 
the vessel. I'here are a number of regular pro- 
jecting sockets, w hich appear to have been set with 
stones; two or three of them still hold pieces of 
coral, the rest are empty. At ther four corners of 
the projecting ledge or cornice, are four sockets, 
much larger, probably for pebbles or precious 
stones. The workmanship of the silver is extreme- 
ly elegant, and appears to have been highly gilded. 
The ledge, brim, and legs of the cup, are of sil- 
ver. The family tradition bears that it was the 
property of Neil Ghlune-dhu, or Black-knee. But 
who this Neil was, no one pretends to say. Aroimd 
the edge of the cup is a legend, perfectly legible, 
in the Saxon black letter, which may be read at 
length thus: — 

tffo Jofumis Mich Magni Priltcipis de Hr Ma- 
nae Vich Liahia JMagrxjneil et sperat Domino Ihe- 
su dari clemaitiamillontm opera. Fecit Anno Do- 
mini 993 Onili Oimi. Which may run in English: 
Ufo, the son of John, the son of Magnus, prince 
of Man, the grandson of Liahia Macgryneil, trusts 
in the Lord llesus that their works [i. e. his own 
and those of his ancestors) will obtain mercy. Oneil 
Oimi made this in the year of God nine hundred 
and ninety-three. 

But this versioa does not include the puzzling 
letters hr before the word -Manae. Within the 
moutli of the cup the word Jesus is repeated four 
times. From this and other circumstances it would 
seem to have been a chalice. This circumstance 
may perhaps account for the use of two Arabic 
numerals, 93. These figures were introduced by ■ 
pope Sylvester, A. D. 991, and miglit be used in a 
vessel formed for churcli service so early as 993. 
The workmanship of the whole cup is extremely 
elegant, and resembles, I am told, antiques of the 
same nature preserved in Ireland. 

The cups thus elegantly formed, and highly va- 
lued, wfjre by no means utensils of mere show. 
Martin gives the following account of the festivals 
of his time, and I have heard similar instances of 
bi-utality in the lowlands at no very distant period. 



292 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" The manner of driiikinp; used by the chief men 
of tlie Isles is culled in their language Streah, /. e. 
a Round; for the company sat in a circle, the cup- 
bearer filled the di-ink round to them, and all was 
drank out, whatever the li(iuor was, whether strong 
or weak; they continued drinking sometimes twen- 
ty-four, sometimes forty-eight hours. It was reck- 
oned a i)iece of manhood to drink until they he- 
came drunk, and there were two men with a bar- 
row attending ])unctually on such occasions. They 
stood at the door until some became drunk, and 
they carryed them upon the barrow to bed, and 
returned again to their post as long as any conti- 
nued fresh, and so carried off the whole company, 
one by one, as they became drunk. Several of my 
acquaintance have been witnesses to this custom 
of drinking, but it is now abolished." 

This savage custom was not entirely done away 
■within the last generation. I have heard of a gentle- 
man who happened to he a water-drinker, and was 
permitted to abstain from the strong potations of the 
company. The bearers carried away one man after 
another, till no one was left but this Scottish mirg- 
lip. They then came to do him the same good 
office, wliich, however, he declined as unnecessary, 
and proposed to walk to his bed-room. It was a 
permission he could not obtain. Never such a thing 
had happened, they said, in the castle! that it was 
impossible but he must require their assistance, 
at any rate he must submit to receive it; and car- 
ried him off in the barrow accordingly. A classi- 
cal penalty was sometimes imposed on those who 
baulked the rules of good fellowship by evading 
their sliare of the banquet. The same author con- 
tinues: — 

" Amongst persons of distinction it was reckon- 
ed an affront put upon any company to broach a 
piece of wine, ale, or aquaviue, and not to see it 
all drank out at one meeting. If any man chance 
to go out from the company, though but for a few 
minutes, he is obliged, upon his return, and be- 
fore he take his seat, to make an apology for his 
absence in rhyme; which if lie cannot perform, he 
is liable to such a share of the reckoning as the 
company thinks fit to impose: which custom ob- 
tains in many places still, and is called bianchiz 
bard, wliich, in tlieir language, signifies the poet's 
congratulating tlie company." 

Few cups were better, at least more actively, 
employed in the rude hospitality of the period, 
than those of Dunvegan; one of wliich we have 
just described. There is in the Leabliar Dearg, 
a song, intimating the overflowing gratitude of a 
bard of Clan-Honald, after the exuberance of a 
Hebrideau festival at the patriarc\ial fortress of 
Mac-Leod. The translation being obviously very 
literal, has greatly flattened, as 1 am informed, 
the enthusiastic gratitude of the ancient bard; and 
it must be owne(f that tlie works of Homer 'or Vir- 
gil, to say nothing of Mac-Vuirich, niigiU have 
suffered by their transfusion through such a me- 
dium. It is ])retty plain, that when the tribute of 
poetical praise was bestowed, the horn of Korie 
More had not been inactive. 

Upon sir Roihic Mor .Mudeod, Inj JK^all Mor 
Mac- Vidrich. 

"The six nights T remained in the Dunvegan, 
it was not a show of iiospitality I met with there, 
but a plentiful feast in thy fair hall among thy nu- 
merous host of heroes. 



"The family jdaced all around under the pro- 
tection of tlieir great chief, raised by his prospe- 
rity and i-espect for his warlike feats, now enjoy- 
ing the company of his friends at the feast, — 
amidst tlie sound of harps, overflowing cups, and 
Iiappy youth unaccustomed to guile, or feud, par- 
taking of the generous fare by a flaming fire. 

" Mighty cliief, liberal to all your princely man- 
sion, filled with your numerous warlike host, 
whose gentrous winewoidd overcome the hardiest 
heroes, yet we continued to enjoy the feast, so 
happy our host, so generous our fare." — l^rnns- 
lated by D. J\Iac-Intosh. 

It would be unpardonable in a modei'n bard, 
who has experienced the hospitality ot Dunvegan 
castle in tlie present day, to omit p.aying liis own 
tribute of gratitude for a reception more elegant 
indeed, but not less_ kindly sincere, than sir llo- 
derick More himself could have aftbrded. liut 
Johnson lias already described a similar scene in 
the same ancient patriarchal residence of the lords 
of Mac-Leod. 

" Whatever is imaged in the wildest tales, if 
giants, dragons, and enchantment be excepted, 
woulil be felt by him, who, wandering in the 
mountains witiiout a guide, or upon the sea with- 
out a pilot, should be carried, amidst his terror 
and uncertainty, to the hospitality and elegance ot 
liaasay or Dunvegan." 

3. With solemii .step, and silver wand, 
The seneschal the presence scaiuied 
t)f these strang'e guests.— P. 256. 

Tlie sewer, to whom, rather than the seneschal, 
the oflice of arranging the guests of an island chief 
appertained, was an officer of importance in the 
family of an Hebridean chief. 

"Every family had commonly two stewards, 
which, in tlieir language, were called marischall 
tach: tiie first of these served always at home, and 
was obliged to be versed in the pedigree of all the 
tribes in the Isles, and in the iiighlands of Scotland; 
for it was his province to assign every man at ta- 
ble his seat according to his quality; and this was 
done without one word speaking, only by drawing 
a score with a white rod, which lliis marischall 
held in his liand, before the person who was bid 
by him to sit down: and this was necessary to pre- 
vent disorder and contention; and thougli the ma- 
riscliall might sometimes be mistaken, the master 
of the family incurred no censure by such an es- 
cii])e; but this cust6m has been laid aside of late. 
They had also cup-bearers, who always filled and 
carried the cup round the company, and he him- 
self always driflik oft' tlie first draught. They had 
likewise purse-masters, who kept their money. 
Both these officers had an hereditar)" right to their 
office in writing, and each of them had a town and 
land for his service; some of those rights 1 have 
seen fairly written on good parchment." — J\lar- 
tiri's Western hies. 

• the rebelirous Scottish crew, 



Who to Kath-Erin's shelter drew. 

With Can-ick's outlawed chief.— P. 256. 
It must be remembered by all who have read 
the Scottish history, that-after hehad slain Comyn 
at Dumfries, and asserted his right to the Scottish 
crown, Robert Bruce was reduced to the greatest 
extremity by the Englisii and their. adherents. He 
was crowned at Scone by the general consent of 
the Scollisli barons, but his authority endured but 
a short time. According to the phrase said to have 
been used by his wife, he was for that year "a 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



293 



summer king, but net a winter one." On the 29th 
March, 1306, lie was crowned king at Scone. Upon 
the 19ili June, in the sanie year, he was totally 
defeated at Methven, near Perth; and his most 
important adherent?, with a few exceptions, either 
executed, or compelled to. embrace the English 
interest, for safety of their lives and fortunes. Af- 
ter this disaster, his life was that of an outlaw, 
rather than a candidate for monarchy, tie sepa- 
rated himself from the females of his retinue, 
whom he sent for safety to the castle of Kildrum- 
mie, in Aberdeenshire, where they afterward be- 
came captives to England. Fi-om Aberdeenshire, 
Bruce retreated to the mountainous parts of Brea- 
dalbane, and approached the borders of Argyle- 
shire. There, as mentioned in a preceding, and 
more fully in a subsec|uent> note, he was defeated 
by the lord of Lorn, who had assumed arms against 
him in revenge of the death of his relative, John 
the Red Comyn. Escaped from this peril, Bruce, 
with his few attendants, subsisted by hunting and 
fishing, until the weather compelled them to seek 
belter sustenance and shelter than the highland 
mountains afforded. With great difficulty they 
crossed, from Kowardennan probably, to the west- 
ern banks of Loch Lomond, partly in a miserable 
boat, and partly by swimming. The valiant and 
loyal earl of Lennox, to whose territories they 
had now found their way, welcomed them with 
tears, but was unable to assist them to make an 
eftectual head. The lord of the Isles, then in pos- 
session of great part of Cantyre, received tlie fu- 
gitive monarch and future restorer of his country's 
independence, in his castle of Dunnaverty,'in that 
district. But treason, says Barbour, was so gene- 
ral, that the king durst not abide there. Accord- 
ingly, with the remnant of his followers, Bruce 
embarked for Rath-Erin, or Kaclirine, the Recina 
of Ptolemy, a small island, lying almost opposite 
to the shores of Ballycastle, on the coast of Ireland. 
The islanders at first fled from their new and 
armed guests, but upon some explanation submit- 
ted themselves to Bruce 's sovereignty. He resided 
among them until the approach of spring, (1300,) 
when he again returned to Scotland, with the des- 
perate resolution to reconquer his kingdom, or 
perish in the attempt. The progress of his suc- 
cess, from its commencement to its cortipletion, 
forms the brightest period in Scottish history. 
5. The Broach of Lorn.— P. 257. 
It has been generally mentioned in the preced- 
ing notes, that Robert Bruce, after his defeat at I 
Methven, being hard pressed by the English, en- 
deavoured, with the dispirited remnant of his fol- 
lowers, to escape from Breadalbane and the moun- 
tains of Perthshire into the Argyleshire highlands. 
But he was encountered and repulsed, aftera verv 
severe engagement, by the lord of Lorn. Brace's 
personal strength and courage were never display- 
ed to greater advantage than in this conflict. There 
is a tradition in the family of the Mac-i3ougals of 
Lorn, that their chieftain engaged in personal bat- 
tle with Bruce himself, while the latter was em- 
ployed in protecting the retreat of his men; that 
Mac-Dougal was struck down by the king, whose 
strength of body was equal to his vigour of mind 
and would have been slain on the spot, had not 
two of Lorn's vassals, a father and son, whom 
tradition terms Mac-Keoch, rescued him, by seiz- 
ing the mantle of the monarch, and dragging him 
from above his adversary. Bruce rid himself of 
these foes by two blows of his redoubted battle- 



axe, but was so closely pressed by the other fol- 
lowers of Lorn, that he was forced to abandon the 
mantle, and broach which fastened it, clasped in 
the dying grasp of the Mac-Keochs. A studded 
broach, said to have been that which king Robert 
lost upon this occasion, was long preserved in the 
family of Mac-Dougal, and was lost in afire which 
consumed their temporary residence. 

The metrical history of Barbour throws an air 
of credibility upon the tradition, although it does 
not entirely coijicide either in the names or num- 
ber of the vassals by whom Bruce was assailed, 
and makes no mention of the personal <langer of 
Lorn,' or of the loss of Bruce's mantle. The last cir- 
cumstance, indeed, might be warrantably omitted. 
According to Bart)our, the king, with his hand- 
ful of follovyers, not amounting probably to three 
hundred men, encountered l>orn with about a thou- 
sand Argyleshire men in Glen-Douchart, at the 
head of Breadalbane, near Teyndrum. The place 
of action is still called Dairy, or the king's field. 
The field of battle was unfavourable to Bruce's 
adherents, who were chiefly men-at-arms. Many 
of the horses were slain by' the long pole-axes, of 
which the Argyleshire Scottish had learned the 
use from the Norwegians. At length Bruce com- 
manded a retreat up a narrow and diflicult pass, 
he himself bringing up the rear, and repeatedly 
turning and driving back the more venturous as- 
sailants. Lorn, observing the skill and valour used 
by his enemy in protecting the retreat of his fol- 
lowers, "Methiiiks, Murthokson," said he, ad- 
dressing one of his followers, " he resembles Gol- 
mac-morn, protecting his.follo\vers from Fingal." 
— A most unworthy comparison, observes the arch- 
deacon of Aberdeen, unsuspicious of the future 
fame of these names; he might with more proprie- 
ty have compared the king to sir Gaudefer de 
Larys, protecting the foragers of Gadyrs against 
the attacks of Alexander.* Two brothers, the 
strongest among Lorn's followers, whose names 
Barbour calls Mackyn-Drosser (interpreted Dur- 
ward, or Porterson,) resolved to rid their chief of 
this formidable foe. A third person (perhaps the 
Mac-Keoch of the family tradition) associated 
himself with them for this purpose. I'hey watcljied 
their opportunity until Bruce's party had entered 
a pass between a lake (Loch-Dochart probably) 
and a precipice, where the king, who was the last 
of the party, had scarce room to manage his steed. 
Here his three foes sprung upon him at once. 
One seized his bridle, but received a wound which 
hewed oft" his arm; a second grasped Bruce by the 
stirrup and leg, and endeavoured to dismount him, 
but the king, putting spurs to his horse, threw 
him do« n, still holding by the stirrup. The third, 
taking advantage of an acclivity, sprung up behind 
him upon his horse. Bruce, however, whose per- 
sonal strength is uniformly mentioned as exceed- 
ing that of most men, extricated himself from his 
grasp, threw him to the ground, and cleft his skull 
with his sword. By similar exertion he drew the 
stirrup from his grasp whom he had overthrown. 



* This is a very curious passage,.and has been often 
quoted in the Ossiaiiic controversy. That it refers to an- 
cient Celtic tradition, there can be no doubt, and as little 
that il refers to noincidtut iu the pocijis published by 
Mr. Macpherson as from the Gaelic. 1 he heroof ruiuunce, 
whom liarbou'r thinks a more pruj>er prototjpe for the 
Bruce, oectu-s in the romance of Alexander, of wliicli there 
is an unique translation into Scottish verse in the library 
of the honourable Mr. Maule, of Pauuiure.— See /<-'fier'* 
Romancat, voL i, JlppenUue to JiUiudiiclioii, p. Lx^iii, 



294 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and killed him also witli his sword as he lay araoti|;- 
the horse's feet. The story seeius romantic, but 
this was the age of romantic exploit; and it must 
be remembered that iJruce was armed cap-a-pie, 
and the assailants were half-clad' mountaineers. 
Barbour adds the following circumstance, highly 
characteristic of the sentiments of chivalry. Mac- 
Naughton, a baron of Cowal, pointed out to the 
lord of Lorn tlie deeds of valour which Bruce per- 
formed in this memorable reti-eat, with the high- 
est expressions of admiration. " It seems to give 
thee pleasure," said Lorn, "that he makes such 
havoc among our friends." — " Not so, by my faitli," 
replied Mac-Naugliton; "but be he friend or foe 
■who achieves high deeds of chivalry, men should 
bear faithful witness to his valour; and never have 
1 heard of one, who, by his knightly faats, has ex- 
tricated liimself from such dangers as have this day 
surrounded Bruce." 

6. Wrought and chased with rare device. 
Studded fair witli gems of price.— P. 257. 

Great art and expense was bestowed upon the 
Jihula, or broach, which secured the plaid, when 
tlie wearer was a person of importance. Alartin 
mentions having seen a silver broach of an hundred 
marks value. 

" It was broad as any ordinary pewter plate, the 
■whole curiously engraven wilh various animals, &c. 
There was a lesser buckle, which was.raore in the 
middle of the larger, and above two ounces weight; 
it had in the centre a large piece of cry stal, or some 
finer stone, and this was set all round with several 
finer stones of a lesser size."— /Fesiovi Islands. 

Pennant has given an engraving of such a broach 
as Martin describes, and the workmanship of which 
is very elegant. It is said to have belonged to the 
family of Lochbuy. — See Pznnaxt's Totir, vol. 
iii, p. 14. 

7. Vain was then the Douglas brand. 

Vain the Campbell's vaunted liaud.— P. 257. 
The gallant sir James, called the good lord 
Douglas, the most faithful and valiant iii- Bruce's 
adherents, was wounded at the battle of Dairy. 
Sir Nigel, or Niel Campbell, was also in that un- 
fortunate skirmish. He married Marjerie, sister 
to Robert Bruce, and w^s among his most faithful 
followers. In a manuscript account of the house 
ofArgyle, supplied, it would seem, as materials 
for archbishop Spottiswoode's History of the 
Church of Scotland, 1 find the following passage 
concerning sir Niel Campbell: — "Moreover, when 
all the nobles in Scotland had left king Robert af- 
ter his hard success, yet tViis noble knight was 
most faitlifid, and shrinked not, as it is to be seen 
in an indenture bearing these words: — ' Memoran- 
dum tjuod cum ah incarnalione Domini 130S con- 
ventum fuit et concordatum inter nobiles viros 
Dominum Alexandrum de Seatoun militem et Do- 
minum Gilbertum de Have militem et Dominum 
Nigellum Campbell militem apud inonasteriumde 
Cambuskcnneth 9" Septembris ([ui tacta sancta 
eucharista, magnoi[ue juruniento facto, jurarunt se 
debere libertatem regni et Uobertum nuper regem 
coronatum contra omnes mortales. Francos, An- 
glos, Scotos, defendere usque ad ultimum termi- 
num vita; ipsorum.' Their scales are appended to 
the indenture in grcene wax, togithir wiili the seal 
of Gulfrid, abbot of Cambuskeiuietli." 

8. Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk, 
Making sure of murder's work.— P. 257. 

Every reader must recollect that the proximate 



cause of Bruce's asserting his rignt to the crown 
of Scotland, was the deatli of John, called the Rtd 
Comyn. The cause, of this act-of violence, equally 
extraordinary from the high rank botli of the per- 
petrator and sufferer, and from the place where 
the slaughter was comvnitted, are variously relat- 
ed by file Scottish and Englisli historians, and can- 
not now be ascertained. The fact that they met at 
the high altar of the Minorites or Grey-Friars' 
church in Dumfries,, that their difference broke 
out into high and insulting language, and that 
Bruce drew his dagger and stabbed Comyn, is cer- 
tain. Rushing to the door of the churcli. Brace 
met two powerful barons, Kirkpatrick of Close- 
burn, and James de Lindsay, who eagerly asked 
him what tidings^ " Bad tidings," answered Briice, 
" I doubt I liave slain CCmyn." " Doubtest thou^" 
said Kirkpatrick; "I make sicker," ( i. e.) sure. 
With these words, he and Lindsay rushed into the 
cluirch, and despatched the woimded Comyn. The 
Kirkpatricks of Closeburn assumed, in memory 
of this deed, a hand holding a dagger, with tlie 
memorable words, "I make sicker." Some doubt 
having been started by the late lord Hailes as to 
the identity of the Kirkpatrick, who completed 
tliis day's work, with sir Roger, then representa- 
tive of the ancient family of Closeburn, my kind 
and ingenious friend, Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe, has furnished me with the following me- 
morandum, which appears to fix the deed wilh his 
ancestor: — 

"The circumstances of the regent Cummin's 
murdei;, from which the family of Kirkpatrick, in 
Nithsdale, is said to have derived it^ crest and 
motto, are well known to all conversant with Scot- 
tish history; but lord Hailes has started a doubt 
as to the autiienticity of tliis tradition, when re- 
cording the murder of Roger Kirkpalrick, in his 
own castle of Caerlaverock, by sir James Lindsay. 
' Fordun,' says his lordship, ' remarks that Lind- 
say and Kirkpatrick were the heirs of the two men 
who accompanied Robert Bros at the fatal confe- 
rence \s ith Comyn. If Fordun was rightly inform- 
ed as to tTiis particular, an argument arises in sup- 
p'ort of a notion which I have long entertained, 
that the person who struck his dagger in Comyn's 
heart was 7wi the representative of the honourable 
family of Kirkpatrick, in Nithsdale. Roger de K. 
was made prisoner at the battle of Durham, in 
1.346. Roger de Kirkpatrick was alive on the 6th 
of August,^ 1357, for, on that day, Hmnphry, the 
son and heir, of Roger de K. is pi-oposed as one of 
the young gentlemen who were to be hostages for 
David Bruce. Roger de K. Miles was present at 
the parliament held at Edinburgh, SSth Septem- 
ber, 1357; and he is mentioned as alive 3d Octo- 
ber, 1357; (Facleva;) it follows, of necessary con- 
sequence, that Roger de K. murdered in June, 
1357, must have been a different person.' — minimis 
of Scotland, vol. ii, p. 242. 

" Tothisitmay be answered, that at the period of 
the regent's murder, tiiere were onlyt^vo families 
of the name of Kirkpatrick (nearly allied to each 
other) in existence — Stephen Kirkpatrick styled 
in the Chartulary of Kelso (1278,) Doniimis vitlx 
de Closburn,Jilh'is et hieres homim Ade de Kirk- 
palricfc, JMtiitis (whose father, Ivone de Kirkpa- 
ti-ick, witnesses a charter of Robert Brus, lord of 
Annandale, before theyear 1141,) hadtwo sons, sir 
Roger, who carried on the line of Closeburn, and 
Duiican, who married Isobel, daughter and heiress 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



295 



of sir David Torthorwald ofthat ilk; thev had a char- 
ter of the lands of Torthorwald from king Robert 
Brus, dated the 10th August, the year being omit- 
ted — Umphray, the son of Duncan and Isohel, got 
a charter of Torthorwald from the king, 16th July, 
1324 — his son, Roger of Torthorwald, got a charter 
from John the Grahame, son of sir John Grahame 
of Mosskessen, of an annual rent of 4ci shillings, 
out of the lands of Overdrj-ft, 1355 — his son, Wil- 
liam Kirkpatrick, grants a charter to John of 
Garroch, of the twa merk land of Glengip and 
Garvellgill, within the tenement of Wamphray, 
22d April, 1372. From this, it appears that the 
Torthorwald branch was not concerned in the affair 
of Comyn's murder, and the inflictions of Provi- 
dence which ensued; Duncan Kirkpatrick, if we 
are to believe the blind minstrel, was the firm 
friend of Wallace, to whom he was related. 
(" Kirkpatrick, that cruel was and keyne, 
In Esdaill wod that half zer he had been; 
■With luglismt-n he cuuth nocht weill accord. 
Of Torthonvald lie baron was and lord. 
Of kjTi he was to Wallace niodyr ner,"') &c. 
But tills baron seems to have had no share in the 
adventures of king Robert; the crest of his family, 
as it still remains on a carved stone built into a 
cottage wall, in the village of Torthorwald, bears 
some resemblance, says Grose, to a rose. 

" Universal Iraihlinn, and all our later histori- 
ans, have attributed the regent's death-blow to sir 
Roger K. of Closeburn 
History 
vocates 



among the small number of Bruce's adherents, 
w ho remained in arms with him after the battle of 
Melhven. 

" With him was a bold baron, 
SchjT William the Barouudoun, 

SchjT Gilbert de la Haye alsua." 

There were more than one of the noble family of 
Hay engaged in Bruce's cause; but the principal 
was Gilbert de la Haye, lord of Errol, a staunch 
adherent to king Robert's interest, and whom he 
rewarded by creating him hereditary lord high 
constable of Scotland, a title which lie used 16th 
March, 1308, where, in a letter from the peers of 
Scotland to Philiji the Fair of France, he is design- 
ed Gilbertus de Hay, Constahvlarhis Scotix. He 
was slain at the battle of Halidon-hill. Hugh de 
la Haye, his brother, was made prisoner at the 
battle of Melhven. 

10. Well h.ist thou framed, old man, thy strains, 
To praise tlic hand that pays thy pains.— P. 257. 

The character of the highland bards, however 
high in an earlier period of societv, seems soon 
to have degenerated. The IrisI* affirm, that in 
their kindred tribes severe laws became necessary 
to restrain their avarice. In tlie highlands they 
seem gradually to have sunk into contemjit, as 

„. „ ^ Ibe autiior of the MS. : ^'^" ^' ''"^ orators, or men of speech, with whose 

•v of the Presbytery of Pcnpont, in the Ad- [ °*'^'=?,,J''=*^ of family poet was often united. 

s' Library, affirms,' that the crest and motto ' " l/'C orators, in their language called Isdane, 



were given by the king on that occasion; aud pro- "'^""^ '" '"»'' <:sleem both in these islands and the 
ceeds to relate some circumstances respecting a continent; until within these forty years, they sat 
grant to a cottager and his wife in the vicinity of "'*»}'« among the nobles and chiefs of families in 
Closeburn castle, which are certainly authentic, ]"^ streah, or circle. Their houses and little vil- 
and strongly vouch for the truth of the other report, 'ages were sanctuaries, as well as churches, and 
" ' The steep hill, (savs he,) called the Dune of ^"^^^ '°°'' P\=*'^*' hitfove doctors of physic. The ora- 
Tvnron, of a considerable height, upon the top of *°''*» ''"'^'' "^'^ 'h-uids were extinct, were brought 
which there hath been some habitation or fort. '" '° preserve the genealogy- of families, and to 
There have been in ancient times, on all hands of ''^peat the same at every succession of chiefs; and 
it, verv thick woods, and great about that place, ' "l'°" ^"^. occasion of marriages and births, they 
■which'made it the more inaccessible, into which ^'"^"^ epithalamiums and panegyrics, which the 
K. Ro. Bruce is said to have been conducted bv {?°'^'^ ^^. ^^^" pronounced. The orators, by the 
Roger Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, after thev had *°'''^^ °' ">'="' eloquence, had a powerful ascendant 
killed the Cumin at Dumfries, which is nine miles over the greatest men in their time; for if any ora- 
from this place, whereabout it is probable that he *"r "" °"^ ^V^ ^"^ ''al^'t, arms, horse, or any other 
did abide for some time thereafter; and it is re- }"'"S belonging to the greatest men in these is- 
ported, that, during his abode there, he did often '^.'"'*' "• ""s readily granted tliem, sometimes out 
divert to a poor man's cottage, named Brownrig, , T^^Pect, and sometimes for fear of being ex- 
situate in a small parcel of stoney ground, incom- c'aimed against by a satire, which, in those d.\vs, 
passed with thick woods, where he was content '^''*^ reckoned a great dishonour. But these gen- 
somelimes with such mean accommodation as the "etncn, becoming insolent, lost ever since both the 
place could afford. The poor man's wife being ^^'°^^ ^"'' esteem which was formerly due to their 
advised to petition the king for somewhat, was so character; tor neither tiieir panegyrics nor satires 
modest in her desires, that she sought no more *''^ regarded to what they have been, and they are 
but security for the croft in her husband's posses- "°"' allowed but a small salary. 1 must not omit 
sion, and a'liberty of pasturage for a verj' few cat- \° '^^j^}^ ^"^^^ ^ay of study, which is very singu- 
tle of different kinds on the hill, and the rest of .'"• They shut their doors and windows for a day's 
the bounds. Of wliich privilege that ancient family, t'nie,and lie on their backs, with a stone upon their 
by the injury of time, hath a long time been, and J^elly, and plads about their heads, and their eyes 
is deprived: but the croft continues in the posses- . '"& covered, they pump their brains for riieto- 
sion of the heirs and successors lineally descend- "["^^l encomium, or panegyric; and indeefl they 
ed of this Brownrig and his wife; so that his family, f"™isli such a style trom this dark cell, as is un- 
being more ancient than rich, doth vet continue "erstood by very tew: and if they purchase a cou- 
in the name, and, as thev say, retains the old char- P'*^ o^ horses as the reward of their meditation, 
tcT.^"— .MS. History of tlie Presbytery of FenpoiU, t''ey think they have done a gieat matter. 1 he 
in the Advocates'' Ub'rary of Ebinburgk. I P°*^'' *"" ^^^'^■> 'la^l a title to the bridegroom's up- 

I per garb, that is, the jilad and bonnet; but now 

'•|SlTry"de \Th^J1^. 257. I'^ '^ 'T'^-'^ ^ "l^ " ^^^ >'- bridegroom pleases 

' ' I to give him on such occasions." — Mahtin's Heu- 

These knights are enumerated by Barbour j tern Islet. 
21 



296 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



11. Was't not enough to Ronald's bower 

I brought thee, like a paramour.— P. 259. 

It was anciently custoraai-y in the highlands to 
bring the bride U> the house ot'the husband. Nay, 
in some cases, the complaisance was stretched so 
far, that she remained tiicre upon trial for a twelve- 
month; and the bridegroom, even after this period 
of cohabitation, retained an option of refusing to 
fulfil his engagement. It is said that a desperate 
feud ensued between the clans of Mac-Donald of 
Sleate and Mac-Leod, owing to the former chief 
having availed himself of this license to send back 
to Dunvegan, a sister, or daughter, of the latter. 
Mac-Leod, resenting the indignity, observed, that 
since there was no wedding bonfire, there should 
be one to solemnize the divorce. Accordingly, 
he burned and laid waste the territories of Mac- 
Donald, who retaliated, and a deadly feud, with 
all its accompaniments, look place in form. 

12. Since matchless Wallace first had been 

In mock'ry crowned with wreaths of green.— P. 259. 

Stowe gives the following curious account of the 
trial and execution of this celebrated patriot: — 
♦' William Wallace, who had oft-times set Scot- 
land in great trouble, was taken and brought to 
London, with great numbers of men and women 
wondering upon him. He was lodged in the house 
of William Delect, a citizen of London, in Fen- 
church-street. On the morrow, being the eve of 
St. Bartholomew, he was brought on horseback to 
Westminster. John Legrave and Geffrey, knights, 
the mayor, sherifts, and aldermen of London, and 
man)' others, both on horseback and on foot, accom- 
panying him; and in the great hall at Westminster, 
he being placed on the south bench, crowned with 
laurel, for that he had said in times past that he 
ought to bear a crown in that hall, as it was com- 
monly reported: and being appeached for a traitor 
by sir Peter Malorie, the king's justice, he an- 
swered, that he was never traitor to the king of 
England; but for other things whereof lie was ac- 
cused, he confessed them; and was atter headed 
and quartered." — Stowe, Chr. p. 209. 

There is something singularly doubtful about 
the mode in which VVallace was taken. That he 
was betrayed to the English is indubitable; and 
popular fame charges sir John Menteith with the 
indelible infamy. " Accursed," says Arnold Blair, 
" be the day of nativity of John de Menteith, and 
may his name be struck out of the book of life." 
But John de Menteith was all along a zealous fa- 
vourer of the English interest, and was governor 
of Dumbarton castle by commission from Edward 
the first; and therefore, as the accurate lord Hailes 
has observed, could not be the friend and confidant 
of Wallace, as tradition states him to be. The 
truth seems to be, that Menteith, thoroughly en- 
gaged in the English interest, pursued Wallace 
closely, and made him prisoner through the trea- 
chery of an attendant, whom Peter Langtoft calls 
Jack Short. 

William Waleis is nomen that master ■was of theves, 
Tiding to the king is conun that robbery mischeivs, 
Sir John of Menetcst sued William so nigh. 
He tok him when he weened least, on night, his leman him 

by. 
That was through treason of Jack S/iort his man. 
He was the enchesoii tliat sir John so him ran. 
Jack's brotlier had he slain, the Wallels tliat is said, 
The moi-e Jack was fain to do William that braid. 

From this it would appear that the infamy of 
yiezing Wallace must rest between a degenerate 



Scottish nobleman, the vassal of England, and a 
domestic, the obscure agent of his treachery; be- 
tween sir John Menteith, son of Walter, earl ot 
Menteith, and the traitor Jack Sliort. 

13. Where's Xigp] Bruce? and De la Haye, 
And valiant Seton—wliere are they? 
Where Sonierville, the kind and free? 
And Fraser, flower of chivalry?— P. 259. 

When these lines were written, the author was 
remote from the means of correcting his indistinct 
recollection concerning the individual fate of 
Bruce's followers, after the battle of Methven. 
Hugh de la Haye and Thomas Somerville of Lin- 
toun and Cowdally, ancestor of lord Somerville, 
were both made prisoners at that defeat, but nei- 
ther was executed. 

Sir Nigel Bruce was the younger brother of Ro- 
bert, to whom he committed the charge of his 
wife and daughter, Marjorie, and the defence of 
his strong castle of Kildrummie, near the head of 
the Don, in Aberdeenshire. Kildrummie long re- 
sisted the arms of the earls of Lancaster and Here- 
ford, until the magazine was treacherously burnt. 
The garrison was then compelled to surrender at 
discretion, and Nigel Bruce, a youth remarkable 
for personal beauty, as well as for gallantry, fell 
into the hands of the unrelenting Edward. He was 
tried by a special commission at Berwick, was 
condemned, and executed. 

Christopher Seatoun shared the same unfortu- 
nate fate. He also was distinguished by personal 
valour, and signalized himself in the fatal battle ot 
Methven. Robert Bruce adventured his person in 
that battle like a knight of romance. He dismount- 
ed Aymer de Valence, earl of Pembroke, but was 
in his turn dismounted by sir Pliilip Mowbray. 
In this emergence Seatoun came to his aid, and 
remounted him. Langtoft mentions, that in this 
battle the Scottish wore white surplices, or shirts, 
over tiieir armour, that those of rank might not 
be known. In this manner both Bruce and Sea- 
toun escaped. But the latter was afterwards be- 
trayed to the English, tlu-ough means, according 
to Barbour, of one Mac-Nab, "a disciple of Ju- 
das," in whom the unfortunate knight reposed 
entire confidence. There was some peculiarity ' 
respecting his ptmishment; because, according to 
Matthew of Westminster, he was considered not 
as a Scottish subject, but an Englishman. He was 
therefore taken to Dumfries, where he was tried, 
condemned, and executed, for the murder of a 
soldier slain by him. His brother, J(-hn de Selon, 
had the same fate at Newcastle; both were con- 
sidered as accomplices in the slaughter of Comyn, 
but in what manner they were particularly acces- 
sary to that deed does not appear. 

The fate of sir Simon Fraser, or Frizel, ances- 
tor of the family of Lovat, is dwelt upon at great 
length, and with savage exultation, by the English 
historians. This knight, who was renowned for 
personal gallantry and high deeds of cliivalry, was 
also made prisoner, after a gallant defence, in the 
battle of Methven. Some stanzas of a ballad ot 
the times, which, for the sake of rendering it in- 
telligible, I have translated out of its rude ortho- 
graphy, give miimte particulars of his fate. It was 
written immediately at the period, for it mentions 
the earl of Atliole as not yet in custody. It was 
first published by the indefatigable Mr. Ritson, 
but with so many contractions and peculiarities of 
ch;uacter, as to render it illegible, excepting by 
antiquaries. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



297 



This was before saint Bartlioloiuew's mass, 
'lliat Fi-izel was y-taken, were it more other less, 
To siv Thomas of Multon, geiitil baron and free, - 
And to sir John Jose be-take tho w as he 
To hand. 
He was y-fettered wele 
Both with iron and steel 

To bringen to Scotland. 

Soon after the tiding to the king come, 
He sent hira to London, with mony armed groom, 
He came in at Newgate, T tell yoii it on a-pliglit, 
A garland of leaves on his head y-dight 
Of green, 
For he should be y-know 
Both of high and of low, 

For the traitour I ween. 

Y-fcttered were his leg's under his hol-ses wombe. 
Both with iron and with steel mancled were his hond, 
A garland of pervink* set up his heved,t 
Much was the power that him was bereved, 
In land. 
So God me amend, 
Little he ween'd 

So to be brought in hand. 

This was uponotn- lady's even, forsowh I understand. 
The justices sate for the knights of Scotland, 
Sir Thomas of Multon, an kinde knyght and wise. 
And sir Ralph of Sandwich that mickle is hold in price. 
And sir John Abel, 
Moe I might tell by tale 
Both of great and small 

Ye know sooth well. 

Then said the justice, that gentil is and free. 
Sir Simond Frizel the king's traiter hast thou be; 
In water and in land that niony niigliten see. 
What sayst thou thereto how will thou quite be. 
Do say, 
So foul he him wist, 
Nede war on trust 

For to say nay. 

With fetters and with ginst y-hot he was to draw 
From the tower of London that many men might know, 
In a kirtle of Burelj a seleouth wise. 
And a garland in his head of the new guise. 
Through Cheape. 
Many men of England 
For to see Symond 

Thitherward can leap. 

Though he cam to the gallows first he was on hung. 
All quick beheaded that him thought long; 
Then he was y-opened, his bowels y-brend,^ 
The heved to London-bridge was send 
To shende. 
So evermore mote I the. 
Some while weened he 

Thus little to stand. I 

He rideth through the city, as I tell may. 
With gamen and with solace that was their play. 
To London-bridge he took the way, 
Mony was the wives child that thereon lacketh-a-day,11 
And said, alas! 

That he was y-born 

And so vilely forlorn 

So fair man he was.** 

Now standeth the heved above the tu-brigge. 
Fast by Wallace sooth for to segge; 
After succour of Scotland long may he pry. 
And after help of France what halt it to lie, 
I ween. 
Better him were in Scotland, 
With his axe in his hand. 

To play on the green, &:c. 

The preceding stanzas contain probably as mi- 
nute an account as can be found, of the trial and 
execution of state criminals of the period. Super- 
stition mingled its horrors with those of a ferocious 

* Periwinckle. t Head. 

t He was condemned to be drawn. § Burned. 

11 Meaning at one time he little thought to stand thus. 

11 Saith lack-a-day. 

** The gallant knight, like others in the same situation, 
was pitied by the female spectators, as " a proper young 
man." 



state policy, as appears from the following singu- 
lar narrative. 

" The Friday next, before the assumptiorj of our 
lady, king Edward met Robert the Bruce at 
saint Johnstoune, in Scotland, and with his com- 
pany, of which company king Edward quelde se- 
ven tliousand. When Robert the Bruce saw this 
mischief, and gan to flee, and hov'd him that men 
might not him find ; but S. Simond P^-isell pursued 
was so sore, so that he turned again and abode ba- 
taille, for he was a worthy knight and a bolde of 
bodye, and the Englishmen pursuede him sore on 
every side and quelde the steed that sir Simond 
Frisell rode upon, and then loke him and led him 
to the host. And S. Symond began for to flatter 
and speke fair, and saide, lordys, I shall give you 
four thousand markes of silver, and myne horse 
and harness, and all my armoure and income. 
Tho' answered Thobaude of Pevenes, that wasthe 
kinges archer. Now, God me so helpe, it is for 
nought that thou speakest, for all the gold of En- 
glatid I would not let thee go without command- 
ment of king Edward. And tho' he was led to tl>e 
king, and the king would not see him, but com- 
manded to lead him away to his doom in London, 
on our lady's even nativity. And he was hung ami 
drawn, and hisliead smitten oft', and hanged again 
wiih chains of iron upon the gallows, and his head 
was set at London-bridge upon a spear, and against 
Christinas the body was burnt, for tncheson (lea- 
sonj that the men that keeped the body saw many 
devils ramping with iron crooks, running upon the 
gallows, and horribly tormenting the body. And 
many that them saw, anon tliereatier died for dread, 
or waxen mad, or sore sickness they had." — M.S. 
Chronicle in tlie British Museum quoted by Rit- 
son. 

14. Was not the life of Athole shed. 

To sooth the tyrant's sickened bed?— P. 2SQ. 

John de Slrathbogie, earl of Athole, had attempt- 
ed to escape out of the kingdom, but a storm cast 
him upon the coast, when he was taken, sent to 
London, and executed, with circumstances of great 
barbarity, being first half strangled, then let down 
from the gallows while yet alive, barbarously dis- 
membered, and his body burned. It may surprise 
the reader to learn, that this was a mitigated pun- 
ishment; for, in respect that his mother was a 
grand-daughter of king John, by his natural son 
Richard, he was not drawn on a sledge to execu- 
tion, " that point was forgiven," and he made the 
passage on horseback. Matthew of Westminster 
tells us that king Edward, then extremely ill, re- 
ceived great ease from the news that his relative 
was apprehended. " Quo audita, ItexAnglix,etsi 
gvavissimo morbo tunc languerit, levius tamen tuUt 
dolorem." To this singular expression the text al- 
ludes. 

15. And must his word, at dying day. 

Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay.'— P. 259. 

Tiiis alludes to a passage in Barbour, singularly 
expressive of the vindictive spirit of Edward i. 
The prisoners taken at the castle of Kildrummie 
had surrendered upon condition that they should 
be at king Edward's disposal. " But his will," 
says Barbour, "was always evil towards Scottish- 
men." Tlie news of the surrender of Kildrummie 
arrived when he was in his mortal sickness at 
Burgh-upon-Sands. 

" And when he to the death was near, 
The folk that at Kyldromy wer 



298 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Come with prisoners vliat they had tane, 

And sync to the king are gane. 

And for to eonifort him they taiild 

How they the castell to them yauld; 

And how tliey till his will were brought, 

To do off' that whatever he thought, 

And ask'd what men should oft" them do. 

Then look'd he angryly them to, 

He said, grinning, ' Hangs and dravis.'' 

That was wonder of sic saws, 

That lie, that to the death was near, 

Sliould answer ujon sic manner; 

Forouten moaning and mercy. 

How might he trust on him to cry. 

That sooth-fastly dooms all things 

To have mercy for his crying. 

Off him that through his felony, 

Into sic point had no mercy?" 
There was much ti-uth in the Leonine couplet, 
•with which Matthew of Westminster concludes 
his encomium on the first Edward: 

" Scotos Edwardus, dum vixit, suppeditavit, 

Tenuit, atflixit, depressit, dilaniavit."— 
16. By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath.)— P. 259. 
The Mac-Leods, and most other distinguished 
Hebridean fainilies, were of Scandinavian extrac- 
tion, and some were late or imperfect converts to 
Christianity. The family names of Torquil, Thor- 
mod, &c. are all Norwegian. 

17. While I the blessed cross advance. 
And expiate this unliappy chance. 

In Palestine, with sworcl and lance.— P. 260. 
Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, 
compunction for having violated the sanctuary of 
the church by the slaughter of Comyn; and final- 
ly, in his last hours, in testimony of iiis faith, peni- 
tence, and zeal, he requested James lord Douglas 
to carry his heart to Jerusalem, to be there depo- 
sited in the Holy Sepulchre. 

18. De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread 

To speak my curse upon thy head.— P. 260. 
So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter 
reached Rome, Bruce and his adherents were ex- 
communicated. It was published first by the arch- 
bishop of York, and renewed at difierent times, 
particularly by Lambyrton,bishop of St. Andrew's, 
in 13U8; but it does not appear to have answered 
the purpose which the English monarch expected. 
Indeed, for reasons which it may be difficult to 
trace, the tliunders of Rome descended upon the 
Scottish mountains with less ett'ect than in more 
fertile countries. Probably the comparative po- 
verty of tlie benefices occasioned that fewer toreign 
cler°-y settled in Scotland; and the interest of the 
native churchmen was linked willi that of their 
country. Many of the Scottish prelates, Lambyr- 
ton the primate particularly, declared for Bruce, 
■while he was yet under the ban of the church, al- 
though he afterwards again changed sides. 
19 I feel within mine aged breast 

' A power that will not be repressed.— P. 260. 
Bruce like other heroes, observed omens, and 
one is recorded by tradition. After he had retreat- 
ed to one of the miserable places of shelter, in 
which he could venture to take some repose after 
his disasters, he lay stretched upon a handful of 
straw and abandoned himself to his melancholy 
meditations. He had now been defeated four times, 
and was upon the point of resolving to abandon all 
hopes of further opposition to his tate, and to go 
to the Holy Land. It chanced lus eye, while he 
was thus pondering, was attracted by the exer- 
tions of a spider, who, in order to fix his web, 
endeavoured to swing himself from one beam to 



another above hi,s head. Involuntarily he hecame 
interested in the pertinacity with which the insect 
renewed his exertions, after failing six times; and 
it occurred to him that he would decide his own 
course according to tlie success or failure of the 
spider. At the seventh eftbrt the insect gained his 
object; and Bruce, in like manner, persevered and 
carried his own. Hence it has been held unlucky 
or ungrateful, or both, in one of the name of Bruce 
to kill a spider. 

The arch-deacon of Aberdeen, instead of the 
abbot of this tale, introduces an Irish pythoness, 
who not only predicted his good fortune as he left 
the island of Rachrin, but sent her two sons along 
with him, to ensure her own family a share in it. 

" Then in short time men might them see 

Shoot all their galleys to the sea. 

And bear to sea both oar and steer. 

And other things that mistir* were. 

And as the king upon the sand 

Was ganging up -and down, bidand"t" 

Till that his men ready were. 

His host come right till him tliere. 

And when that she him liaised had, 

And privy sjieech till him she made; 

And said, ' I'ake good keep till my saw, 

For of ye pass I will ye show. 

Oft' your fortouii a great party. 

But our all specially 

A wittering here I shall ygu ma. 

What end that your purposs shall ta. 

For in this land is none trewly 

Wots things to come so well as I. 

Ye pass now furth on your voyage. 

To avenge the harme, and tlie outrage. 

That Inglissmen has to you done; 

But you wot not what kind fortune 

Ye men drey in your warring. 

But wyt he well, w ithoiit lying, 

Tliat from ye now have taken land. 

None so mighty, no so streiithle of hand. 

Shall make you pass out of your couutiy 

Till all to you abandoned be. 

Within short time ye shall be king. 

And have the land to your likeing. 

And overcome your foes all. 

But many anoyis thole ye shall, 

Or that your jiurpose end have tane; 

But ye shall them outdrive ilkane. 

And, that ye trow this sekyrly. 

My two sons with you shall I 

Send to take part of your labour; 

For I wote well they shall not fail 

To be rewarded well at right. 

When ye are heyit to your might.' " 

Bavboiir'n Bruce, Book iv, p. 120, edited by 
J. Pinkerton, London, 1790. 

20. A hunted wanderer on the wild.— P. 260. 

Tiiis is not metaphorical. The echoes of Scot- 
land did actually 

ring 

With the bloodhounds that bayed for her fugitive king. 

A very curious and romantic tale is told by Bar- 
bour upon this subject, which may be abridged as 
follows: 

When Bruce had again got footing in Scotland 
in the spring of 130C, he continued to be in a very 
weak and precarious condition, gaining, indeed, 
occasional advantages, but obliged to fly before liis 
enemies whenever they assembled in force. Lpon 
one occasion, while he was lying with a small par- 
ty in the wilds of Cumnock, in Ayrshire, Aymer 
de Valence, earl of Pembroke, with his inveterate 
foe John of Lorn, came against him suddenly with 
eight hundred highlauders, besides a large body 
of men at arms. Tliey brought with them a slough- 
dog, or bloodhound, which, some say, liad been 



t AbidioK. 



THE LORD OF THE- ISLES. 



299 



once a favourite with the Bruce himself, and there- 
fore was least likely to lose the trace. 

Bruce, whose force was under four hundred 
men, continued to make head against the cavalry, 
till the men of Lorn had nearly cut offhisi-etreat. 
Perceiving the danger of his situation, he acted 
as the celebrated and ill-requited Mina is said to 
have done in similar circumstances. He divided 
his force into three parts, appointed a place of 
rendezvous, and commanded them to retreat by 
different routes. But when John of Lorn arrived 
at the spot where they divided, he caused the hound 
to be put upon the trace, which immediately di- 
rected him to the pursuit of that party which Bruce 
headed. Tliis, tlierefore. Lorn pursued with his 
whole force, paying no attention to the others. 
The king again subdivided his small body in 
three parts, and with the same result, for the pur- 
suers attached themselves exclusively to that which 
he led in person. He tlien caused his followers to 
disperse, and retained only his foster-brother in 
his company. Tlie slough-dog followed the trace, 
and, neglecting the others, attached himselt and 
his attendants to pursuit of the king. Lorn became 
convinced that his enemy was nearly in his power, 
and detached five of his most active attendants to 
follow him, and interrupt his flight. They did so 
with all the agility of mountaineers. " What aid 
wilt thou make?" said Bruce to his single attend- 
ant, when he saw the five men gain ground on 
him. " The best I can," replied his foster-brother. 
" Then," said Bruce, " here I make my stand." 
The five pursuers came up fast. Tiie king took 
three to himself, leaving the other two to his fos- 
ter-brother. He slew the first who encountered 
him; but observing his foster-brother hard press- 
ed, he sprung to his assistance and despatched one 
of his assailants. Leaving him to deal with the 
survivor, he returned upon the other two, both of 
whom he slew before his foster-brother had de- 
spatched his single antagonist. When this hard 
encounter was over, with a courtesy, which in the 
whole work marks Bruee's charactei-, he thanked 
liis foster-brother for his aid. " It likes you to say 
so," answered his follower; "but you yourself 
slew four of the five." " True," said the king, 
" but only because I had better opportunity than 
you. They were not apprehensive of me when they 
saw me encounter three, so I had a moment's time 
to spring to thy aid, and to return equally unex- 
pectedly upon my own opponents." 

In the meanwhile Lorn's party approached ra- 
pidly, and the king and liis foster-brother be- 
took themselves to a neighbouring wood. Here 
they sat down, for Bruce was exhavisted by fatigue, 
until the cry of the slough-hound came so near, 
that his foster-brother entreated Bruce to provide 
for his safety by retreating farther. "I have heard, " 
answered the king, " that whosoever will wade a 
bow-shot length down a running stream, shall 
make the slough-hound lose scent. — Let us try the 
experiment; for were yon devilish hound silenced, 
I sliould care little for the rest." 

Lorn in the meanwhile advanced, and found the 
bodies of his slain vassals, over whom he made his 
moan, and tlireatened the most deadly vengeance. 
Then he followed the hound to the side of the 
brook down which the king had waded a great way. 
Here the hound was at tault, and John of Lorn, 
after long atlempling in vain to recover Bruee's 
trace, relinquished the pursuit. 

"Others," says tJarbour, "affirm, that upon] 



this occasion the king's life was saved by an ex- 
cellent archer who accompanied him, and who, 
perceiving they would be finally taken by means 
of tlie bloodhound, hid himself in a thicket, and 
shot him witii an arrow. In which way," adds the 
metrical biographer, "this escape happened I am 
uncertain, but at that brook the king escaped from 
his pursuers." 

" When the cliasers lallled were. 

And .John of Lorn had met them there, 

He told sir Aymer all the ease. 

How that the king- escaped was. 

And how tli.it hf his five men slew, 

And syne to the wood him drew. 

When sir Aymer heard this, in haste, 

He sained him for the wonder: 
• And said, ' He is greatly to prise. 

For I know none that living; is. 

That at mischief can help him so; 

I ti-ow lie should be Iiard to slay, 

And he were bodjTi* evenly.' 

On this wise spake sir Aymery." 

Barbom^s Bruce, p. 188. 
The English historians agree with Barbour as 
to the mode in wliich the English pursued Bruce 
and his followers, and the dexterity with which 
he evaded them. The following is the testimony 
of Harding, a great enemy to the Scottish nation: 

" The king Edward with host hj'm sought full sore. 
But aye he fled into woodes and strayle forest, 
And slew his men at staytes and dangers those, 
And at marreys and mires was aye full prest, 
Englislimen to kyll without any rest; 
In tlie mountaj nes and cragges lie slew ay where. 
And in the nyght his foes lie frayed full sore: 

" The king Edward with homes and houndes hira 

sought, 
With men on fote. through marris, mosse, and inyre, 
Through wodes also, and mountains ( wher thei fought,^ 
And euer the kpig Edward hight men great hyre, 
Hym for to take and by myght conquere; 
But thei myght him not gette by force ne by train. 
He satte by the fyre when thei were in the rain." 

Harding's Chronicle, p. 303, 4. 

Peter Langtoft has also a passage concerning the 

extremities to which king Robert was reduced, 

which he entitles 

De Roberto Brus etfiiga circum circa Jtt, 
And well I understood that the king Robyn 
Has drunken of that blood the drink of Dan Waryn. 
Dan Waryn he les towns that he held. 
With he made a res, and luisberyiug of scheld. 
Sithen into the forest he ged naked and wode, 
Als a wild beast, eat of the grass that stood. 
Thus Dan Waryn in his book men irad, 
God give the king Ilobpi, that all his kind so speed. 
Sir Robynet the Brus he durst none abide, 
That they made him restus, bath in moor and wood- 
side. 
To while he made his train, and did unwhile outrage. 

Peter LangtofVs Chronicle, vol. ii, p. 336, octavo, London, 

1810. 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 

1. For, gh-id of each pretext for spoil, 

A piiate sworn was Cormac Doil.— P. 261. 

A sort of persons common in the isles, as may 
be easily believed, until the introduction of civil 
polity. Witness the dean of the Isles' account of 
Ronay. " At the norlli end ofRaarsay, be half 
myle of sae frae it, layesane ile callit Ronay, mair 
then a myle in lengthe, full of wood and lieddir, 
with ane havin for heiland galleys in the middis of 
it, and the same havein is guid for fostering of 
thieves, rugguairs, and revairs, till a nail, upon the 
peilling and spulzeing of poor pepil. This isle per- 



300 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Jeins toM'GillycliMllanol Kaarsay by force, and to 
the bishojie of the iles be heretase." — Sir Donald 
Monro's Description of the iVesteni Inlands of 
Scotland, Eilinburgh, 1805, p. 22. 

2. " Alas! dear youth, the unhappy time," 

Answered the Bruce, " must bear the ci-ime, 
J Since, guiltier far than you, 
E'en I—" he paused; for Falkirk's woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose. — P. 261. 

I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate tradi- 
tion, that Bruce fought against Wallace, and the 
anay of Scotland, at the fatal battle of Falkirk. 
The story, which seems to have no better authori- 
ty tliaii that of Blind Harry, bears, that having made 
much slaughter daring the engagement, he sat 
down to dine with the conquerors without •wash- 
ing the filthy witness from liis hands. 

" Fasting he was, and had been in great need. 
Bloodied were all his weapons and his weed; 
Southern lords scorned him in terms rude. 
And said, Jiiliold yon Scot eats his own blood. 
' Then rued lu- sore, for reason had he known, 
That hlood and land alike shouJd be his own; 
With them he long was, ere he got away. 
But tontrair Scots, he fought not from that day." 

The account given by most of our historians, of 
the conversation between Bruce and Wallace over 
the Carron river, is equally apocryphal. 

There is full evidence that Bruce w as not at that 
time on the English side, nor present at the battle 
of Falkirk; nay, that he acted as a guardian of Scot- 
land, along with .lohn Comyn, in the name of Ba- 
liol, and in opposition to the English. He was the 
grandson of the competitor, with whom he has 
been sometimes confounded. Lord Hailes has well 
described, and in some degree apologized for, the 
earlier part of his life. 

" His grandfather, the competitor, had patiently 
acquiesced in the award of Edward. His father, 
yielding to the times, had served under the En- 
glish banners. But young Bruce had more ambi- 
tion and a more restless spirit. In his earlier years 
he acted upon no regular idan. By turns the par- 
tizan of Edward, and the vicegerent of Baliol, he 
seems to have forgotten or stifled his pretensions 
to the crown. But his character developed itself 
by degrees, and in maturer age became firm and 
consistent." — Annals of Scotland, p. 290, quarto, 
London, 177G. 

3. These are the savage wilds that lie 

North of Stralhnardill and Dunskye. — P. 262. 

The extraordinary piece of scenery which I have 
here attempted to describe is, 1 tiiink, unparallel- 
ed in any part of Scotland, at least in any which 1 
have happened to visit. It lies Just upon the fron- 
tier of the laird of Mac-Leod's country, which is 
thereabouts divided from the estate of Mr. Mac- 
AUister of Strathaird, called Strathnardill by the 
dean of the Isles. The following account of it is 
extracted from a journal keptduring a tour through 
the Scottish islands: — 

" The western coast of Syke is highly romantic, 
and at the same time displays a richness of vege- 
tation in the lower grounds to which we have hith- 
erto been strangers. We passed three salt-water 
lochs, or deep e'inbayments, called Loch Bracadale, 

Loch Einorl, and Eoch , and about 11 o'clock 

o{)encd Loch Slavig. We were now under the 
•western termination of the high ridge of mountains 
called Uuillen, or Quillin, or Coolin, whose wea- 
ther-beaten and serrated peaks we had admired at 
3 distance from Dunvegan. I'hey sunk here upon 



the sea, but with the same bold and peremptory 
aspect which their distant appearance indicated. 
They appeared to consist of precipitous sheets of 
naked rock, down which the torrents were leaping 
in a hundred lines of foam. The tops of the ridge, 
apparently inaccessible to human foot, were rent 
and split into the most tremendous pinnacles. To- 
wards the base of these bare and precipitous crags, 
the ground, enriched by the soil washed down from 
them, is comparatively verdant and productive. 
Where we passed within the small isle of Soa, we 
entered Loch Slavig, under the shoidder of one 
of these grisly mountains, and observed that the 
opposite side of the loch was of a milder character, 
the mountains being softened down into steep 
green declivities. From the bottom of the ba)' ad- 
vanced ahead-land of liigh rocks, whi-ch divided its 
depth into two recesses, from each of wljich a 
brook issued. Here it had been intimated to us 
we would find some romantic scenery; l)ut we were 
uncertain up wliich inlet we should proceed in 
search of it. We chose, against our better judg- 
ment, the southerly dip of the bay, wliere we saw 
a liouse which might afford us information. We 
foinid, upon inquiry, that there is a lake adjoining 
to each i)raiich of the bay; and walked a couple of 
miles to see that near the farm-house, merely be- 
cause the honest highlander seemed jealous of the 
honour of his own loch, though we were speedily 
convinced it was not that which we were recom- 
mended to examine. It had no particular merit 
excepting from its neighbourhood to a very high 
cliff, or precipitous mountain, otherwise tlie sheet 
of water had nothing diftering from any ordinary 
low-country lake. We returned and re-embarked 
in our boat, for our guide sliook his hea<l at our 
proposal to climb over the peninsida, or rocky 
head-land which divided the two lakes. In rowing 
round the head-land we were surprised at the in- 
finite number of sea-fowl, then busy apparently 
with a shoal of fish. 

" Arrived at the depth f(f the bay, we found 
that the discharge from tliis second lake forms a 
sort of water-fall, or rather a rapid stream, which 
rushes down to the sea with great fury and preci- 
pitation. Round this place were assembled hun- 
dreds of trouts and salmon, struggling to get up 
into the fresh water: with a net we might have had 
twenty salmon at a haul; and a sailor, with no bet- 
ter hook than a crooked pin, caught a dish of trouts 
during our absence. Advancing up this iiuddling and 
riotous brook, we found ourselves in a most extra- 
ordinary scene; we lost sight of the sea almost im- 
mediately after we had climbed over a low ridge_ 
of crags, and were surrounded by moui\tains of 
naked rock, of the boldest a>id most precipitous 
character. The ground on which we walked was 
tile margin of a lake, which seems to have sus- 
tained the constant ravage of torrents from these 
rude neighbours. The shores consisted of huge strata 
of naked granite, here and there intermixed with 
bogs, and heaps of gravel and sand piled in the 
emjity water-courses. Vegetation there was little 
or none; and the mountains rose so per|)endicu- 
larly from the water edge, that Borrodale, or 
even Glencoe, is a jest to them. We proceeded a 
mile and a half up this deep, dark, and solitary 
lake, which was about two miles long, half a mile 
broad, and is, as we learned, of extieme depth. 
The murky vapours which enveloped tlie moun- 
tain ridges obliged us by assuming a thousand 
varied shapes, changing their drapery into all sort 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



301 



of forms, and sometimes clearing ott' all together. 
It is true, the mist made us pay the peiialt)' by 
some heavy and downright showers, iVom the fre- 
quency of which, a highland boy, whom we brought 
from the farm, told us the lake was popularly 
called the Water-kettle. Tiie proper name is Loch 
Corriskin, from the deep corrie, or hollow, in 
the mountains of Guillen, which affords the basin 
for this wonderful sheet of water. It is as exqui- 
site a savage scene as lioch Katrine is a scene of 
romantic beauty. After having penetrated so far 
as distinctly to observe the termination of tlie lake, 
under an immense precipice, which arises abrupt- 
ly from the water, we returned, and often stopped 
to admire the ravages which storms must liave 
made in these recesses, where all human witnesses 
■were driven to places of more shelter and secu- 
rity. Stones, or rather large masses and fragments 
of rocks, of a composite kind, perfectly different 
from the strata of the lake, were scattered upon 
the bare rucky beach, in the sti-angest and most 
precarious situations, as if abandoned by the tor- 
rents which had borne tiiem down from above. 
Some lay loose and tottering upon tiie ledges of 
the natural rock, with so little security, that the 
slightest push moved them, though their weight 
might exceed many tons. These detached rocks, 
or stones, were chiefly wiiat is called plum-pud- 
ding stones. The bare rocks, which formed the 
shore of the lakes, were a species of granite. 
The opposite side of the lake seemed quite path- 
less and inaccessible, as a huge mountain, one of 
the detached ridges of tiie Guillen Hills, sinks in 
a profound and perpendicular precipice down to 
the water. On the left-hand side, which we tra- 
versed, rose a higher and equally inaccessible 
mountain, the top of wliich strongly resembled 
the shivered crater of an exiiausted volcano. I 
never saw a spot in whicli tliere was less appear- 
ance of vegetation of any kind. The eye rested on 
nothing but barren and naked crags, and therocks, 
on which we walked by the side of the loch, were 
as bare as the pavements of Gheap-side. There 
are one or two small islets in the loch, which 
seem to bear juniper or some such low busliy 
shrub. Upon the whole, tliough I have seen ma- 
ny scenes of more extensive desolation, 1 never 
witnessed any in which it pressed more deeply 
upon the eye and the heart than at Loch Corriskin; 
at the same time that its grandeur elevated and 
redeemed it from tiie wild and dreary cliaracter 
of utter barrenness." 

4. Men were they all of evil mien, 

Down-looked, unwilling; to be seen. — P. 263. 

The story of Bruce's meeting the banditti is 
copied with such alterations as tiie fictitious nar- 
rative rendered necessary, from a striking incident 
in the monarch's history, told by Barbour, and 
■which I will give in the words of the hero's bio- 
grapher, only modernizing the orlhograpiiy. It is 
the sequel to tlie adventure of the blood-hoiind, 
narrated in Note 20, ujion Ganto II. It will be 
remembered that the narrative broke off, leiving 
the Bruce escaped from his pursuers, but worn 
out Willi fatigue, and having no other attendant but 
his foster-brother. 

" And the good kin? held forth his way, 
Befv^it hiiu and liis man, while they 
l'iif5sed out throui^li the forest were; 
Syne in the moor tliey euli.red lliere. 
It was both high, and long, and broad: 
And or they half it passed had, 



They saw on side three jnen coming. 

Like to light men, and wavering. 

Swords they had, and axes also; 

And one of them, upon his hals* 

A mekill bouiidcu weather bore. 

They meet the king, and halsedt him there. 

And the king them their haulsing yauld;} 

And asked whether they would.' 

They said, Robert the Uruce they sought; 

For meet with him gifflhat they might. 

Their duelling with him would they ma'.} 

The king said, ' Gitf that ye will see, 

Hohl furlh your way with nie. 

And 1 shall make you soon him se.' — 

They perceived, by his speaking. 

That he was the self-same Robert king, 

And changed countenaiiee, and late;|l 

And held nought in the tirst state. 

For they were foes to the king. 

And lliiiu'ht to come into skulking; 

And dw<ll with him, while that they saw 

Their point, and bring him thereof daw.1[ 

They granted till his speech forthy,** 

But the king, that was witty, 

Pereei^•ed well, by their having, 

That ihey loved him nothing. 

And said, ' Fellows, you must all three, 

Further acquaint till that we be, 

All be your selven furtli go. 

And on the same wish we two 

Shall follow behind, well near.' — 

Quoth tliey, ' Sir, it is no misterfi" 

To trow in uS^-any ill.' — 

' None do I,' said he; 'but I will 

That ye po forth tlius, while we 

Better with other knowen be.'— 

' We grant,' they said, ' since ye will so,' — 

And forth upon their gate gan go. 

Thus went they till llic night was near. 

And then the foremost coining were 

Till a waste husbaiid-house;{4 and there 

They slew the wether that they bear. 

And struck fire to roast their meat; 

And asked tlie king if he would eat. 

And rest him till the meat was dight. 

The king, that hungry was, I higlit, 

Assented to their speech in hy. 

But he said he would aiierly}{ 

At a fire, and they all three 

On no wise with them together be. 

In the end of the house they should ma' 

Another fire; aiid they did sua. 

They driw them in the house end. 

And half the wether till them send. 

And they roasted in haste their meat. 

And fell right freshly for to eat. 

For the king well long fasted had; 

And had right much travel made; 

Therefore he eat full egrely. 

And when he had eaten hastily, 

He had to sleep so mekil will. 

That he might set no let thei-etill. 

For when the wames|||| filled are, 

Men worthyslJl[ heavy evermore; 

And to sleep draws heavy ness. 

The king, that all fur-travelled*** was; 

Saw that him worthyl sleep need was; 

Till his fostyr-brother he says, 

' May I trust in thee, me to awake, 

Till I a little sleeping take:" — 

' Ya, sir,' he said, 'till I may dree.'ftt— 

The king then winked a little way, 

And steeped not full entirely; 

But glanced up oft suddenly, 

For he had dread of these three men, 

That at the other fire were then. 

That they his foes were he wyst: 

Therefore he sleeped, as fowl! on twist.ttt 

The king sleeped but a little than. 

When sic sleep fell on his man, 

'l^iut he might not hold up his eye. 

But fell in sleep and routed high. 



* Neck. 

} Make. 
II Kill him 



t Saluted. 



t Returned their salute 
II Gesture or manner. 
Therefore. ft There is no need. 
tt Husbandman's house, cottage. 5§ Alone. 
nil Bellies. ^fl Becomes. *•* Fatigued, 
ttt Endure. X\X Bird on bough. 



302 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Now is the king in gi-eat perillc 
For sleep he so a little while, 

He shall be dead, forouteu drcid, 
For the three traitors look g;ood heed, 

That he on sleep was, and his man: 

In full great haste they raise up than, 

And drew their swords hastily; 

And went towards the kinr in hy, 

When that they saw him sleep sua. 

And sleeping tliouglit they would him slay. 

The king uphlinked hastily. 

And saw his man sleeping him by. 

And saw coming the t' oilier three. 

Quickly on foot got he; 

And drew his sword out, and them met: 

And as he went, his foot he set 

Upon his man well heavily. 

He wakened and rose dizzily, 

For the sleep mastered him so, 

That or he got up ane of tho 

That came for to slay the king, 

Gave him a stroke in his risitig. 

So that he might help him no more. 

The king so straitly stad* was there. 

That he was never yet so stad. 

Nor were the armingt that he had. 

He had been dead, forouten mair. 

But not fnrthyt on such manner 

He heli)ed him, in that bargain,^ 

That the thnc traitors he has slain, 

Through God"s grace, and his manhood. 

His fostyr-brother there was dead. 

Then was he wondre will <iff wayne' 

When he saw him left alone. 

His fostyr-brother lamented he, 

And waryetH all the t' other three. 

And syne his way took him alone. 

And right towards his tryst** is gone.' 

The Bruce, Book vii, line 105. 

5. And mermaid's alabaster grot. 

Who bathes her limbs in sunless well 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.— P. 26S. 
Imagination can hardly conceive any thing more 
heautiful than the extraordinary grotto discovered 
not many years since upon the estate of Alexan- 
der Mac-Allister, esq. of Strathaird. It has since 
been much and deservedly celebrated, and a full 
account of its beauties has been published by Dr. 
Atac-Leay of Oban. The general impression may 
perhaps be gathered from the following extract 
from a journal already quoted, which, written un- 
der the feelings of the moment, is likely to be 
more accurate than any attempt to recollect the 
impressions then received. 

" The first entrance to this celebrated cave is 
rude and unpromising; but the liglit of the torclies, 
witli which we were provided, was soon reflected 
from the roof, floor, and wuUs, which seem as if 
they were sheeted with marble, partly smooth, 
partly rough with frost-work and rustic ornaments, 
and partly seeming to be wrought into statuary. 
The floor forms a steep and diflicult ascent, and 
might be fancifully compared to a sheet of water, 
which, while it rushed whitening and foaming 
down a declivity, had been suddenly arrested and 
consolidated by the spell of an enchanter. Upon 
attaining tlie summit of this ascent, the cave opens 
into a splendid gallery, adorned with the most 
dazzling crystallizations, and finally descends with 
rapidity to tlic brink of a pool, of the most limpid 
water, about four or five yards broad. There opens 
beyond this pool a portal arch, formed by two co- 
lumns of wliile .spar, with beautiful chasing upon 
the sides, which promises a continuation of the 
cave. One of our sailors swam across, for there is 



* So securely situated. 

+ Had it not been for the armour he wore. 

} Nevertheless. ^ Krav or dispute. 

II Much afflicled. 11 Cursed. 

•• 'l"he place of rendezvous uppoiniid for liis soldiers. 



no other mode of passing, and informed us (as in- 
deed we partly saw by tlie light he carrie<l] that 
the enchantment of Mac-Allister's cave ternimates 
with liiis portal, a little beyond which there was 
only a rude cavern, speedily choked with stones 
and earth. But the pool, on the brink of which 
we stood, surrounded by the most fanciful mould- 
ings, in a substance resembling white marble, and 
distinguished by the depth and purity of its waters, 
might have been the bathing grotto of a naiad. 
The groups of combined figures projecting, or 
embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, are 
exquisitely elegant and fixnciful. A statuary might 
catch beautiful hints from the singular and roman- 
tic disposition of these stalactites. There is scarce 
a form, or group, on which active fancy may not 
trace figures or grotesque ornaments, whicli have 
been gradually moulded in this cavern by tlie (h-op- 
ping of the calcareous water hardening into petri- 
factions. Many of those fine groups have been in- 
jured hy tlie senseless rage of appropriation of re- 
cent tourists; and the grotto has lost (lam inform- 
ed,) through the smoke of torches, something of 
that vivid silver tint which was r,; iginallj' one of 
its chief distinctions. But enough of beauty re- 
mains to compensate for all that may be lost." — 
Mr. Mac-Allister of Strathaird has, with great 
propriety, built up the exterior entrance to this 
cave, in order that strangers may enter projjerly 
attended by a guide, to prevent any repetition of 
the wanton and selfish injury which this singulat 
scene has already sustained. 

NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
1. " Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs. 
Bear witness with me, heaven, belongs 
My joy o'er Edward's bier."— P. 266. 

The generosity which does justice to the cha- 
racter ot an enemy, often marks Bruce's senti- 
ments, as recorded by the faithful Barbour. He 
seldom mentions a fallen enemy williout praising 
such good qualities as he might possess. 1 will 
only take one instance. Shortly after Bruce landed 
in Carrick, in 1;30G, sir Ingram Bell, the English 
governor of Ayr, engaged a wealthy yeoman, who 
had hitherto been a follower of Bruce, to under- 
take the task of assassinating him. The king learn- 
ed this treacliery, as he is said to have done other 
secrets of the enemy, by means of a female with 
whom he had an intrigue. Siiortly after he was 
possessed of this information, Bruce, resoiting to 
a small thicket at a distance from liis men, with 
only a single page to attend liim, met the traitor, 
accompanied by two of his sons. I'hey approached 
him with tlieir wonted familiarity, but Bruce, tak- 
ing his page's bow and arrow, commanded them 
to keep at a distance. As they still pressed for- 
ward with professions of zeal for his person and 
service, he, after a second warning, shot the father 
with the arrow; and being assatilted successively 
by the two sons, despatched first one, who was 
armed witli au axe, then as the otiier charged him 
with a spear, avoided the thrust, struck the hes'd 
from the spear, and cleft the skull of the assassin 
with a blow of his two-handed sword. 

" He rushed down of blood all red, 
And when the king saw they were dead. 
All three Ijing, he wiped his brand. 
With that his boy came fast running. 
And said, ' Our lord might lowyt* be, 
'I'liat granleth you might and powi stet 



' Lauded. 



t Power. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



303 



To foil the felony and the i>ride, 
Oftliree in so little tide.' — 
The king said, ' So oui- lord me see, 
Tliiy had been worthy men all three, 
Had they not been full of treason: 
But that made their confusion.' " 

Barbour's Bruce, Book v, p. 153. 

2. " Such hate was his on Solway's strand. 
When vengeance clenched his palsied hand. 
That pointed yet to Scotland's land"'.— P. 266. 

To establish his domJnion in Scotland had been 
a favourite object of Edward's ambition, and no- 
thing could exceed the pertinacity with which he 
pursued it, unless his inveterate resentment against 
the insurgents, who so frequently broke the En- 
glish yoke when he deemetl it most firmly reviled. 
After the battles of Falkirk and Methven, and the 
dreadful examples which he had made of Wallace 
and other champions of national independence, he 
probably concluded every chance of insurrection 
was completely armihilated. This was in 1306, 
■when Bruce, as we have seen, was utterly expell- 
ed from Scotland: yet, in the conclusion of the 
same year, Bruce was again in arms and formida- 
ble; and in 1307, Edward, though exhausted by a 
long and Wasting malady, put himself at the head 
of the army destined to destroy him utterly. This 
was, perhaps, partly in consequence of a vow which 
he had taken upon him, with all the pomp of chi- 
valry, upon the day in which he dubbed his son a 
knight, for which see a subsequent note. But even 
his spirit of vengeance was unable to restore his 
exhausted strength. He i-eached Burgh-upon- 
Sands, a petty village of Cumberland, on the shores 
of the Sol way Firth, and there, 6th July, 1307, ex- 
pired, in sight of the detested and devoted country 
of Scotland. His dying injunctions to his son re- 
quired him to continue the Scottish war, and never 
to recal Gaveston. Edward H disobeyed both 
charges. Yet more to mark his animosity, the dy- 
ing monarch ordered his bones to be carrried with 
the invading army. Froissart, who probably had 
the authority of eye-witnesses, has given us the 
following account of this remarkable charge: 

" In the said forest, the old king Robert of Scot- 
land dyd kepe hymselfe, whan kyng Edward the 
Fyrst conquered nygh all Scotland; for he was so 
often chased, that none durst loge him in castell, 
uor fortresse, for feare of the sayd kyng. 

** And ever whan the kiiig was returned into In- 
gland, than he would gather together agayn his 
people, and conquere townes, castells, and for- 
tresses, iuste to Berwick, some by battle and some 
by fair speech' and love: and when the said king 
Edward heard thereof, than would he assemble his 
power, and wyn the realme of Scotland again; thus 
the chance went between these two forsaiid kings. 
It was shewed me, how that this king Robert wan 
and lost his realme v times. So this continued till 
the said king Edward died at Berwick: and when 
he saw that he should die, he called before him 
his eldest son, who was king after him, and there, 
before all the barones, he caused him to swear, 
that as soon as he were dead, that he should take 
his body, and boyle it in a cauldron, till the flesh 
departed clean from the bones, and then to bury 
the flesh, and keep still the bones; and that as of- 
ten as the Scotts should rebell against him, he 
should assemble the people against them, and cary 
with him the bones of his father; for he believed 
verily, that if they had his bones with them, that 
the Scotts should never attain any victory against 
them. The which thing was not accomplislied, 



for when the king died, his son earned him to 
London." — BEiiKEns'FiioissAHT'sCAro?j?c/e, Lon- 
don, 1812, pp. 39, 40. 

Edward's commands were not obeyed, for he 
was interred in Westminster Abbey, with the ap- 
propriate inscription: — "Edwahdus phimus, Sfo- 
TORUM Malleus, hic est. Pacti™ Seuva." Yet 
some steps seem to have been taken towards ren- 
dering his body capable of occasional transporta- 
tion, for it was exquisitely embalmed, as was as- 
certained when his tomb was opened some years 
ago. Edward II judged wisely in not carrying the 
dead body of his father into Scotland, since he 
would not obey his living counsels. 

It ouglit to be observed, that though the order 
of the inciifents is reversed in the poem, yet, in 
point of historical accuracy, Bruce had landed in 
Scotland, and obtained some successes of conse- 
quence, before the death of Edward 1. 



3. Canna's tower, that, steep and g-r.iy, 

Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.— P. 267. 

The little island of Canna, or Cannay, adjoins 
to those of Rum and Muick, with which it forms 
one parisli. In a pretty bay opening towards the 
east, there is a lofty and slender rock detached 
from the shore. Upon the summit are the ruins of 
a very small tower, scarcely accessible by a steep 
and precipitous path. Here it is said one of the 
kings, or lords of the Isles, confined a beautiful 
lady, of whom he was jealous. The ruins are of 
course haunted by her restless spirit, and many 
romantic stories are told by the aged people of the 
island concerning her fate in life, and her appear- 
ances after death. 

4. And Ronjn's mountains dark have sent 

Their hunters to the shove.— P. 267. 

Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name which a 
poet may ne pardoned for avoiding if possible) is 
a very rough and mountainous island, adjacent to 
those of Eigg and Cannay. There is almost no 
arable ground upon it, so that, except in the plenty 
of the deer, which of course are now nearly extir- 
pated, it still deserves tlie description bestowetl 
by the archdean of the Isles. 

" Ronin, sixteen myle norlh-wast from the ile of 
Coll, lyes ane ile callit Ronin lie, of sixteen myle 
long, and six in bredthe in the narrowest, ane fo- 
rest of heigh mountains, and abundance of little 
deire in it, qubilk deir will never be slane doune- 
with, but the principal saiitis man be in the height 
of the hill, because the deit will be callit upwart ay 
be the tainchell, or without tynchel they will pass 
upwart perforce. In this ile will be gotten about 
Britane als many wild nests upon the plane mure 
as men pleasis to gadder, and yet by resson the 
fowls hes few to start them except deir. This ile 
lyes from the west to the eist in lenlb, and per- 
tains to M'Kenabrey of Colla. Many Solan geese 
areinthisisle." — J\ionro^s Description ofthe YVesU 
em Isles, p. 1 8. 

5. On Scoor-Eig-g next a warning light 

Summoned her wariiors to the figlit; 

A numerous race, ere stern Macleod 

O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode.— P. 267. 
These, and the following lines ofthe stanza, re- 
fer to a dreadful tale ol feudal vengeance, of which 
unfortunately there are relics that still attest the 
truth. Scoor-Eigg is a high peak in the centre of 
the small isle of Eigg, or Egg. It is well known 
to mineralogists, as aftordiug many Iniereslnig 
specimens, and to others wiiom chance or curios- 



304 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



1 



ity may lead to the island, for the astonishing view 
of the mainland and neighbouring isles, which it 
commands. I will again avail myself of the jour- 
nal ! have quoted. 

" 26^/i Ainj-iist, 18X4. — At seven this morning 
we were in tlie sound wliich divides the Isle of 
Rum from tliat of Egg. The latter, nlthough hilly 
and rocky, and traversed by a remarkably high 
and barren ridge, called Scoor-Eigg, has, in point 
of soil, a mucli more promising appearance. South- 
ward of both lies the Isle of Muich, or Muck, a 
low and fertile island, and though the least, yet 
probably the most valuable of the three. We man- 
ned the boat, and rowed along the shore of Egg 
in quest of a cavern, which had been tiie memor- 
able scene of a horrid feudal vengeance. We had 
rounded more than half the island, admiring tiie 
entrance of many a bold natural cave, which its 
rocks exhibited, without finding that which we 
sought, ui\til we procured a guide. Nor, indeed, was 
it surprising that it should iiave escaped the 
search of strangers, as there are no outward indi- 
cations more than might distinguish the entrance 
of a fox-earth. This noted cave has a very narrow 
opening, through which one can hardly creep on 
his knees and hands. It rises steep and lofty with- 
in, and runs into the bowels of the rock to the 
depth of 255 measured feet; the height at the en- 
trance may be about three feet, but rises witiiin 
to eighteen or twenty, and the breadth may vary 
in the same proportion. The rude and stony bot- 
tom of this cave is strewed with the bones of men, 
women, and children, the sad reliques of the an- 
cient inliabitants of the island, two hundred in 
number, who were slain on the following occasion; 
The Mac-Donalds of the Isle of Egg, a people 
dependant on Clan-Ronald, had done some injury 
to the laird of Mac-Leod. The trailition of the 
isle says, that it was by a personal attack on the 
chieftain, in which his back was broken. But that 
of the other isles bears, more probably, tiiat the 
injury was offered to two or three of the Mac- 
Leods, who, landing upon Egg, and using some 
freedom with the young women, were seized by 
the islanders, and bound hand and foot, and turned 
adrift in a boat, which the winds and waves safely 
conducted to Skye. To avenge the offence given, 
Mac-Leod sailed with such a body of men, as ren- 
dered resistance hopeless. The natives, fearing 
his vengeance, concealed tiiemselves in this cavern, 
and, after a strict search, the Mac-Leods went on 
board their galleys after doing what mischief they 
could, concluding the inhabitants had left the isle, 
and betaken themselves to the Long Island, or some 
of Clan-Ronald's other possessions. But next 
morning they espied from the vessels a man upon 
the island, and immediately landing again, they 
traced his retreat by the marks of his footsteps, a 
light snow being unhappily on the ground. Mac- 
Leod then surrounded the cavern, summoned the 
subterranean garrison, and demanded that the in- 
dividuals who had offended him sliould be deliver- 
ed up to him. This was peremptorily refused. 
The chieftain then caused his peo\)le to divert the 
course of a rill of water, wliich, falling over the 
entrance of tlie cave, would have i)revented his 
purposed vengeance. He then kindled at the en- 
trance of the cavern a huge fire, composed of turf 
and fern, and maintained it with unrelenting as- 
siduity, until all witliin were destroyed by suffo- 
cation. The date of this dreadful deed must have 
dean recent, if one may judge from the fresh ap- 



pearance of those reliques. I brought off, in spite 
of the prejudice of our sailors, a skull from among 
the numerous specimens of mortality which the 
cavern afforded. Before re-embarking we visited 
another cave, opening to the sea, but of a charac- 
ter entirely different, being a large open vault as 
high as that of a cathedral, and running back a 
sjreat way into the rock at tlie same height. The 
height and width of the opening gives ample light 
to the whole. Here, after 1745, when the catholic 
priests were scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg 
used to perform the Roman catholic service, most 
of the islanders being of that persuasion. A huge 
ledge of rocks, rising about half way uj) one side 
of tlie vault, served for altar and pulpit; and the 
appearance of a priest and highland congregation 
in such an extraordinary place of worship, might 
have engaged the pencil of Salvator. " 

6. the group of islets g;ay 

That guard f'lraed Staft'a round.— P. 257. 
It would be unpardonable to detain the reader 
upon a wonder so often described, and yet so in- • 
capable of being understood by description. This 
palace of Neptune is even grander upon a second 
than the first view — the stupendous columns which 
form the sides of the cave, the depth and strength 
of the tide which rolls its deej) and heavy swell 
up to the extremity of the vault — the variety of 
tints formed by white, crimson, and yellow sta- 
lactites, or petrifactions, which occupy the vacan- 
cies between the 'base of the broken pillars that 
form the roof, and intersect them with a rich, cu- 
rious, and variegated chasing, occupying each in- 
terstice — the corresponding variety below water, 
where the ocean rolls over a dark-red or violet- 
coloured rock, from which, as from a base, the 
basaltic columns arise — the tremendous noise of 
the swelling tide, mingling with the deep-toned 
echoes of the vault, — are circumstances elsewhere 
unparalleled. 

Nothing can be more interesting than the varied 
appearance of the little archipelago of islets, of 
which Staffa is the most remarkable. This group, 
called in Gaelic, Tresharnish, aflbrds a thousand 
varied views to the voyager, as they' appear in dif- 
ferent positions with reference to his course. The 
variety of their shape contributes much to the 
beauty of these effects. 

7. Scenes sung by him who sings no more!— 1'. 268. 
The ballad, entitled " Macphail of Colonsay, 

and the Mermaid of Corrievrekin," was composed 
by John Leyden, from a tradition which he found 
while making a tour through tlie Hebrides about 
1801, soon before his fatal departure for India, 
where, after having made farliier progress in orien- 
tal literature than any man of letters who had em- 
braced these studies, he died a martyr to his zeal 
for knowledge, in the island of Java, immediately 
after the landing of our forces near Batavia, in 
September, 1811. 

8. Up Tarliat's western lake they bore. 

Then dragged their bark the isthiiius o'er.— P. 268. 

The peninsula of Cantire is joined to South 
Knapdale by a very narrow isthmus, formed by 
the western' and eastern loch of Tarbat. These 
two salt-water lakes, or bays, encroach so far upon 
the land, and the extremities come so near to each 
other, that there is not above a mile of land to di- 
vide them. 

" It is not long," says Pennant, " since vessels 
of nine or ten tons were drawn by horses out of 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



305 



tlie west loch into that of the east, to avoid the 
dangers of the Mull of Cant} re, so iheaded and 
so little known was the navigation round that pro- 
moiilory- It is the opinion ot many, that these lit- 
tle isthmuses, so frequently styled Tarbat in North 
Britain, took, their name from the above circum- 
stance; Tarruing, signifying to draw, and Uata, a 
boat. This too might be called, by way of pre- 
eminence, the Tarbat, from a very singular cir- 
cumstance related by Torfaus. When Magnus, 
the bare-footed king of Norway, obtained from 
Donald-Bane of Scotland the cession of the west- 
ern isles, or all those places that could be sur- 
rounded in a boat, he added to them the peninsula 
of Cantyre by this fraud: he placed himself in llie 
stern of a boat, held the rudder, was drawn over 
this narrow track, and by this species of navigation 
wrested the country from his brotiier monarch." 

Pennant's iS'coi/fwic/, London, 1790, p. 190. 

But that Bruce also made this passage, although 
at a period two or tliree years later tlian in the 
poem, appears from the evidence of Barbour, who 
mentions also tlie effect produced upon the minds 
of the highlanders, from tke prophecies current 
amongst them: — 

" But to king Robert will we gang, 

That we have Itft unspoken ol' lang. 

AVhen he had convoyed to the sea ^* 

His brother Edward, and his ineujie, - • 

And other men of great noblay. 

To Tarbat they held their way, 

In galleys ordained for their fare, 

But them worth* draw their ships there, 

And a mile was betwixt the seas. 

And that was lompyntt all with trees. 

The king his ships there geil^ draw; 

And for the wind couthf stoutly blavv 

Upon their back, as they would ga, 

He gert men rops and masts ta. 

And set them in the ships high. 

And sails to the tops tye: 

And gert men gang thereby drawing. 

The wind them helped that was blowing, 

So that, in little space. 

Their fleet all ever di'awn was. 

And when they that in the isles were, 
Heard tell how the king had there, 
Gari|| his ships with sails go 
Out over betw ixt Tai-bat two, 
They were abaysitf so utterly, 
• For they wist, through old prophecy, 
That he that should gar** ships so 
Betwixt the seas with sails go, 
Should win the isles so till hand, 
'I'hat none with strength should him withstand. 
Therefore they come all to the king. 
Was none withstood his bidding, 
Owtakynft Johne of Lome alane. 
But well soon after was he ta'n; 
And present right to the king. 
And they there were of his leading. 
That till the king had broken fay,|j; 
Were all dead and destroyed away." 
Barl/our's Bruce, vol. iii. Book xv, pp. 14, 15. 

9. The sunj ei-e yet he sunk behind 

Ben-ghoil, " the Mountain of the Wind," 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind, 
And bade Loch-Ranza smile.— P. 2C8. 

Loch-Ilanza is a beautiful ba^', on the northern 
extremity of Arran, opening towards East Tarbat 
Loch. It is well described b>' Pennant. 

" Tlie approach was magnificent: a fine bay in 
front, about a mile deep, having a ruined castle 
near the lower end, on a low far-projecting neck 
of land, that forms another harbour, with a narrow 
passage; but within has three fathom of water, 



* Were obliged to. 

} Caused. J Could. 

ii Confounded, * * Make. 



t Supposed entangled. 

{I Caused. 

tt Escaped. JJ Faith, 



even at the lowest ebb. Beyond is a little plain, 
watered by a stream, and inhabited by the people 
of a small village. The whole is environed with 
a tiiratre of mountains; and in tiia liack-ground 
the serrated crags of Grianan-.\lhol soar above." 
— Pennant's Tour to the JVeattirn Islefi,\i\y. 191,2. 
Ben-Gliaoil, " the mountain of tiie winds," is 
generally known by its English, and less poetical 
name, of Goalfield. 

10. Each to Loch-Ran/.a's margin spring; 

That blast was winded by the king. — P. 269. 

The passage in Barbour, describing the landing 
of Bruce, and his being recognized by Douglas 
and those of his followers, who had (ireceded iiim, 
by the sound of his horn, is in the original singu- 
larly simple and affecting. — The king arrived in 
Arran with thirty-three small row-boats. He inter- 
rogated a female if there had arrived any warlike 
men of late in that country. " Surely, sir," she 
replied, " I can tell you of many who lately came 
hither, discomfited the English governor, and 
blockaded his castle of Brodick. They maintain 
themselves in a wood at no great distance." The 
king truly conceiving that this must be Douglas 
and his tollowers, who hail lately set forth to try 
their fortune in Arran, desired the woman to con- 
duct him to the wood. She obeyed. 

" The king then blew his horn on high; 
And gert his men that were him by, 
Hold them still, and all privy; 
And s)Tie again his horn blew he. 
James of Dow glas heard him blow, 
And at the last alone gan know. 
And said, ' Soothly joii is the king; 
I know long while since Ins blowing.' 
The third time theiewithall lie blew. 
And then sir Robert Boid it knew ; 
And said, 'Yon is the king, but dread, 
Go we forth till him, better speed.' 
Then went they till the king in hye. 
And him inclined courteously. 
And blithly welcomed them the king. 
And was joyful of their meeting, 
Anil kissed them; and speared* sjTie 
How they had fared in hunting? 
And. they him told all, but lesingrt 
Syne laud they God of their meeting. 
Syne with the king till his harbourye 
Went both joyful and jolly." 

BaiOour's Bruce, Book v, pp. 115, 16. 

11. his brother blamed. 

But shai-ed the weakness, while, ashamed, 
With haughty laugh his head he turned. 
And dashed away the tear he scorned.— P. 269. 
The kind, and yet fiery character of Edward 
Bruce, is well painted by Barbour, in the account 
of his behaviour after tlie battlte of Bannockburn. 
Sir Walter Ross, one of the very few Scottish no- 
bles who fell in that battle, was so dearly beloved 
by Edward; that he wished- the victory had been 
lost, so Ross had lived. 

Out-taken him, men has not seen 
Where he for any men made moaning. 

And here the venerable archdeacon intimates a 
piece of scandal. Sir Edward Bruce, it seeras, 
loved Ross's sister, pcv atnottrs, to the neglect ot 
his own lady, sister to David de Strathbogie, earl 
of Athole. This criminal passion had evil conse- 
quences; for, in resentment of the attVont done to 
his sister, Athole attacked the guard which Bruce 
had left at Cambus-Kenneth, during the battle of 
Bannockburn, to protect liis magazine of provi- 
sions, and slew sir William Keith, the command* 
er. For which treason he was forfeited. 



' Asked. 



t Without lying. 



306 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In like manner, when, in a sally from Carrick- 
fersrus, Neil Fleming, and the guards -whom he 
commanded, had fallen, after a protracted resist- 
ance, M hich saved the rest of Edward Brace's 
army, he made such moan as surprised his follow- 
ers: 

" Sic moan he made men had ferly,* 

For he was not customably 

Wont for to moan men any things, 

Nor would not hear men make moaning." 

Such are the nice traits of character so often lost 
in general Li story. 

12. " Thou heard'st a wretched female plaia 
In agony of travail-pain, 
And thou didst bid thy little hand 
Upon the instant turn and stand." — P. 271. 
This incident, which illustrates so happily the 
chivalrous generosity of Brace's character, is one 
of the many simple and natural traits recorded by 
Barbour. It occurred during the expedition which 
Bruce made to Ireland, to support the pretensions 
of his brother Edward to the throne of that king- 
dom. Bruce was about to retreat, and his host was 
an-ayed for moving. 

"The king has heard a woman cry, 
He asked, w hat that was in hy,t 
' It is the lajTidar,} sir," sai ane, 
' That her child-ill§ right now has ta'en: 
And must now leave behind us here. 
Therefore she makes an evil cheer.'|| 
The king said, ' Certes,1[ it were a pity 
T"hat she in that point left should be. 
For certes I trow there is no man 
That he no will rue** a woman than.' 
His hoste all ther arrested he. 
And gert a tent soon stintitft be, 
Aiid gert her gang, in hastily. 
And other women to be her by, 
While she was deliveitd he bade; 
And syne forth on his ways rade. 
And how she forth should carried be, 
Or be furth fure,}} ord,iined he. 
This was a full great courtesy. 
That swilk a king and so mighty, 
Gert his men dwell on this maner. 
But for a poor l.'ivender." 

BaiOours Bruce, Book xvi, pp. 39, 40. 

NOTES TO CANTO V. 
1. O'er chasms he passed, where fractures w^de 
Craved wary eye and ample stride.— P. 272. 
The interior of the island of Arran abounds with 
fceautiful highland scenery. The hills, being very 
rocky and precipitous, afford some cataracts of 
great height, tiiough of inconsiderable breadth. 
There is one pass over the river Machrai, renown- 
ed for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, being 
tempted by the narrowness of the ravine to step 
across, succeeded in making the first movement, 
but took fright when it became necessary to move 
the other foot, and remained in a posture equally 
ludicrous and dangerous, until some chance pas- 
senger assisted her to extricate herself. It is said 
she remained tliere some hours. 

2. He crossed his brow bi side the stone. 
Will re drnids erst heard victiiiis groan, 
And at the cairns upon the wild, 
O'er many a heathen hero piled.— P. 272. 
The isle of Arran, like lliose of Man and An- 
glesea, abounds with many relics of heathen, 
and probably druidical superstition. There are 
high erect columns of unhewn stone, the most 
early of all monuments, the circles of rude stones, 



• Wonder. 
$ Child-bed. 
•* Pity. 



t Haste. i I.aimdress. 

II Stop. f Certainly, 

tt Pitched. U Moved. 



commonly entitled druidical, and the cairns, or 
sepulchral piles, within wliich are usually found 
urns inclosing ashes. Much doubt necessarily rests 
upon the history of such monuments, nor is it pos- 
sible to consider them as exclusivelj' Celtic, or 
druidical. By much the finest ciixiles of standing 
stones, excepting Stonehenge, are those of Sten- 
house, at Slennis, in the island of Pomona, the 
principal isle of the Orcades. These, of course, are 
neither Celtic nor druidical; atid we are assured, 
that many circles of the kind occur both in Swe- 
den and Nonvay. 

3. Old Bi-odiek's Gothic towers were setn. 
From Hastings, late their English lord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword. — P. 272. 

Brodick or Brathwick castle, in the isle of Ar- 
ran, is an ancient fortress, near an open roadstead 
called Brodick-bay, and not distant far from a 
tolerable harbour, closed in b>' the island of Lam- 
lash. Tliis important place had been assailed a 
short time before Bruce's arrival in the island. 
James lord Douglas, who accompanied Bruce to 
his retreat in Rachrin, seems, in the spring of 
1306, to have tired of his abode there, and set out 
accordingly, in the phrase of the times, to see 
what adventure God would send him. Sir Robert 
Boyd accompanied him; and his knowledge of the 
loaiKties of An-an appears to have directed his 
course thither. They landed in the island private- 
Iv, and appear to have laid an ambush for St. John 
Hastings, the English governor of Brodick, and 
surprised a considerable supply of arms and pro- 
visions, and nearly took the castle itself. Indeed, 
that they actually did so, has been generally 
averred by historians, although it does not appear 
from the narrative of Barbour. On the contrary, it 
would seem that they took shelter within a forti- 
fication of the ancient inhabitants, a rampart called 
Tor an Scfiian. When they were joined by Bruce, 
it seems probable that they had gained Brodick 
castle. At least tradition says, that from the bat- 
tlements of the tower he saw the supposed signal 
fire on Turnbem-nook. 

The castle is now much modernized, but has a 
dignified appearance, being surrounded by flour- 
ishing plantations. ,* 

4. Oft, too, with unaccustomed ears, 

A language much unmeet he hears. — P. 273. 
Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an anec- 
dote, from which it would seem that the' vice of 
profane swearing, afterwards too general among 
the Scottish nation, was, at this time, confined to 
military men. As Douglas, after Bruce's return 
to Scotland, was roving about the mountainous 
country of Tweed-dale, near tlie water of Line, he 
chanced to hear some persons in alarm-house s.'iy 
" the devil." Concluding, from this hardy expres- 
sion, that the house contained warlike guests, he 
immediately assailed it, and liad the good fortune 
to make prisoners Thomas Randolpli, afterward 
the fomous earl of .Moray, and Alexander Stewart, 
lord Bonkill. Both were then in llie Eiiglisli in- 
terest, and had come into that country with the 
purpose of driving out Douglas. Tliey afterwards 
ranked aniong Brace's most zealous adherents. 

5. For, seel the ruddy signal made. 
That Clifford, with his merry-men all. 
Guards carelessly ourfatlier"s hall.— P. 273. 

The remarkable circumstances by which Bruce 
was induced to enter Scotland, under the false 
idea that a signal-fire was lighted upon the shore 
neai- his maternal castle of Turnberry — the disap- 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



307 



poiiitment which he met with, and the train of 
success whicli arose out of that very disappoint- 
ment, are too curious to be passed over unnoticed. 
The following is the narrative of Barbour. The 
introduction is a favourable specimen of his style, 
■which seems to be in some degree the model for 
that of Gawain Douglas; — 

« This was in ver,* when winter tide, 

With his blasts hideous to bide. 

Was overdiiven: and birds small, 

As tiii-tle and the nightingale, 

Begoutht right sariollyt to sing;; 

And for to make in their signing 

Sweet notes and sounds ser,^ 

And melodies pleasant to hear. 

And trees began to ma|| 

Burge.ins,1I and bright blooms alsua, 

To win the belying*' of their head, 

That wicked winter had thein revid,tt 

And all grasses began to spring. 

Into that time the noble king. 

With his fleet, and a few meugye,JJ: 

Three hundred I trow they might be, 

Is to the sea, out of Arane, 

A little foroutli§§ even gone. 

They rowed fiist, with all their might, 

Till'that upon them fell the night, 

That wax myrk|||| upon great nianer, 

So that they wist not where they were. 

For they no needle had, na stone; 

But rowed always intill one, 

Steering all time upon the fire. 

That they saw burning light and schyr.HU 

It was but auentur*** them led: 

And they in short time so them sped. 

That at the fire arrived they. 

And went to land but more delay. 

And Cuihbert, that has seen the fire, 

Was full of anger, and of ire; 

For he durst not do it away; 

And was also doubting aye 

That his lord should pass to sea. 

Therefore their coming waited he: 

And met them at their arriving. 

He was well soon brought to the king. 

That speared at him how he had done. 

And he with sore heart told him soon, 

How that he found none well loving. 

But all were foes that he found; 

And that the lord the Persy, 

With near three hundred in company. 

Was in the castle there beside. 

Fulfilled of dispite and pride. 

But more than two parts of his rout 

Were harboured in the town without; 

' And despite you more, sir king. 

Than men may despite ony thing.' — 

Than said the king, in full great ire, 

'Traitor, why made you the fire?'— 

'Ah! sir,' said he, ' so God me see! 

The fire was never made by me. 

No, or the night, I wist it not; 

But fra I wist it, well I thought 

That ye and wholly your menzie 

In liyttt should put you to the sea.^ 

Forth I come to meet you here, 

To tell perils that may appear.' — 

The king was -of his speech angry. 

And asked his priye men, in by, 

What at them thought was best to do. 

Sir Edward first answered thereto. 

His brother that was so hardy. 

And said; ' I say you sekyrly 

There shall no peril, that may be. 

Drive me eftsoons^Jf to the sea. 

Mine adventure here take will I, 

Whether it be easeful or angi-y,' 

' Brother,' he said, ' since you will sua, 

It is good that we same ta. 

Disease or ease, or pain or play. 

After as God will us ]>urvay\5|| 



« Spring. t Began. t Loftily. 

§ Several. |1 More. t Buds. 

•* Covering. tt Bereaved tt Many. 

5§ Before. nil Dark. H'J Clear. 

•*• Adventure. ttt Haste. tf^ Soon after, 
55} Prepare. 



And since men say that the Persy 

Mine heretage will occupy; 

And his menyie so near us lies, 

That us despites many ways; 

Go we, and venge* some of the dispite. 

And that may we have done as tite;i" 

For they lie traistly,J but dreading 

Of us, or of our here coming. 

And though we sleeping slew them all. 

Reproof thereof no man shall. 

For warrior no force should ma. 

Whether he might ourcome his fa 

Through strength, or through subtility; 

But that good taith ay holdcn be.' " 

6. Now ask you whence that wond'rous light, 
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight:' — 
It ne'er was known 'P. 274. 

The following are the words of an ingenious cor- 
respondent, to whom I am obliged for much infor- 
mation respecting Turnberry and its neighbour- 
hood. " The only tradition now remembeied of the 
landing of Robert the Bruce in Carrickj relates to 
the fire seen by him from the isle of Arran. It is still 
generally re\)orted, and religiously believed by 
many.thattliistire was really the work of supernatu- 
ral power, unassisted by tiie hand of any mortal bc- 
mg; and itissaid, that, forseveral centuries theflame 
rose yearly on the same hour of the same night ot 
the year, on which the king first saw it from the 
turrets of Brodick castle; and some go so far as to 
say, that, if the exact time were known, it would 
be still seen. That this superstitious notion is very 
ancient, is evident from the place where the fire is 
said to have appeared, being called the Bogle's Brae, 
beyond the remembrance of man. In support of this 
curious belief, it is said that the practice of burn- 
ing heath for the improvement of land was then 
unknown; that a spunkie (Jack o'Lanlhorn) could 
not have been seen across the breadth of tiie Forth 
of Clyde, between Ayrsiiire and Arran; and that 
the courier of Bruce was his kinsman, and never 
suspected of treachery. " — Letter from Mr. Joseph 
Train of Newton Stuart, author of an ingenious 
Collection of Poems, illustrative of many ancient 
traditions in Galloway and Ayrshire, Edinburgh, 
1814. 

7. They gained the diase, a wide domain 
Left for the castle's sylvan reign.— P. 275. 

The castle of Turnberry, on the coast of Ayr- 
shire, was the property of liobert Bruce, in right 
of his mother. Lord Hailes mentions the follow- 
ing remarkable circumstance concerning the mode 
in which he became proprietor of it: — " Martha, 
countess of Cairick, in her own right, the wife of 
Robert Bruce, lord of Aiinandale, bare him a son, 
afterwards Robert 1. (1 1th July, 1274.) The cir- 
cumstances of her marriage were singular: Hap- 
pening to meet Robert Bruce in her domains, she 
became enamoured of him, and with some violence 
led him to her castle of Turnberry. A few days 
after she married him, without the knowledge of 
the relations of either party, and without the re- 
quisite consent of the king. The king instantly 
seized her castle and whole estates. She afterwards 
atoned by a fine for her feudal delinquenc)'. Little 
did Alexander foresee, tiiat, from this union, the 
restorer of the Scottish monarchy was to arise. " — 
Armals of Scotland, vol. ii, p. 180. 

The same obliging correspondent, whom I have 
quoted in the preceding note, gives me the follow- 
ing account of the present state of the ruins of 
Turnberry: — "Turnberry Point is a rock projecting 



* Avenge. 



t Snatched. 



% Trustily. 



308 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



into the sea; the top of it is about 18 feet above high 
water mark. Upon tiiis rock was built the castle. 
There is about '2.> feet high of the wall next to the 
St a yet staiuling. Upon the land-sitle the wall is only 
about four feet liigli; the length has been 60 feet, 
and the breadth 45: it was surrounded by a ditch, 
but that is now nearly filled up. The top of the 
ruin, rising between 40 and 50 feet above the wa- 
ter, has a majestic appearance from the sea. There 
is not mucli local tradition in the vicinity connect- 
ed with Bruce or his liistory. In front, however, 
of the rock, upon which stands Culzean castle, is 
the moutii of a romantic cavern, called the Cove 
of Colean, in which, it is said, Bruce and his fol- 
lowers concealed themselves immediately after 
landing, till they arranged matters for their farther 
enterprizes. Burns mentions it in the poem of 
Halloween. The oidy place to the south of Turn- 
berry wdrlh mentioning, with reference to Bruce's 
history, isthe Weary Nuik, a little romantic green 
hill, where he and his party are said to have rested, 
after assaulting the castle." 

Around the castle of Turnberry was a level 
plain of about two miles in extent, forming the 
castle park. There coulu be nothing, 1 am inform- 
ed, more beautiful than the copse-wood and ver- 
dure of tliis extensive meadow, before it was in- 
vaded by the plough-share. 

8. The Bruce hath won his fathers' hall!— P. 277. 

I have followed the flattering and pleasing tra- 
dition, that the Bruce, after his descent upon the 
coast of Ayrshire, actually gained possession of 
his maternal castle. But the tradition is not accu- 
rate. The fact is, that he was only strong enough 
to alarm and drive in the out-posts of the English 
garrison, then conuiiaiuled, not by Clifford, as 
assumed in the text, but by Percy. Neither was 
Clifford slain upon this occasion, though he had 
several skirmishes with Bruce. He fell afterwards 
in the baltle.of Bannockbiu-n. Bruce, after alarm- 
ing the castle of Turnberry, and surprising some 
part of the garrison, who were quartered without 
the walls of the fortress, retreated into the moun- 
tainous part of Carrick, and there made himself 
so strong that the English were obliged to evacu- 
ate Turnberry, and at length the castle of Ayr. 
Many of his benefactions and royal gifts attest his 
attacliment lo the hereditary followers of his house, 
in this part of tlie country. 

It is generally known tliat Bruce, in consequence 
of his distresses after the battle of Melhven, was 
affected by a scorbutic disorder, whiclk was then 
called a leprosy. It is said he experienced benefit 
from the use of a medical spring about a mile 
north of the town of Ayr, called from that circum- 
stance King's Ease. The following is the tradition 
of the country, collected by Mr. Train: — " After 
Robert ascended the throne, he founded the prio- 
ry of dominican monks, every one of whom was 
under the obligation of \)Utting up to heaven a 
prayer once eveiy week-day, and twice in holy- 
days, for the recovery of the king; and, after his 
death, these masses were continued for the saving 
of his s.'jul. The ruins of tliis old monastery are 
now nearly level with the ground. Robert like- 
wise caused houses to be built round the well of 
King's Ease, for eight lepers, and allowed eight 
bolls of oatmeal, and 28/. Scotcli money, per an- 
num, to each person. These donations were laid 
upon the lands of Fullarton, and are now payable 



by the duke of Portland. The farm of Shells, in 
the neighbourhood of Ayr, has to give, if required, 
a certain quantity of straw for the lepers' beds, 
and so much to thatch their houses annually. 
Each leprous person had a drinking-horn provided 
him by the king, which continued to be hereditary 
in the house to which it was first granted. One of 
those identical horns, of very curious worktiian- 
ship, was in the possession of the late colonel Ful- 
larton of lliat ilk." 

My correspondent proceeds to mention some 
curious remnants of antiquity respecting this foun- 
dation. " In compliment to sir William Wallace, 
the great deliverer of his country, king Robert 
Bruce invested the descendants of that hero with 
the right of placing all the lepers upon the estab- 
lishment of King's Ease. This patronage continued 
in the family of Craigie, till it was sold, along with 
the lands of the late sir Thomas Wallace. The 
burgh of A.yrthen purchased the right of applying 
the donations of King's Ease to the support of the 
poor-house of Ayr. 'i"he lepers' charter-stone was 
a basaltic block, exactly the shape of a sheep's 
kidney, and weighing an Ayrshire boll of meal. 
The surface of this stone being as smooth as glass, 
there was not any other way of lifting it than by 
turning the hollow to the ground, there extending 
the arms along each side of the stone, and clasp- 
ing tlie hanils in the cavity. Young lads were al- 
ways considered as deserving to be ranked among 
men, when they could lift the blue-stone of King's 
Ease. It^dways lay beside the well, till a few years 
ago, when some English th-agoons encamped at 
that place wantoidy broke it, since which the 
fragments have been kept by the freemen of Prest- 
wick in a place of security. There is one of these 
charter-stones at the village of Old Daily, in Car- 
rick, which has become more celebrated by the 
following event, which happened only a very few 
years ago: — The village of New Daily being now 
larger than the old place of the same name, the inha- 
bitants insisted that the charter-stone should be re- 
moved from the old town to the new, but the peo- 
ple of Old Daily were unwilling to part with their 
ancient riglU. Demands and remonstrances were 
made on each side without effect, till at last man, 
woman, and child, of both villages, marched out, 
and by one desperate engagement put an end to a 
war, the commencement of which no person then 
living remendjered. Justice and victory, in this 
instance, being of the same party, the villagers of 
the old town of Daily now enjoy the pleasure ot 
keeping the blue-stane unmolested. Ideal privi- 
leges are often attaclied to some of these stones. In 
Girvan, if a man can set his back against one of 
the above description, he is supposed not liable to 
be arrested for debt, nor can cattle, it is imagined, 
be poinded, so long as they are fastened to the 
same stone. That stones were often used as sym- 
bols to denote tlie riglit of possessing land, before 
the use of written documents became general in 
Scotland, is, I think, exceeilingly probable. The 
charter-stone of Inverness is still kept with great 
care, set in a frame, and hoopeil with iron, at the 
market-place of that town. It is called by the in- 
habitants of that district Clack na Couddin. 1 
tliink it is very likely that Carey has mentioned 
this stone in his jjoem of Craig Phaderick. This 
is only a conjecture, as 1 have never seen that 
work. While ihe famous marble chair was allowed 
to remain at Scoon, it was considered as the char- 
ter-stone of the kingdom of Scotland. " 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



309 



9. " Bring here," lie said, " tlie mazers four. 
My noble fathers U)ved of yore."— P. 277. 
These mazers were large drinking cups, or gob 
lets. Mention of them occurs in a curious inven 
torv of the ti-easure and jewels of .fames III, which 
will he published, with other curious documents 
of antiquity, hy my friend, Mr. Thomas Thomson, 
D. Register of Scotland, under tlie title of " A 
Collection of Inventories, and other Uecords of the 
Royal Wardrobe, Jewel-House," !kc. I coi)y the 
passage in which mention is made of the mazers, 
and also of an habiliment, called " king Robert 
JBruce's serk," i. e. shirt, meaning, perhaps, his 
shirt of mail; although no other arms are mention- 
ed in the inventory. It might have been a relic 
of more sanctified description, a penance shirt per- 
haps. 

Extract from "Liventai'e ofane Parte of the gold 
and silver coni/eit and 7inco?iifeit, Jo-wellis, and 
itther Stuff' fjerteining to Umqidiile our Soverane 
Lords Fnder^ that he had in Depots the Tyme 
of his Deceis, and that come to the Ifa?idis of 
our Soverane Lord that noxv is. M.CCCC. 
LXXXVIII." 
Memorandum fundin in a bandit kist like a gar- 
deviant,* in the fyrst the grete chenyef of gold, 
contenand sevin score sex linkis. 
Jtem, thre platis of silver. 
Item, tuelf salfatis.:}: 
Item, fyftene discheis§ ouregilt. 
Item, a grete gilt plate. 
Item, twa grete bassingis|l ouregilt. 
Item, four JMasaris, called king Robert the Bro- 

cis, with a cover. 
Item, a grete cok maid of silver. 
Item, the hede of silver of ane of the coveris of 

masar. 
Item, a fare dialle.1t 
Item, twa kasis of knyffis.** 
Item, a pair of auld kniffis. 

Item, takin he the smyth that opinnit the lokkis, 
in gold fourty demyis. 

Item, in Inglys grotisft xxiiii li. and the 

said silver given again to the takaris of hym. 
Item, ressavit in the cloissat of Davidis tour, ane 
haly waterfat of silver, twa boxis, a cageat tume, 
a glas with rois-waler, a dosouue of torchis, 
King Robert Bnicis Serk. 

The real use of the antiquarian's studies is, to 
bring the minute information wbicli he collects 
to bear upon points of history. For example, in 
the inventory I have just quoted, there is given 
the contents of the black kist, or chest, belonging 
to James HI, which was his strong-box, and con- 
tained a (piantily of trijasure in money and jewels, 
surpassing what might have been at the jieriod 
expected of " poor Scotland's gear." This illus- 
trates and autlienticates a striking passage in the 
history of the House of Douglas, by Hume of 
Godscroft. The last earl of Douglas (of.the elder 
branch) had been reduced to monastic seclusion 
in the ahbey of Lindoros, by James II. James HI, 
in his distress, would willingly have recalled him 
to public life, and made him his lieutenant. " Hut 
he," says Godscroft, " laden with years and old 
age, and weary of troubles, refused, saying, Sir, 
you have keept mee, and yonr black coffer inStir- 



• Gard-vin, or wine cooler. t Chain. 

tSalt-c611ars, anciently the object of much curious 
workmanship. J Dishes. || Basins. % Dial. 

•• Cases ot^uives. tt English groats. 



ling, too long; neither of us can doe you any good: 
I, because my friends have forsaken me, and my 
followers and dependers are fallen from me, be- 
taking themselves to other masters; and your black 
trunk is too farre from you, and your enemies are 
between you and it; or (as others say ) because there 
was in it a sort of black coyne, that the king had 
caused to be coyned by the advice of his courtiers; 
which moneys, (saith he,) sir, if you had put out 
at the first, the people would have taken it; and if 
you had employed mee in due time 1 might have 
done you service. Hut now there is none that will 
take notice of me, nor meddle with your money." 
—Hume's History of the House of Boufflas, fol. 
Edinb. 1644, p. 206. 

10. Arouse old friends, and gather new.— P. 277. 
As soon as it was known in Kyle, says ancient 

tradition, that Robert Bruce had lande'd in Car- 
rick, with the intention of recovering the crown 
of Scotland, the laird of Craigie, an<l forty-eight 
men in his immediate neighbourhood, declared in 
favour of their legitimate prince. Bruce granted 
them a tract of land, still retained by the treemen 
of Newton to this day. The original charter was 
lost when the pestilence was raging at Ayr; but it 
was r€newed by one of the Jameses, and is dated 
at Faulklarid. The freemen of Newton were for- 
merly officers by rotation. The provost of Ayr, 
at one tine, was a freeman of Newton, and it hap- 
pened to be his turn, while provost in Ayr, to be 
officer in Newton, both of which offices he dis- 
charged at the same time. 

11. Let Ettrick's archers shai-p their darts, 
The fairest forms, the truest hearts! — P. 277. 

The forest of Selkirk, or Ettrick, at this period, 
occupied all the district which retains that deno- 
mination, and embraced the neighbouring dales of 
Tweeddale, and at least the "Upper Ward of 
Clydesdale. All that tract was probably as waste 
as it is mountainous, and covered with the remains 
of the ancient Caledonian forest, which is suppos- 
ed to have stretched from Cheviot Hills as far as 
Hamilton, and to have comprehended even a part 
of Ayrshire. At the fatal battle of Falkirk, sir 
John Stewart, of Bonkill, brother to the steward 
of Scotland, commanded the archers of Selkirk 
forest, who fell around the dead body of their lead- 
er. The English historians have commemorated 
the tall and stately persons, as well as the unswerv- 
ing faith, of these foresters. Nor has their inte- 
resting fall escaped the notice of an elegant modern 
poetess, whose subject led her to treat of that ca- 
lamitous engagement: — 

The glance of the mom had sparkled bright 
On llieir plumage green and their actons light; 
The bugle was strung at each hunter's side. 
As they had been bound to the chase to ride; 
But tlie bugle is mule, and the shafts are spent. 
The arm unnerved, and tl^e bow uubeut, 
And the tired forester is lafH. 
Far, far from the clustering green-wood shade.' 
Sore have they toil'd — they are fallen asleep. 
And their slumber is heavy, and dull, and deep! 
When over their bones the grass shall wave. 
When the wild winds o'er their tombs shall rare, 
Jlemory shall lean on their graves, and tell 
How Selkirk's hunters bold around old Stewart fell! 
Miss Holford's iraltan; or the Figlit of Falkirk, 
Lond. quarto, 1809, pp. 170, I. 

NOTES TO CANTO VI. 
1. When Bruce's banner had victorious flowed 

O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury'sVale. — P, 278. 
The first important advantage gained by Bruce, 



310 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



after landing at Turnheriy, was over Aymer de 
Valance, earl of Pembroke, the same by whom he 
had been defeated near Methven. They met, as 
has been said, by appointment, at Loudoun-hill, in 
the west of Scotland. Pembroke sustained a de- 
feat, and from that time Bruce was at the head of 
a considerable flying army. Yet he was subse- 
quently obliged to retreat into Aberdeenshire, and 
was there assailed by Comyn, earl of Buclian, de- 
sirous to avenge the death of his relative, the Red 
CoiTiyn, and supported by a body of English troops 
under Philip de Moubray. Bruce was ill at the 
time of a scrofulous disorder, but took horse to 
meet his enemies, although obliged to be support- 
ed on either side. He was victorious, and it is 
said that the agitation of his spirits restored his 
health. 

2. When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale.— P. 278. 
The "good lord James of Douglas," during 
these commotions often took from the English 
his own castle of Douglas, but, being unable to 
garrison it, contented himself with destroying the 
fortifications, and retiring into the mountains. As 
a reward to his patriotism, it is said to have been 
prophesied, that how often soever Douglas Castle 
should be destroyed, it sliouhl always again arise 
more magnificent from its ruins. Upon one of 
these occasions, he used fearful cruelly, causing all 
the store of provisions, which the English had laid 
up in his castle, to be heaped together, bursting 
the wine and beer-casks among the wheat and 
flour, slaughtering the cattle upon the same spot, 
and upon the top of the whole, cutting the throats 
of the English prisoners. Tliis pleasantry of the 
" good lord James" is commemorated under the 
name of the DougIas''s Larder. A more pleasing 
tale of chivalry is recorded by Godscroft. " By 
this means, and such other exploits, he so affright- 
ed the enemy, that it was counted a matter of 
great jeopardie to keep this castle, which began 
to be called the adventurous (or hazardous) castle 
of Douglas; whereupon sir John Walton being in 
suit of an Englisli lady, she wrote to him, that 
■when he had kept the adventui-ous castle of Doug- 
las seven years, then he might think himself wor- 
thy to be a suitor to her. Upon this occasion, 
Walton took upon him the keeping of it, and suc- 
ceeded to Thruswall, but he ran the same fortune 
with the rest that were before him. For sir James, 
having first dressed an arabuscado near unto the 
place, he made fourteen of his men take so many 
sacks, and fill them with grass, as thoug-h it lird 
been corn, which they carried in the way to Lan- 
ark, the chief market town in that county: so hop- 
ing to draw forth the captain by that bait, and ei- 
ther to take him or the castle, or both. Neither 
was this expectation frustrated, for the captain did 
bite, and came forth to have taken this victual (as 
he supposed. ) But ere be could reach these car- 
riers, sir James, with his company, had gotten be- 
tween the castle and him; and these disguised car- 
riers, seeing the captain following after them, did 
quickly cast off their sacks, mounted themselves 
on horseback, and met the captain with a sharj) 
encounter, being so much the more amazed, as it 
was unlooked for; wherefore, when he saw these 
carriers metamorphosed into warriors, and ready 
to assault him, fearing that which was, that there 
•was some train laid for them, he turned about to 
have retired to his castle, but there he also met 
■with his enemies; between which two companies 



he and his whole followers were slain, so that none 
escaped: tlie captain afterwards being searched, 
they found (as it is reported) his mistress's letter 
about him." — Huine''s History of the House of 
Douglas, fol. pp. 29, 30. 
3. And fiei-y Edward routed stout St. John. — P. 278, 
"John de St. John, with 15,000 horsemen, had 
advanced to oppose tiie inroad of the Scots. By a 
forced march he endeavoured to surprise them, 
but intelligence of his motions was timeously re- 
ceived. The courage of Edward Bruce, approach- 
ing to temerity, frequently enabled him to achieve 
what men of more judicious valour would never 
have attempted. He ordered the infantry, and the 
meaner sort of his army, to entrench themselves 
in strong narrow ground. He himself, with fifty 
horsemen well harnessed, issued forth under co- 
ver of a thick mist, surprised the English on tiieir ■ 
march, attacked and dispersed them." — Dalrtm- I| 
ple's Annals of Scotland, quarto, Edinburgh, ^ 
1779, p. 25. 

4. When Randolph's wav-ciy swelled the southern gale. — 

P. 278. 

Thomas Randolph, Bruce's sister's son, a re- 
nowned Scottish chief, was in the early part of his 
life not more remarkable for consistency tlian 
Bruce himself He espoused his uncle's party 
w hen Bruce first assumed the crown, and was made 
prisoner at the fatal battle of Methven, in which 
his relative's hopes appeared to be ruined. Ran- 
dolph accordingly not only submitted to the En- 
glish, but took an active part against Bruce, ap- 
peared in arms against him, and in the skirmish i 
where he was so closely pursued by the blood- ' 
hound, it is said his nephew took his standard with 1 
his own hand. But Randol}))! was afterwards made 
prisoner by Douglas, in Tweeddale, (see p. 306,) 
and brought before king Robei't. bome harsh 
language was exchanged between the uncle and 
nephew, and the latter was committed for a time 
to close custody. Afterwards, however, they were 
reconciled, and Randolph was created earl of Mo- 
raj', about 1312. After this period he eminently 
distinguished himself, first by the surprise of Ed- 
inburgh castle, and afterwards by many similar 
enterprises, conducted with equal courage and 
ability. 

5. Stirling's towers, 

Beleaguertd by king Robert's powei-s; 
And they took term of truce.— P. 278. 
When a long train of success, actively improv- 
ed by Robert Bruce, had made him master of al- 
most all Scotland, Stirling castle continued to hold 
out. The care of the blockade was committed by 
the king to his brother Edward, who concluded a 
treaty with sir Philip Mowbray, the governor, 
that he should surrencler the fortress, if it were 
not succoured by the king of England before St. 
John the Baptist's day. The king severely blam- 
ed his brother for the impolicy of a treaty, which 
gave time to the king of England to advance to the 
relief of the castle with all his assembled forces, 
and obliged himself either to meet them in battle 
with an inferior force, or to retreat with dishon- 
our. " Let all England come," answered the reck- 
lessEdward, "we will fight them were they more." 
The consetjuence was, of course, that each king- 
dom mustered its strength for the expected battle, 
and as the space agreed upon reached from Lent 
to Midsummer, full time was allowed for that pur- 
pose. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



311 



6. To summon prince and peer, 

At Berwick-bounils to meet their liege.— P. 278. 

There is printed in Rymer's Fcedara tlie sum- 
mons issued upon this occasion to tlie sherift" of 
York; and he mentions eighteen other persons to 
whom similar ordinances were issued. It seems 
to respect the infantry alone, for it is entitled, De 
peditibus ad recitssum Castri de Stryvelin a Scotis 
obsessi properare faciendis. This circumstance is 
also clear from the reasoning of the writ, which 
states, " We have understood that our .Scottish 
enemies and rebels are endeavouring to collect as 
strong a force as possible of infantry, in strong and 
marshy grounds, where the approach of cavalry 
would be difficult, between us and the castle of 
Stirling." — It then sets forth Mowbray's agree- 
ment to surrender the castle, if not relieved be- 
fore St. John the Baptist's day, and the king's de- 
terminatiou, with divine grace, to raise the siege. 
"Therefore," the summons further hears, "to 
remove our said enemies and i-ebels froni such 
places as above-mentioned, it is necessary for us 
to have a strong force of infantry fit for arms." 
And accordingly the sheriff of York is command- 
ed to equip and send forth a hody of four thou- 
sand infantry, to be assembled at Werk, upon the 
tenth day of June first, under pain of the royal 
displeasure, &c. 

7. And Cambria, but of late subdued, 

Sent forth her raouutain-mullitude.— P. 278. 

Edward the first, with the usual policy of a con- 
queror, employed the Welch, whom lie had sub- 
dued, to assist him in his Scottish wars, for which 
their habits, as mountaineers, particularly fitted 
them. f$nt this policy was not without its risks. 
Previous to ihe battle of Falkirk, the Welcli quar- 
relled with the English men-at-arms, and after 
bloodshed on both parts, separated themselves 
from his army, and the feud between them, at so 
dangerous and critical a juncture, was reconciled 
with difiiculty. Edward II followed his father's ex- 
ample in this particular, and with no better suc- 
cess. They could not be brought to exert them- 
selves in the cause of their conquerors. But they 
had an indifferent reward for their forbearance. 
Without arms, and clad oidy in scanty dresses of 
linen cloth, they appeared naked in the e3es even 
of the Scottish peasantry; and after the rout of 
Bannockburn, were massacred by them in great 
numbers, as they retired in confusion towards their 
own country. Tfiey were under command of sir 
Maurice de Berkley. 

8. And Connaught poured from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 

Dark Eth O'Connor swayed.— P. 273. 

There is in the Fosdera an invitation to Eth O' 
Connor, chief of the Irish of Connaught, setting 
forth that the king was about to move against his 
Scottisli rebels, and therefore requesting the at- 
tendance of all the force he could muster, either 
commanded by himself in person, or by some no- 
bleman of his race. These auxiliaries were to be 
commanded by Richard de Burgh, earl of Ulster. 
Similar mandates were issued to the following 
Irish chiefs, wliose names may astonisli the un- 
learned, and amuse the antiquary. 

"Eth O Donnuld, Duci Hihernicorum de Tyr- 

conil; 
Demond O Kahan, Duci Hihernicorum de Ferne- 

trew; 
Doneval O Neel, Duci Hibernicorum de Tryowyn ; 
22 



Neel Macbreen, Duci Hibernicorum de Kynalle- 

lewan; 
Eth Otfyn, Duci Hihernicorum de Turtery; 
Admely Mac Anegus, Duci Hibernicorum de 

Onehagh; 
Neel O Hanlan, Duci Hibernicorum de Erthere; 
Bien Mao Mahun, Duci Hibernicorum de Uriel; 
Lauercagh ;Mac Wyr, Duci Hibernicorum de 

Lougherin; 
GillysO Railly, Duci Hihernicorum de Bresfeny; 
Geffrey O Fergy, Duci Hibernieorum de Mon- 

tiragwil ', 
Felyn O Honughur, Duci Hibernicorum de Con- 

nach; 
Donethuth O Brien, Duci Hibernicorum de Toth- 

mund; 
Dermod Mac Arthy, Duci Hibernicorum de Des- 

semound; 
Deuenoul Carbragh; 
Maur. Kenenagh Mac Murgh; 
Murghugh O Bryn; 
David O Tothvill; 
Dermod O Tonoghur, Doffaly; 
Fyn O Dymsy; 

Soucthuth Mac Gillephatrick; 
Leyssagh O Mortli; 

GilbertusEkelly,Duci Hibernicorum deOmany; 
Mac Ethelau: 

OraalanHeelyn, Duci Hibernicorum de Midie." 
Ryincv's Acta Fublica, vol. iii, pp. 476, 477. 

9. Then- cJiief, Fitz-Louis.— P. 279. 

Fitz-Louis, or Mac-Louis, otherwise called 
Fullarton, is a family of ancient descent in the 
isle of Arran. They are said to be of French ori- 
gin, as the name intimates. They attached them- 
selves to Bruce upon his first landing; and Fergus 
Mac-Louis, or Fullarton, received from the grate- 
ful monarch, a charter, dated 26th November, in 
the second year of his reign (1307,) for the lands 
of Kilmichel, and others, which still remain in this 
very ancient and respectable family. 

10. In battles four beneath their eye. 

The forces of kins^ Robert lie.— P. 279. 

The arrangements adopted by king Robert for 
the decisive battle of Bannockbiu'n, are given very 
distinctly by Barbour, and form an edifying lesson 
to tacticians. Yet, till commented upon by lord 
Hailes, this important passage of history has been 
generally and strangely misunderstood by histo- 
rians. I will here endeavour to detail it fully. 

Two days before the battle, Bruce selected the 
field of action, and took post there with his army, 
consisting of about 30,000 disciplined men, and 
about half the number of disorderly attendants 
upon the camp. The gi-ound was called the New 
Park of Stirling; it was partly open, and partly 
broken by copses of wood and marshy ground. He 
divided his regular forces into four divisions. 
Three of these occupied a front line, separated 
from each other, yet sufiiciently near for the pur- 
poses of communication. The fourth division form- 
ed a reserve. Tiie line extended in a north-easter- 
ly direction from the brook of Bannock, which is 
so rugged and broken as to cover the right fiank 
effectually, to the village of saint Ninian's, proba- 
bly in the line of the present road from Stirling to 
Kilsyth. Edward Bruce commanded the right 
wing, which was strengthened by a strong body 
of cavalry under Keith, the marshal of Scotland, 
to whom was committed the important charge of 
attacking the English archers; Douglas, and the 



312 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



young Stewart of Scotland, led the central wing; 
and Thomas Randolph, earl of Moray, the left 
wing. The king himself commanded the fouvtli 
division, which lay in reserve behind the otliers. 
The royal standard was pitched, according to tra- 
dition, in a stone, having a round hole for its re- 
ception, and thence called tlie Bore-sto,ne. It is 
still shown on the top of a small eminence, called 
Brock's-brae, to the south-west of St. Ninian's. 
His main body thus disposed, king Robert sent 
the followers of the camp, fifteen thousand and 
upwards in number, to the eminence in rear of his 
army, called from that circumstance the Gillies'' 
(?'. e. the servants') hill. 

The military advantages of this position were 
obvious. The Scottish left flan^, protected by the 
brook of Bannock, could not be turned ; or, if that 
attempt were made, a movement by the reserve 
might have covered it. Again, the English could 
not pass the Scottisli army, and move towards 
Stirling, without exposing their flank to be attack- 
ed while in march. 

If, on the other hand, the Scottish line liad been 
drawn up east and west, and- facing to the south- 
ward, as affirmed by Buchanan, and adopted by 
Mr. Nimmo, the author of the History of Stirling- 
shire, there appears nothing to have prevented the 
English from approaching upon the carse, or level 
ground, from Falkirk, either from turning the 
Scottish left flank, or from passing their position, 
if they preferred it, without coming to an action, 
and moving on to the relief of Stirling. And the 
Gillies' hiil, if this less probable hypothesis be 
adopted, would be situated, not in the rear, as al- \ 
lowed by all the historians, but upon the left flank 



select body of cavalry stationed with Edward 
Bruce on the right wing, under tlie immediate 
command of sir Robert Keith, the marshal of Scot- 
land, who were destined for the important service 
of charging and dispersing the English archers. 

Thus judiciously posted, in a situation fortified 
both by art and nature, Bruce awaited the attack 
of the English. 

11. Beyond, the southern host appears.— P. 279. 
Upon the 23d June, 1314, the alarm reached the 
Scottish artny of the approach of the enemy. Dou- 
glas and the marshal were sent to reconnoitre with 
a body of cavalry. 

" And soon the great host have they seen, 
Where sliields sliining were so sheen, 
And bacinets burnished bright. 
That gave against the sun great light. 
They saw so fele* brawdynef baners, 
Standards, pennons, and spears, 
Aiid so fele knights upon steeds, 
All flaming- in their weeds. 
And so ftle bataills,:^ and so broad, 
And too so great room as they rode, 
I'hat the raaist host, and the stoutest 
Of Christendom, and tlie greatest, 
Should be abaysitji for to see 
Their foes unto such quantity." 

Barbour's Bruce, vol. ii, p. 111. 
The two Scottish commanders were cautious in 
the account which they brought back to their camp. 
To the king in private they told the formidable 
state of the enemy; but in public reported that the 
English were indeed a numerous host, but ill com- 
manded, and worse disciplined. 
12. With these the valiant of the Isles 

Beneath their chieftains ranked their files.— P. 279. 
The men of Argyle, the Islanders, and the high- 



of Bruce's army. The only objection to the hy- 'landers in general, were ranked in the rear. They 
pothesis above laid down is, that the left flank of j must have been numerous, for Bruce had recon- 
Bruce's army was thereby exposed to a sally from ciled himself witli almost all their chieftains, ex- 
the garrison of Stirling. ^\ii first, the garrison cepting the obnoxious Mac-Dougals of Lorn. The 
were bound to neutrality by terms of Mowbray's following deed, containing the submission of the 
treaty; and Barbour even seems to censure, as a | potent earl of Ross to the king, was never before 



breach of faith, some secret a;slstance which they 
rendered their countrymen upon the eve of battle, 
in placing temporary bridges of doors and spars 
over the pools of water in the carse, to enable them 
to advance to the charge.* 2dly, Had tliis not been 
the case, the strength of the garrison was probably 
not sufficient to excite apprehension. 3dly, The 
adverse hypotliesis leaves the rear of the Scottish 



published. It is dated in the third year of Ro- 
bert's reign, that is, 1309. 

Obligacio Comitis Rossensis per Homagium 
fidelitatem et scriptum. 

Universis Christi fidelibus ad quorum noticiam 
presentes litera peruenerint VVillielmus Comes 
de Ross salutem in domino sempiternam. Quia 
magnificus princeps Dominus Robertus Dei gracia 



army as much exposed to the Stirling garrison, as, jj^^^ Scottorum Dominus ineus ex innata sibi boni 
the left flank would be m the case supposed. j ^.^^^ inspirataque clemencia, et gracia speciali re. 

It only remains to notice the nature ot the ground j^jgjj ^^^\^^ p^.g rancorem animi sui, et relaxauit 
in front ot Bruce's line of battle. Being part ot a ^^ condonauit michi omnimodas transgressiones 
park, or cliase, it was considerably interrupted ^g,, ^jj^g^gj^s ^.oi^t^a ipsu„j el suos per me et meos 
with trees, and an extensive marsh, still visible, ^.g^^^g ^^ confeccionem literarum presencium per- 
in some places rendered it inaccessible,. and mail pgtratas: Et terras meas et tenementa mea omniii 
of difficult approach. More to the uorthward, j^gg p^^cggsit j^t me nichilominus de terra 

where the natural impediments were fewer, Bruce dg Dingwal et Ferncroskry infra comitatum de 
fortified liis position against cavalry, by digging a Suthyrland de benigna liberalitate sua heriditarie 
number of pits so close together, says Barbour, as jnfgodare curauit. Ego tautam principis beneuo- 
to resemble the cells in a honey-comb. They were ignciam efficaciter attendens, et pro tot graciis mi- 
a, foot in breadth, and between two and tliree feet ^j^j f.,ctis, vicem sibi gi-atitudinis meis pro vinbus 

deep, many rows of them being placed one behind ^jg cetero digne vite cupiens exhibere, su- 

the otlier. They were slightly covered with brusli- ^\\^\q gt oldigo me et heredes meos et homines 
wood and green sods, so as not to be obvious to an : ^^^^ vniuersos dicto Domino meo Regi per omnia 
impetuous enemy. | erga suam regia'.n dig- 

All the Scottish army were on foot, excepting a ^itatem, quod erimus de cetero fideles sibi et here- 

• — dibus suis et fidele sibi seruicium auxilium et con- 

• An assistance which, by the way, coud not have been „-,■ contra omnes homines et 

tendered, had not the English .ippioached from the south- Jr'".'" . . , •,,„„*„„,.: ^f en,^«r. 

east; since, had their march been due noith, the whole , feminas qui vivere poterint aut moil, et super 

Scottish army must have been bttween them and the gar- — ~ T T~r, 7 

rison. I • ISIany. t Displayed. X Battalions. § Alarmed. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



513 



h Ego VVillielmus pro me - 

hominibus meis vniuersis dicto domino meo Regi 
manibus homagium sponte feci et su- 
per Dei ewangelia sacramentum preslili- 



— In quorum omnium testimonium sjgillum me- 
um, et sigilla Hugonis filii et heredis et Johannis 
filii mei vna cum sigillis venerabilium patrum Do- 
minorum Dauid et Thome Moraviensis et Rossen- 
sis Dei graciaepiscoporumpresentibus Uteris sunt 
appensa. Acta scripta et data apud Aldern in 
Morauia vltimo die mensis Octobris, Anno Regni 
dicti domini nostri Regis Roberti Tertio. Tes- 
tibus venerabilibus patribus supradiclis, Domino 
Bernardo Cancellario Regis, Dominis Willielmo 
de Haya, Johanne de Striuelyn, Willielmo Wys- 
man, Johanne de Ffenton, Dauid de Berkeley, 
et Waltro de Berkeley militibus, magistro Wal- 
tero Heroe, Decano ecclesie Morauie, magistro 
Willielmo de Creswel eiusdem ecclesie precen- 
tore et multis aliis nobilibus clericis et laicis dic- 
tis die et loco congregatis. 

The copy of this curious document was supplied 
by my friend, Mr. Thomson, Deputy Register of 
Scotland, whose researches into our ancient records 
are daily throwing new and important light upon 
the history of the country. 

13. The monai-eh rode along tlie van.— P. 2S0. 
The English vanguard, commanded by the earls 
of Gloucester and Hereford, came in sight of the 
Scottish army upon the evening of the 23d of June. 
Bruce was then riding upon a little palfrey, in 
front of his foremost line, putting his host in or- 
der. It was then that the personal encounter took 
place betwixt him and sir Henry de Bohun, a gal- 
lant English knight, the issue of which had a great 
effect upon the spirits of both armies. It is thus 
recorded bj' Barbour: 

" And when Glosyter and Herfurd were 

With their battle approaching near. 

Before them all their came riding. 

With helm on liead, aiid spear in hand. 

Sir Henry the Boune, the worthy. 

That was a wight knight, and a hardy: 

And to the earl of Herfurd cousin; 

Armed in arms good and fine; 

Come on a steed, a bow-shot nere. 

Before all other that there were. 

And knew the king, for that he saw 

Him so range his men on row; 

And by the crown, that was set 

Also upon his bassenet. 

And towards him he went on haste. 

And the king so apertly 

Saw him come, forth all his feres* 

In hyt till him the horse he steers. 

And when sir Henry saw the king 

Come on, forouting abaysing,t 

Till him he i-ode in full ereat hy. 

He thought that he should well lightly 

Win him, and have him at his will, 

Since he liira horsed saw so ill. 

Sprentf they same intill a ling|| 

Sir Henry mised the noble king. 

And he, that in his stirrups stood. 

With the axe, that was hard and good. 

With so great majTiU reached him a dint. 

That neither hat nor helm might stynt. 

That hewy** duche,+t that he him gave. 

That nere the head till the harness clave. 

The hand-axe shaft fruschyttj; in two; 

And he down to the yird gan go 

All flatlynys,{5 for him failed might. 

This was the first stroke of the fight." 

Barhour^s Bruce, vol. ii, p. 122. 
The Scottish leaders remonstrated with the 
king upon his temerity. He only answered, "I 



•Comrades. + Haste. % Without shrinking. J Spurred, 
II Line. H Moan. ** Heavy. +t Clash, 

it Broken. §{ Flat. 



have broken m)' good battle-axe." — The English 
van-guard retreated after witnessing this single 
combat. Probablj- their generals did not think it 
advisable to hazzard an attack, while its unfavour- 
able issue remained upon their minds. 

14. " What tram of dust, with trumpet-sound 
And glimmering spears, is wheeling round 
Our left-ward. flank?"— ^ ^P.— 281. 

While the van of the English army advanced, a 
detached body attempted to relieve Stirling. Lord 
Hailes gives the following account of this manceu- 
ver and the result, which is accompanied by cir- 
cumstances highly characteristic of the chivalrous 
manners of the age, and displays that generosity 
which reconciles us even to their ferocity upon 
other occasions. 

Bruce had enjoined Randolph, who commanded 
the left wing of his army, to be vigilant in prevent- 
ing any advanced parties of the English from throw- 
ing succours into the castle of Stirling. 

" Eight hundred horsemen, commanded by sir 
Robert (.IlifFord, were detached from the English 
army; they made a circuit by the low grounds to 
the east, and approached the castle. The king 
perceived their motions, and, coming up to Ran- 
dolph, angrily exclaimed, 'Thoughtless man! you 
have suffered the enemy to pass.' Randolph hast- 
ed to repair his fault, or perish. As he advanced, 
the English cavalry wheeled to attack him. Ran- 
dolph drew up his troops in a circular form, with 
their spears resting on tiie ground, and protended 
on every side. At the first onset, sir William 
Daynecourt, anEnglisii commander of distinguish- 
ed note, was slain. The enemy, far superior in 
numbers to Randolph, envii-oned i)im, and pressed 
hard on his little baml. Douglas saw his jeopardy, 
and requested the king's permission to go and suc- 
cour him. ' You shall not move from your ground,' 
cried the king; ' let Randolph extricate himself 
as he best may. I will not alter my order of battle, 
and lose the advantage of my position.' — 'In truth,' 
replied Douglas, ' 1 cannot stand by and see Ran- 
dolph perish ; and, therefore, with your leave, 1 must 
aid him.' The king unwillingly consented, and 
Douglas flew to the assistance of his friend. While 
approaching, he perceived that the English were 
falling into disorder, and that the perseverance 
of Randolph had prevailed over their impetuous 
courage. ' Halt,' cried Douglas, ' those brave men 
have repulsed the enemy; let us not diminish their 
glory by sharing it.' " — Dalrtmple's Annals oj 
Scotland, 4lo, Edinburgh, 1779, pp. 44, 45. 

Two large stones erected at the north end of the 
village of Newhouse, about a quarter of a mile 
from the south part of Stirling, ascertain the place 
of this memorable skirmish. I'he circumstance 
tends, were confirmation necessar)", to support 
the opinion of lord Hailes, that the Scottish line 
had Stirling on its left flank. It will be remem- 
bered that Randolph commanded infantry, Dayne- 
court cavalry. Supposing, therefore, according to 
the vulgar hypothesis, that the Scottish line whs 
drawn up, facing to the south, iu the line of the 
brook of Bannock, and, consequently, that Ran- 
dolph was stationed witli his left flank resting upon 
Milntown bog, it is morally impossible that his 
infantry, moving from that position, with what- 
ever celerit}', could cut oft' from Stirling a body of 
cavalry who had already passed St. Ninians,* or, in 



* Barbour says expressly, they avoided the New Park, 
(where Bruce's army lay) and held " well neath the Kirk," 
which can only mean St. Ninians. 



314 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



other words, were already between them and the 
town. Whereas, supposing Randolph's left to have 
ai)proached St. Ninians, the short movement to 
Newhouse coidd easily be executed, so as to inter- 
cept the English in the manner described. 

15. Responsive from the Scottish host, 

Pipe-ciaug and biigle-sound were tossea. — P. 281. 

There is an old t^-adition, that the well-known 
Scottish tune of" Hey, tutti,laitli," was Bruce's 
march at tiie battle of Uainiockburn. The late Mr. 
Ritson, no granter of propositions, doubts whether 
the Scots had any martial music, quotes f roi^sart's 
account of each soldier in the host bearing a liitle 
horn, on which, at the onset, they would make 
such a horrible noise, as if all the devils of hell had 
been among them. He observes, that these horns 
are the only music mentioned by Barbour, and 
concludes, that it must remain a moot point 
whether Bruce's army were cheered by the sound 
even of a solitaiy bagpipe. — Historical Essay pre- 
fixed to mtsoii's Scottish Songs. 

It may be observed in passing, that the Scottish 
of this period certainly observed some musical ca- 
dence, even in winding their horns, since Bruce 
was at once recognised by his followers from his 
mode of blowing. See Note 10, on Canto 4. 

But the tradition, true or false, has been the 
means of securing to Scotland one of the finest ly- 
rics in the language, the celebrated war-song of 
Bruce, — 

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled: 

16. Now onward, and in open view. 

The countless ranks of England drew. — P. 281. 
Upon the 24th of June, the English army ad- 
vanced to the attack. Tiie narrowness of the Scot- 
tish front and the nature of the ground, did not 
permit them to have the full advantage of their 
numbers, nor is it very easy to find out what was 
their proposed order of battle. The van-guard, 
however, appeared a distinct body, consisting of 
archers and spearmen on foot, and commanded, as 
already said, by the earls of Gloucester and Here- 
ford. Barbour, in one place, mentions that they 
formed nine battles, or divisions; but, from the 
following passage, it appears that there was no 
room or space for theiti to extend themselves, so 
that, except the van-guard, the whole army ap- 
peared to form one solid and compact body: — 

The English men, on either party, 
That as angels shone brightly, 
Were not arrayed on such manner; 
For all their battles samyit* were 
In a schiltmm.t But whether it was 
Through the great straitness of the place 
That they were in, to biile fighting; 
Or that it was for abaysing;): 
I wete not. But in a sehiltium 
It seemed they were all and some; 



* Together. 

f Schiltrum. — This word has been variously limited or 
extended in its signification. In general, it seems to im- 
ply a large body of men drawn up very closely together. 
But it has been limited to imply a round or ciicular body 
of men so drawn up. I catniot undersiaml it willi tins li- 
mitation in the present case. The siliilUiiiu of the Scot- 
tish army at Falkirk was undoubtedly of aiircular form, 
in order to resist the attacks of the Kiiglisli cavalry, on 
whatever quarter they might be i liai ^rd. tiut it does not 
appear how, or why, the English advancing to the attack 
at Hannockbuni should have anajrvl ilieiustlves in a cir- 
cular form. It seems more pr(il)abK- that, by schiltyutn, 
in the present case, liarbour means lo express an irregu- 
lar mass into which tlie English army was compressed by 
thr iinwieldiness of iw numoers and the carelessness or 
Ignorance of its leaders. 

X Frightening. 



Out ta'en the va'ward anerly* 

That right with a great company. 

Be them sehvyn arrayed were. 

Who had been by, might have seen there 

That folk ourtake a meikill feild 

On breadth, where many a shining shield, 

And many a btimished bright armour, 

And many a man of great valour, 

Might in that great sehiltrum be seen: 

And many a bright banner and sheen. 

Barbour^s Bruce, vol. ii, p. 137. 

17. See where yon barefoot abbot stands. 

And blesses them with lifted hands!— P. 281. 
"Maurice, abbot of InchaiTray, placing himself 
on an eminence, celebrated mass in sight of the 
Scottish army. He then passed along the front, 
barefooted, and bearing a crucifix in his hands, and 
exhorting the Scots, in few and foi'cible words, to 
combat for their rights and their liberty. The Scots 
kneeled down. ' They yield,' cried Edward; ' see, 
they implore mercy.' ' They do,' answered Ingel- 
ram de Umfraville, ' but not ours. On that field 
they will be victorious, or die.' " — Annals of Scot- 
land, vol. ii, p. 47. 

18. " Forth, marshal, on the peasant foe! 
We'll tame the terrors of their bow. 
And cut the bow-string loose!" — P. 282. 

The English archers commenced the attack with 
their usual bravery and dexterity. But against a 
force, whose importance he had learned by fatal 
experience. Bruce was provided. A small but se- 
lect body of cavalry were detached from the right, 
under command of sir Robert Keith. They round- 
ed, as 1 conceive, the marsh called Milntown bog, 
and, keeping the firm ground, charged the left fiank 
and rear of the English archers. As the bowmen 
had no spears, nor long weapons, fit to defend them- 
selves against horse, they were instantly thrown 
into disorder, and spread through the whole En- 
glish army a confusion, from which they never 
fairly recovered. 

" The English archers shot so fast. 
That might their shot have any last. 
It had been hard to Scottis men. 
But king Robert, that well gan ken,t 
'that their shot right hard and grievous, 
Ordained, foroutb^: the assembly, 
His maisehall, witli a great menzie. 
Five liundred armed into steel. 
That on light horse were horsed well. 
For to pryk§ among the archers. 
And to assail tliem with their Spears 
That they no leisure have till snoot. 
This marischell, tliat I of mute,l| 
That sir Robert of Keith w.as Called, 
As I belbr here has you told, 
When he saw the battles so 
Assembled, and together go. 
And saw the archers shoot stoutly; 
With all them of his Company, 
In haste upon them gan he ride. 
And (ivertooke tht m at a side;11 
And rushed among them so rudely, 
Slieking them so dispiteously. 
And in such fusion** bcarint;- do\vnt 
And slayiuij them, foroutin ransoun:H 
That they them scalytjt eucrilkane,§} 
And from that time forth there was, na 
That asscmliled sliol lo ina|||| 
When Scolts aichi rs saw that they sua 
Were rebutyt,1J1I they wax liardy, 
And with all their might §hot eagrele 
Among the horsemen that there rode. 
And wounds wide to them they made. 
And slew of them a full ;jreat deal." 

Barbour^s Bruce, pp. 147, 8. 



* Alone. tKnow. J Disjomted from their main body. 
^ Spur. II That I speak of. H Set upon their flank. 
•♦Numbers, ft Ransom. tt Dispersed. 

^§ Every one. |||| Make. lltDnven back. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



515 



Although the success of this manceu\Te was evi- 
dent, it is vei-y i-emarkable that the Scottish gene- 
rals do not appear to have profited b}- the lesson. 
Almost every subsequent battle which they lost 
against England was decided by the archers, to 
whom the close and compact array of the Scottisli 
phalanx afforded an exposed and unresisting mark. 
The bloody battle of Halidon-hill, fought scarce 
twenty }'ears afterward, was so completelj"^ gained 
by the archers, that the English are said to have 
lost only one knight, one esquire, and a few foot- 
soldiers. At the battle of Neville's Cross, in 1 346, 
where David H was defeated and made pi'isoner, 
John de Graham, observing the loss which the 
Scots sustained from the English bowmen, offered' 
to charge and disperse them, if a hundred men-at- 
arms were put under his command. " But, to con- 
fess the truth," says Fordun, " he could not pro- 
cure a single horseman for the service proposed." 
Of such little use is experience in war, where its 
results are opposed by habit or prejudice. 

19. Each brasfgart churl could boast before, 

Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore! — P. 282. 

Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish pro 
verb, " whereby they give the whole praise of 
shooting honestly to Englishmen, saying thus, 
' that eveiyEnglish archer beareth under his girdle 
twenty-four Scottes. ' Indeed, Toxophilus says be- 
fore, and truly of tlie Scottisli nation, 'the 
Scottes surely be good men of warn; in they re owne 
feates as can be; but as for shootinge, they can 
neither use it to any profite, nor yet challenge it 
for any praise.' " — Works of Ascham, edited by 
Bennet, 4to. p. 110. 

It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient En 
glish historian, that the " good lord James of Don 
glas" dreaded the superiority of the English ar- 
chers so mucji, that when he made any of them 
prisoner, lie gave hiiu the option of losing the fore- 
finger of his right han(i^ or his right eye, either 
species of mutilation rendering him incapable to 
use the bow. I have mislaid the reference to this 
singular passage. 

20. Down! down! in headlong overthrow, 

Horseman and horse, the foremost go. — P. 2S2. 

It is generally alleged by historians, th.it the 
English men-at-arms fell into the hidden snare 
which Bruce had prepared for them. Barbour 
does not mention this circumstance. According 
to his account, Randolph, seeing the slaughter 
made by the cavalry on the right wing among the 
archers, advanced courageously against the main 
body of the English, and entered into close com- 
bat with them. Douglas and Stuart, who com- 
manded the Scottish centre, led their division also 
to the charge, and the battle becoming general 
along the whole line, was obstinately mainlained 
on both sides for a long space of time; the Scottish 
archers doing great execiUion among the English 
men-at-arms, after the bowmen of England were 
dispersed. 

21. And steeds that shriek m agony. — P. 283. 

I have been told that this line requires an ex- 
planatory note; and, indeed, those who witness the 
silent patience with which horses submit to the 
most cruel usage may be permitted to doubt that, 
in moments of sudden or intolerable anguish, they 
utter a most melancholy cry. Lord Erskine, in a 
speecli made in the House of Lords, upon a bill 
for enforcing humanity towards animals, noticed 
this remarkable tact, in hmguage wliich I will not 



mutilate by attempting to repeat it. It was my 
fortune, U])on one occasion, to hear a horse, in a 
moment of agony, utter a thrilling scream, which 
I still consider the most melancholy sound I ever 
heard. 

22. Lord of tlie Isles, my trust in thee 
Is fii-m as Ailsa-rock; 
Rush on with highland sword and targe; 
I, with lay Carriek sjiearmen, charge. — P. 283. 

When the engagement between the main bodies 
had lasted some time, Bruce made a decisive 
movement, by bringing up the Scottish reserve. 
It is traditionally said, that at this crisis he ad- 
dressed the lord of the Isles in a phrase used as a 
motto by some of his descendants, " My trust is 
constant in thee." Barbour intimates, that the 
reserve " assembled on one field," that is, in the 
same line with the Scottish forces alreatly engaged, 
whicii leads Lord Hailes to conjecture, that the 
Scottish ranks must have been much thinned by 
slaughter, since, in that circumscribed ground, 
there was room for the reserve to fall into the line. 
But the advance of the Scottish cavalry must have 
contributed a good deal to form the vacancy occu- 
pied by the reserve. 

23. To arms they flew,— axe, club,, or spear, — 
And mimic ensigns high they rear. — P. 283. 
The followers of the Scottish camp observed, 
from the'Gillies' hill in the rear, the impression 
produced upon the English army by the bringing 
up of the Scottish reserve, and, prompted by the 
enthusiasm of the moment, or the desire of plun- 
der, assumed, in a tumultuary manner, such arms 
as they found ne.irest, fastened sheets to tent-poles, 
and lances, and showed themselves like a new ar- 
my advancing to battle. 

Yeomen, and swanys," and pitaill,t 
That in tlie park yeiiu t victual,}: 
Were left; when tliey wist but lesingj 
That their lords with full fighting 
On their foes assembled wei-e; 
One of their selwyn|! that were there 
Captain of them all they made. 
And sheets, that were somedalelf braid, . 
They fastened inste.-id of banners 
Upon long trees and spears. 
And said that they would see the fight. 
And help their lords at their might. 
When here— till all assented were, 
In a rout assembled er,** 
Fifteen thousand they were, or ma. 
And than in great haste gan they go. 
With their banners, all in a route. 
As they had men beeil styvelt and stcut. 
They came with all that assembly. 
Eight till they might the battle see; 
Then ail at once thi y gave a ci-y, 
" Slaj! Slay! Upon them hastily!" 
Barbour's Bruce, vol. ii. Book xiii, pp. 153, 4. 

The unexpected apparition, of what seemed a 
new army, completed the confusion which already 
prevailed" among the Englisli, who fled in every 
direction, and were pursued witii immense slaugh- 
ter. The brook of Bannock, according to Barbour, 
was so choked with the bodies of men and horses, 
that it might have lieen passed dry-shod. The fol- 
lowers of the Scottish camp fell upon the disheart- 
ened fugitives, and added to tlie confusion and 
slaughter. Many were driven into tlie Forth, and 
perished there, which, by the way, could hardly 
have happened, had the armies been (h-awn up 
east and west, since in that case, to get at the riv- 
er, the English fugitives must have fled through 



■Swains, t Rabble, t K^ pt t'"" P™visions. 
I SelvLS. 1 Somewhat. ** Are. 



§ Lying. 

ttsiiir. 



316 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tlie victorious army. About a short mile fi-om the field 
of battle is a place called the Bloody Folds. Here 
the earl of Gloucester is said to have made a stand, 
and died gallantly at the head of his own military 
tenants and vassals. He was mucli regretted by 
both sides; and it is said the Scottisii would glad- 
ly have saved his life, but neglecting to wear his 
surcoat with armorial bearings over his armour, 
he fell unknown, after his horse had been stabbed 
with spears. 

Sir Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, 
contrived to conceal himself daring the fury of the 
pursuit, and when it was somewhat slackened, ap- 
proached king Robert. " Whose prisoner are 
you, sir Marmaduke i"' said Bruce, to whom he 
was personally known. " Yours, sir," answered 
the knight. " I receive you," answered the king; 
and, treating him with the utmost courtesy, loaded 
him with gifts, and dismissed him without ransom. 
The other prisoners were well treated. There 
might be policy in this,, as Bruce would naturally 
wish to acquire the good opinion of the English 
barons, who w ere at this time at great variance 
■with their king. But it also well acpords with his 
high chivalrous character. 
24. O! give their hapless prince his due.— P. 283. 

Edward H, according to the best authorities, 
showed, ill the fatal field of Bannockburn, per- 
sonal gallantry not unworthy of his great sire and 
greater son. He remained on the field till forced 
away by tiie earl of Pembroke, when all was lost. 
He then rode to the castle of Stirling, and demand- 
ed admittance; but the governor remonstrating 
upon the imprudence of shutting himself up in 
that fortress, whicli must so soon surrender, he 
assembled around his person five hundred men-at- 
arms, and, avoiding the field of l)attle and the vic- 
torious army, fled towards Linlithgow, pursued by 
Douglas with about sixty horse. They were aug- 
mented by sir Lawrence Abernethy with twenty 
more, whom Douglas met in the Torwood, upon 
their way to join the English army, and whom he 
easily persuaded to desert the defeated monarch, 
and to assist in the pursuit. They hung upon Ed- 
ward's flight as far as Dunbar, too few in number 
to assail him with eftect, but enough to harass his 
retreat so constantly, that whoever fell an instant 
behind, was instantly slain, or made prisoner. 
Edward's ignominious flight terminated at Dunbar, 
where the earl of March, who still professed al- 
legiance to him, '• received him full gently." 
From thence, the monarch of so great an empire, 
and the late commander of so gallant and numer- 
ous an army, escaped to Bamborough in a fishing 
vessel. 

Bruce, as will appear from the following docu- 
ment, lost no time in directing the thunders of 
parliamentary censure against such parts of his 
subjects as did not return to their natural allegi- 
ance, after the battle of Bannockburn. 

Apub Mouasterium de Cawbuskenneth, 

XVI DIE KOVEMBHK M.CCC.XIV. 

Jud'cium redditum a/md Kambvsklnet contra 

omnes illos qui tunc fiietnmt contra fidem etpa- 

cem Domini Rc^is. 

_ Anno gracie millesimo tiicenlesimo ijuarto de- 

cimo sexto die Novembris tenente parliamentum 

sutim excellentissimo principe domino Roberto 

Dei gracia Rege Scottorum lllustri in monasterio 



de Cambuskyneth concordatum fuitfinaliter judi- 
catum [i\c super] hoc statutum de consilio et as- 
sensu episcoporum et ceterorum prelatorum co- 
mitum baronum et aliorum nobilium regni Scocie 
nee non et tocius commimitatis regni predicti quod 
omnes qui contra fidem et pacem dicti domini re- 
gis iu hello sue alibi mortui sunt [vel qui die] to 
die ad pacein ejus et fidem non venerant licet se- 
pius vocati et legitime expectati fuissent de terris 
et tenementis et omni alio statu intra regnum Sco- 
cie perpetuo sint exheredali et habeautiir de cete- 
ro tanquam inimici regis et regni ab omni ven- 
dicacione juris hereditarii vel juris alterius cujus- 
cunque in posternm ])ro se et heredibus suis in 
perpetuum privati ad perpetuam igitur rei me- 
moriam et evidentem probacionem hujus judicii 
et slatuti sigilla episcoporum et aliorum prola- 
torum nee non et comitum baronum ac ceterofKm 
nobilium dicti regni presenti ordinacioni jutbi>' o 
et statuto sunt appensa. 
Sigillura Domini Regis 
Sigillum Willelmi Episcopi Sancti Andre* 
Sigillum Roberti Episcopi Glascuensis 
Sigillum Willelmi Episcopi Dunkeldensij 

- - - Episcopi 

- - - Episcopi 

- _ - - Episcopi 

Sigillum Alani Episcopi Sodorensis 
Sigillum Johannis Episcopi Brechynensis 
Sigillum Andree Episcopi Ergadiensis 
Sigillum Frechardi Episcopi Catbanensia 
Sigillum Abbatis de Scona 
Sigillum Abbatis de Calco 
Sigillum Abbatis de Abirbrothok 
Sigillum Abbatis de Sancta Criice 
Sigillum Abbatis de Londoris 
Sigillum Abbatis de Newbotill 
Sigillum Abbatis de Cupro 
Sigillum Abbatis de Paslet 
Sigillum Abbatis de Dufhfermelyn 
Sigillum Abbatis de Lincluden 
Sigillum Abbatis de Insula Missarum 
Sigillum Abbatis de Sancto Coluraba 
Sigillum Abbatis de Deer 
Sigillum Abbatis de Dulce Corde 
Sigillum Prioris de Coldinghame 
Sigillum Prioris de Rostynot 
Sigillum Prioris Sancti Andree 
Sigillum Prioris de Pettinwem 
Sigillum Prioris de Insula de Lochlevin 
Sigillum Senescalli Scocie 
Sigillum Willelmi Comitis de Ros 



Sigillum Gilbert! dela Haja Constabularii Scocie 

Sigillum Roberti de Keth Mariscalli Scocie 

Sigillum Hugonis de Ros 

Sigillum Jacobi de Duglas 

Sigillum Johannis de Sancto Claro 

Sigillum Thome de Ros 

Sigillum Alexandri de Settone 

Sigillum Walteri Haliburtone 

sigillum Davidis de Balfour 

Sigillum Duncani de Wallays 

Sigillum Thome de Dischingtone 

Sigillum Anih-ee de Moravia 

Sigillum Archibaldi de Betun 

Sigillum Rauulphi de Lyill 

Sigillum Malcomi de Balfour 

*^igillum Xormauni de Lesley 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



317 



Sigillum Nigelli de Campo bello 
Sigillura Morni de Musco Campo. 



25. Nor for De Argentine alone, 

Through Ninian's church these torches shone. 
And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.— P. 284. 
The remarkable circumstances attenditig the 
death of De Argentine have been already noticed, 
(p. 291. ) Besides this renowned warrior, there fell 
many representatives of the noblest houses in En- 
gland, which never sustained a more bloody and 
disastrous defeat. Barbour says that two hundred 
pairs of gilded spurs were taken from the field of 
battle; and that some were left the author can bear 
witness, who has in his possession a curious antique 
spur, dug up in the morass not long since. 
" It was forsooth a great ferlie. 
To see samyn* sa fele dead lie. 
Two hundred spurs that were reidt 
Were taen of knights that were dead." 
I am now to take my leave of Barbour, not 
without a sincere wish that the public may encour- 
age the undertaking of my friend. Dr. Jamieson, 
who has issued proposals for publishing an accu- 
rate edition of his poem, and of Blind Harry's 
•Wallace. The onlj- good edition of the Bruce was 
published by Mr. Pinkerton, in 3 vols., in 1790; 
and the learned editor having had no personal 
access to consult the manuscript, it is not williout 
errors; and it has besides become scarce. Of Wal- 
lace there is no tolerable edition; yet these two 
poems do no small honour to the early state of 



PRISONERS. 

Barons and baronets. ,lohn Bluwet, 

Henry de Bonn, earl of Roger Corbet, 

Hereford, Gilbert de Boun, 

Lord Jolm Giffard, Bartholomew de Ene- 

William de Latimer, field, 

Maurice de Berkley, Thomas de Ferrers, 

Ingelram de Umfraville, Radulph and Thomas 

Marmaduke de T wenge, Bottetort, 

John and Nicholas de 



John de Wyletone, 
Robert de Maulee, 
Henry Fitz-Hugh, 
Thomas de Gray, 
Walter de Beauchamp, 
Richard de Charon, 
John de Wevelmtun, 
Robert de Nevil, 
John de Segrave, 
Gilbert Peeche, 
John de Clavering, 
Antony de Lucy, 
Radulph de Camys, 
John de Evere, 
Andrew de Abremhyn. 

£jiights. 
Thomas de Berkely, 
The son of RogerTyrrel, 
Anselm de ilareschal, 
Giles de Beauchamp, 
John Cyfrewast, 



And in sum, there were there slain, along with the 



Kingstone,(brothers,) 
William Lovel, 
Henry de Wileton, 
Baldwin de Frevill, 
John de Clivedon,* 
Adomar la Zouche, 
John de Merewode, 
John Maufe,t 
Thomas and Odo Lele 

Ercedekene, 
Robert Beaupel, (the 

son,) 
John Mautrevers, (the 

son,) 
William and William 

Giffard. 
And thirty-four other 

knights, not named by 

the historian. 



Scottish poetry, and the Bruce is justly regarded earl of Gloucester, forty-two barons and banne^ 



as containing authentic historical jiicts.^ 
The following list of the slain at Bannockburn, 

extracted from the continuator of Trivet's Annals, 

will show the extent of the nfitional calamity. 
" List of the Slaix. 

Sarons and knight bail- Simon Ward, 
7ierets. Robert de Felton, 

Gilbert de Clare, earl of Michael Poynini 



Gloucester, 
Robert de Clifford, 
Payan Tybetot, 
William le Mareschal, 
John Comyn, 
William de Vescey, 
John de Montfort, 
Nicolas de Hasteleigh, 
William Dayncourt, 
iEgidius (le Argen- 

teyue, 
Edmund Comyn, 
John Lovel, (the rich) 
Edmond de Hastynge, 
Milo de Stapleton, 



Edmund MauUey. 

Knights. 
Henr)' de Boun, 
Thomas de Ufford, 
John de Elsingfelde, 
John de Harcourt, 
Walter de Hakelut, 
Philip d6 Courtenay, 
Hugo de Scales, 
Radulph de Beauchamp, 
John de Penbrigge, 
With thirty-three others 

of the same rank, not 

named 



rets. The number (>f earls, barons, and bannerets 
made captive, was twenty-two, and sixty-eight 
knights. Many clerks and esquires were also there 
slain or taken. Roger de Northburge, keeper of 
the king's signet, [aistos targise domini regis,) was 
made prisoner with his two clerks, Roger de Wa- 
kenfelde and Thomas de Swinton, upon which 
the king caused a seal to be made, and entitled it 
his privy seal, to distinguish the same from the 
signet so lost. The earl of Hereford was exchanged 
against Brute's queen, who had been detained in 
captivity ever since the year 1306. The targia, or 
signet, was restored to England through the in- 
tercession of Ralph de Monthermer, ancestor of 
lord Moira, who is said to have found favour in 
the eyes of the Scottish king." — Continuation of 
Tiivefs Annals, Hall's edit. Oxford, 1712, vol. ii, 
p. 14. 

Such wei'e the immediate consequences of the 
field of Bannockburn. Its more remote effects, in 
completely establishing the national independence 
of Scotland, afford a boundless field for specula- 
tion. 



EST THREE PARTS. 



FART I. 

Few personages are so renowned in tradition as 
Thomas of Ercildoun, known by the appellation 



• Together. t Red, or gilded. 

t Hoth these works have now been published, in a 
splendid form, and with extreme accuracy, by the learned 
aiij reverend doctor. 



of The Rhymer. Uniting, or supposed to unite, 
in his person, the powers of poetical composition, 
andofvaticination, his memory, even after the lapse 
of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration 
by his countrymen. To give any tiling like ;i certain 
history of this remarkable man, would be indeed 

• Supposed Clinton. t Maul. 



!18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



difficult; but the curious may derive some satis- 
faction from the particulars here brought together. 

It is agreed, on all hands, that the residence, 
and probablj'the birth-place, of this ancient bard, 
was Ercildoun, a village situated upon the Leader, 
two miles above its junction with the Tweed. 
The ruins of an ancient lower are still pointed out 
as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform tradition 
bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Lear- 
mont; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was 
conferred on him in consequence of his poetical 
compositions. There remains, nevertheless, some 
doubt upon this subject. In a charter, which is 
subjoined at length,* the son of our poet designs 
himself, "Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of 
Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun," whicli seems to 
imply, tliat the father did not beal* the hereditary 
name of Learmont; or, at least, was better known 
and distinguished by the epithet which he had ac- 
quired by his personal accomplishments. 1 must, 
however, remark, that, down to a very late period, 
the practice of distinguishing the parties, even in 
formal writings, by the epithets which had been 
bestowed on them from personal circumstances, 
instead of the proper surnames of their families, 
was common, and indeed necessary, among the 
border clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth 
century, when surnames were hardly introduced 
in Scotland, this custom nmst have been universal. 
There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in sup- 
posing our poet's name to have been actually Lear- 
mont, although, in this charter, he is distinguish- 
ed by the popular appellation of The Rhymer. 

We are belter able to ascertain the period at 
which Thomas of Ercildoun lived; being the latter 
end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to 
place his deatli a little farther back than Mr. Pin- 
kerton, who supposes that he was alive in 1300; 
{^lAst of Scottish Poets:) wh'.h is hardly, I think, 
consistent with the charter already quoted, by 
which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, 
conveys to the convent of the Trinity of Soltre, the 
tenement which he possessed by inheritance {he- 
reditarie) in Ercildoun, with all claim which he, 
or his predecessoi 8, could pretend thereto. From 
this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead; 
since we find his son disposing of the family pro- 
perty. Still, however, the argument of the learn- 
ed historian will remain unimpeached, as to the 
time of the poet's birth. For if, as we learn from 
Barbour,t his prophecies were held in reputation 
as early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Comyn, 
the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr. Pinkerton's 



* From the Chartulavy of the Trinity House of Soltre, 
Advocates'' I^ibrary, W. 4, 14. 
ERSYLTON. 

Omnibus hag literas visuris vel audituris Tliomas de 
Ercildoun filius et heres Thoin* llymour de Ki-cildoun 
saluttm in Domino. Noveritis me per fustem ct baculum 
in pleno judicio resignasse ae per presentes quietem 
clamasse pro me <t hei-edibus meis Mag^stro doraus Sanc- 
t£e Trinit.atis de Soltre et fratribiis ejusdem domus totam 
terram lueam cum omnibus perliiientibus suis quam in 
tenemento de Ercildoun liereditarie tenui renunciando 
de toto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure et clameo qua: 
egfo seu antecessores mei in eadem terra alioque tempore 
de perpetuo habuiraus sive de futuro habere possumus. 
In cujus rei testimoiiio presentitius liis siq-illum meum 
apposui data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post 
festiun Saiictoruui ApostoToium Symoni? e( .Hide Anno 
Domini Millesimo ec. Noiiagesimo Nono. 
t The liues alluded to are these: 

I hope that Tomas's prophcsie. 

Of Rrceldoun shall truly be. 

In him, &:o. 



words) the uncertainty of antiquity, must have al- 
ready involved his character and writings. In a 
charter of Peter de Haga de Bemersyde, which 
unfortunately wants a date, the Rhymer, a near 
neighbour, and, if we may trust tradition, a friend 
of tl\e family, appears as a witness. — Chartulavy of 
JMelrose. 

It canAot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercildoun 
was a remarkable and important person in his own 
time, since, very shortly after his death, we find 
him celebrated as a prophet, and as a poet. Whe- 
ther he himself made any pretensions to the first 
of those characters, or whether it was gratuitously 
conferred upon him by the credulit)' of posterity, 
it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe 
Mackenzie, Learmont o^ly versified the prophe- 
cies delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun, of a con- 
vent at Haddington. But of this thei-e seems not 
to be the most distant proof. On the contrary, all 
ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's prophe- 
cies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted 
by himself. Thus, in Winton's Chronicle, 

Of this fycht quilum sj)ak Thomas 

Of Ersyldoune, tliat sayd in Derne, 

Thare suld ]neit stahvarthly, starke, and steme. 

He sayd it in liis prophecy; • 

But ho* he wist it yiasferly. 

Book viii, chap. 32, 
There could have been no ferly, (marvel,) in Win- 
ton's eyes at least, how Thomas came by his 
knowledge of future events, had he ever heard of 
the inspired nun of Haddington; whicli, it cannot 
be doubted, would have been a solution of the 
mystery, much to the taste of the prior of Loch- 
levin.* 

Whatever doubts, however, the learned might 
have, as to the source of the Rhymer's prophetic 
skill, the vulgar had no liesitation to ascr'-Lc the 
whole to the intercourse between the bard and the 
queen of Faery. The popular tale bears, that Thomas 
was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy Land, 
where he acquired all the knowledge vvhich made 
him afterwards so famous. After seven years re- 
sidence he was permitted to return to the eartli, 
to enlighten and astonish his countrymen by his 
prophetic powers; still, however, remaining bound 
to return to his roy.al mistress, when she should 
intimate her pleasure. t Accordingly, while Tho- 
mas was making merry with his friends in the 
tower of Ercildoun, a person came running in, and 
told, with marks of fear and astonishment, that a 
liart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and 
were composedly and slowly parading the street 
of the village. :j: The prophet instantly arose, left 
his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals 
to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. 
According to the popular belief, he still " drees 



* Henry, the minstrel, who introduces Thomas into the 
}iistoi-y of Wallace, expresses tlie same doubt as to the 
source of his prophetic knowledge. 

Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than 
With the minister, which was a worthy man. 
He used oft to that relipfious place; 
The people deemed of wit he meikle can, 
And so he told, though that they bless or ban. 
Which happened sooth in many divers case; 
I cannot say by wrong or rigliteousness. 
In rule of war whether they tint or wan: 
It may be deemed by division of grace, &c. 

History of IVallace, Book ii. 

fSee a Dissertation on Fairies, prefixed to tlie ballad 

of TAMLANE, Minstrelsy of the Border, vol. ii, p. 237. 

X There is a singuhir resemblance betw ixt this tradition, 

and an incident occurring in the life of Merlin Caledoniun, 

which the reader will tiiid a few pages onward. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



319 



his weiru'- in Fairy Land, and is expected one day 
to revisit earth. In the mean while, his memory 
is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon 
tree, from beneath the shade of which he deliver- 
ed his prophecies, now no longer exists; but the 
spot is marked by a large stone, called Eildon tree 
stone. A neighbouring rivuiet takes the name of 
the Bogle Uurn, 'Goblin Brook) from the Rhy- 
mer's supernatural visitants. The veneration paid 
to his dwelling-place even attached itself in some 
degree to a person, who, within the memory of 
man, chose to set up his residence in the ruins of 
Learmont's tower. The name of this man was 
Murray, a kind of herbalist; who, by dint of some 
knowledge in simples, the possession of a musical 
clock, an electrical machine, and a stuffed alliga- 
tor, added to a supposed communication with 
Thomas the Rhymer, lived for many years in very 
good credit as a wizard. 

It seemed to the author unpardonable to dismiss 
a person, so important in border tradition as the 
Rhymer, without some farther notice than a simple 
commentary upon the following ballad. It is given 
from a copy, obtained from a lady, i-esiding not 
far from Ercildoun, corrected and enlarged by one 
in Mrs. Brown's MSS. The former copy, how- 
ever, as might be expected, is far more minute as 
to local description.* To this old tale the author 
has ventured to add a second part, consisting of a 
kind of cento, from the printed propiiecies vul- 
garly ascribed to the Rhymer; and a third part, 
entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his 
having returned with the hart and hind to the 
land of Faerie. To make his peace witli tiie more 
severe antiquaries, the author has prefixed to the 
second part some remarks on Learmont's prophe- 
cies, 

PART I. — ANCIEKT. 

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; 

A ferlie he spied wi' his ee; 
And there he saw a ladye bright. 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk. 

Her mantle o' the velvet fyne; 
At ilka tett of her horse's mane. 

Hang fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas he pulled aff his cap, 

And louted low down to his knee, 
"All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven! 

For thy peer on earth I never did see. '' 

" O no, O no, Thomas," she said; 

"That name does not belang to me; 
1 am but the queen of fair Elfland, 

That am hither come to visit thee. 

" Harp and caii), Thomas," she said; 

" Harp and cfirp along with me; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips. 

Sure of your body I will be." 

" Betide me weal, betide me wo, 
That weirdt shall never dnnton me." 

Sj'ne he has kissed her rosy lips. 
All underneath the Eildon tree. 



• The author has been since inibrmed, by a most emi- 
nent antiqif.uy, tliat there is in existence a MS. copy of 
this ballad, of veiy considerable antiquity, of whidi lie 
hopes to avail himself on some futui-e occasion. 

T T/ial ivfird, <ifc. That destiny shall iiev.i- fiiglutn me. 



"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said| 
" Ti-ue Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; 
And ye maun sei-ve me seven years. 

Through weal or wo as may chance to be.'' 
She mounted on her milk-white steed; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung. 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 
O they rade on, and farther on; 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind; 
Until they reached a desert wide, • 

And living land was left behind. 
"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas. 

And lean your head upon ray knee; 
Abide, and rest a little space. 

And I will show you ferlies three. 
" O see ye not yon narrow road. 

So thick beset with thorns and briers? 
That is the path of righteousness. 

Though after it but few inquires. 
"And see not ye that braid, braid road, 

That lies across that lily leven.'' 
Tliat is the path of wickedness. 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 
" And see not ye that bonny road. 

That winds about the fernie braef 
That is the road to fair Ellland, 

Where thou and I this night maun gae: 
" But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see: 
For, if you speak word in Elflyn land. 

Ye '11 ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

tiiey rade on, and farther on. 

And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae stern 
light. 

And tliey waded through red blude to the knee, 
For a' the blude that's shed on earth, 

Rins through tlie springs o' that countrie. 
Syne they came on to a garden green, 

And she pu'd an apple frae a tree;i 
"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; 

It will give thee the tongue that can never lie." 
" My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said; 

" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! 

1 neither dought to buy nor sell. 

At fair or tryst, where I may be. 

" 1 dought neither speak to prince or peer, 

Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." 
" Now hold thy peace!" the ladye said, 

" For, as I say, so must it be." 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green; 

And, till seven years were gane and past, 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 



PART Ii. 

The prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Ercil- 
doun, have been the principal means of securino- 
to him remembrance " amongst the sons of his 
people." Tlie author of Sir Tristrem woidd long 
ago have joined, in the vale of oblivion, " Clerk 
of Tranent, who wrote tlie adventures of Schir 
Gaivain,'' if, by good hap, tlie same current of 



320 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ideas respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to 
be regarded as a magician by the Lazzaroni of Na- 
ples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoun to the 
prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself 
affected it daring his life. We know at least, for 
certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge 
was current soon after his death. His prophecies 
are alluded to by Barbour, by Wintoun, and by 
Henry the minstrel, or Blind Harry, as he is usu- 
ally termed. None of these authors, however, 
give the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticina- 
tions, but merely relate histoi'ically his having 
predicted the events of which they speak. The 
earliest of the pi'ophecies ascribed to him, which 
is now extant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a 
MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas 
of Ercildoun, to a question from the heroic coun- 
tess of March, renowned for the defence of the 
castle of Dunbar, against the English, and termed, 
in the familiar dialect of her time. Black JLgnes 
of Dunbar. This prophecy is remarkable, in so 
lar as it bears very little resemblance to any verses 
published in the printed copy of the Rhymer's 
supposed prophecies. The verses are as follows; 

" La countesse de Donbar demanrk h Thomas de Esse- 
domie quant la guerre d' Escoce prcndrcit fyn. E xfl lare- 
poundij et dijt. 

" When man is imad a kyn^ of a capped man; 

When man is levere otlier mones ihyng' than is owen: 

When londe thouys forest, ant furest is folde; 

When hares kendles o' the lier'ston; 

Wlien Wytt and Wille werres togedere: 

When mon makes stables of kyrkes; and steles cas- 
tels with styes; 

When Rokesboroughe nys no burgh ant mai'ket is at 
Fo rvvy leye: 

When Bambourne is donged with dede men; 

When men ledes men in ropes to biiyen and to sellen ; 

When a quarter of wliaty whete is chaunged for a 
colt of ten markes ; 

When prude(pride) prikes and pees is leyd in prisoun; 

When a Scot ne me liym hude ase hare in forme that 
the English ne shall hym fynde; 

When rycht and wroiige asiente the togedere; 

When laddes weddetli lovedies; 

When Scottes flen so faste, that for faute of shep, liy 
drowneth hemselve; 

When shal this be? 

Nonther in thine tyrae ne in mine; 

Ah comen ant gone 

Withinne twenty winter ant one."' 

Pinkerton^s Puems, from Mail land's MSS. quot- 
ing from Hart. Lib. 2253. f. 127. 
As 1 have never seen the MS. from which Mr. 
Pinkerton makes this extract, and as the date of 
it is fixed by him (certainly one of the most able 
antiquaries of our age) to the reign of Edward I 
or 11, it is with great diffidence that 1 hazard a 
contrary opinion. There can, however, I believe, 
be little doubt, that these prophetic verses are a 
forgery, and not the production of our Thomas 
the Rhymer. But I am inclined to believe them 
of a later date than the reign of Edward I or 11. 
The gallant defence of the castle of Dunbar, bj' 
Black Agnes, took place in the year 1337. The 
Rhymer died previous to the year 1299 (see the 
charter, by his son, in the introduction to the 
foregoing ballad.) It seems, therefore, ver}' im- 

f)robable, that the countess of Dunbar could ever 
lave an opportunity uf consulting Thomas the 
Rliymer, since that would infer that she was mar- 
ried, or at least engaged in state matters, previous 
to 1299; whereas, she is described as a young, or 
a middle-aged woman, at the period of her being 
beseiged in the fortress, which slie so well defend- 
ed, if the editor might indulge a conjecture, he 
would suppose, that the prophecy was contrived 



for the encouragement of the English invaders, 
during the Scottish wars; and that the names of 
the countess of Dunbar, and of Thomas of Ercil- 
doun, were used for the greater credit of the for- 
ger}'. According to this hypothesis, it seems likely 
to have been composed after the siege of Dunbar, 
which had made the name of the countess well 
known, and, consequently, in the reign of Edward 
III. The whole tendency of the prophecy is to 
aver, " that there shall be no end of the Scottish 
war, (concerning which the question was propos- 
ed, ) till a final conquest of the country by England, 
attended by all the usual severities of war. When 
the cultivated country shall become forest, says 
the prophecy; when the wild animals shall inhabit 
the abode of men; when Scotts shall not be able 
to escape the English, should they crouch as hares 
in their form." All these denunciations seem to re- 
fer to the time of Edward III, upon whose victo- 
ries the prediction was probably founded. The 
mention of the exchange betwixt a colt worth ten 
markes, and a quarter of " whaty (indifferent) 
wheat," seems to allude to the dreadful famine 
about the 3'ear 1388. The independence of Scot- 
land was, however, as impregnable to the mines 
of superstition, as to the steel of our more power- 
ful and more wealthy neighbours. The war of 
Scotland is, thank God, at an end; but it is ended 
without her people liaving either crouched like 
hares, in their foriu, or being drowned in their flight 
" for faute of shep," — tliank God for that too. T he 
prophecy quoted in p. 318, is probably of the 
same date, and intended for the same purpose. A 
minute search of. the records of the time would, 
probably, throw additional light upon the allusions 
contained in tl»ese ancient legends. Among vari- 
ous rhymes of prophetic import, which are at this 
day current amongst tlie people of Teviotdale, is 
one, supposed to be pronounced by Thomas the 
Rhymer, presaging the destruction of his habita- 
tion and family: 

The hare sail kittle (litter) on ray hearth-stane, 
And there will never be a laird Learinont again. 

The first of these lines is obviously borrowed 
from that in the MS. of the Harl. library. — " When 
hares kendles o' the her'ston" — an emphatic im- 
age of desolation. It is also inaccurately quoted in 
the prophecy of Waldhave, publislied by Andro 
Hart, 1613: 

This is a trae talking that Xl'omas of tells. 
The hare shall hirple on the hard (hearth) stane. 

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous histo- 
rian, seems to hdve been a firm believer in the 
authenticity of the- prophetic wares, vended in the 
name of Thomas of Ercildoun. " The prophecies, 
yet extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon he was 
commonly called Thomas the Rhijiner, may justly 
be admired; having foretold, so many ages betore, 
the union of England and Scotland in the ninth 
degree of the Bruce's blood, with the succession 
df Bruce himself to the crown, being yet a child, 
and other divers particulars, wliich the event hath 
ratified and made good. Boethius, in his story, 
relateth his prediction of king Alexander's deatli, 
and that he did foretel the same to the earl of 
March, the day before it fell out; saying, 'that 
before the next day at noon, such a tempest should 
blow, as Scotland 'had not felt for many years be- 
fore.' The next morning, the day being clear, and 
no change appearing in tlie air, the nobleman did 
challenge Thomas of his saying, calling him an 
impostor. He replied, that noon was not yet passed 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



321 



About which time, a post came to advertise the 
earl of the king his sudden death. 'Then,' said 
Thomas, 'this is the tempest I foretold; and so 
shall it prove to Scotland.' Whence, or how, he 
had this knowledge, can hardly be affirmed; but 
sure it is, that he did divine and answer truh^ of 
many things to come." — SpottisTuoodc, p. 47. Be- 
sides that notable voucher, master Hector Boece, 
the good archbishop might, had he been so minded, 
have referred to Fordim for the prophecy of king 
Alexander's death. That historian calls our bard 
*' niralis ille vates." — Fordun, lib. x, cap. 40. 

What Spottiswoode calls " the prophecies extant 
in Scottish rhyme," are the metrical predictions 
ascribed to the prophet of Ercildoun, wliich, with 
many other compositions of the same nature, bear- 
ing the names of Bede, Mei-lin, Gildas, and other 
approved soothsayers, are contained in one small 
volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edinburgh, 
1615. The late excellent lord Hailes made these 
compositions the subject of a dissertation, pub- 
lished in his Remarks on the History of Scotland. 
His attention is chiefly directed to the celebrated 
propliecy of our bard, mentioned by bishop Spot- 
tiswoode, bearing, that the crowns of England and 
Scotland should be united in the person of a king, 
son of a French queen, and related to Bruce in the 
ninth degree. Lord Hailes plainly proves, that this 
prophecy is perverted from its original purpose, 
in order to apply it to the succession of James VI. 
The ground-work of the forgery is to be found in 
the prophecies of Bei-lington, contained in the 
same collection, and runs thus: 

*' Of Bruce's left side shall spring out a, leafe. 

As neei-e as the ninth degree; 

And shall be fleemed of taive Scotland, 

In France fiirre beyond the sea. 

And then shall come againe ryding'. 

With eyes that many men may see. 

At Aberladie he shall light. 

With hempen helteres and horse of tre. 

However it happen for to fall, 

The lyon shal be lord of all; 

The French quen shal bearre the sonne, 

Shal rule all Brittaine to the sea; 

Ane from the Bruce's blood shal come also. 

As neere as the ninth degree. 

Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea, 
A keene man of courage and bold man of armes; 
A duke's son do wbled (i. e. dubbed) a born man in France, 
That shal our mirths aujjment, and mend all our harmes; 
After the date of our Lord 1513, and thrice three thereafter; 
Wliich shal brooke all the broad isle to himself. 
Between 13 and thrice three the threip shal be ended, 
The Saxons sail never recover after." 

There cannot be any doubt, that this prophecy 
was intended to excite the confidence of the Scot- 
tish nation in the duke of Albany, regent of Scot- 
land, who arrived from France in 1515, two years 
after the death of James IV, in the fatal field of 
Flodden. The regent was descended of Bruce by 
the left, i. e. by the female side, within the ninth 
degree. His mother was daughter to the earl of 
Boulogne, his father banished from his jcountry — 
"fleemit of fair Scotland." His arrival must ne- 
cessarily be by sea, and his landing was expected 
at Aberlady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a duke's 
son, dubbed knight; and nine years from 1513 are 
allowed him, by the pretended propliet, for the 
accomplishment of the salvation of his country, 
and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister and 
rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite tiie 
confidence and spirit of the country. 



The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas 
the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to 
a later pel iod. The narrator meets the Rhymer 
upon a land, beside alee, who shows him many em- 
blematical visions, described in no mean strain of 
poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flodden 
and Pinkie, to the national distress which follow- 
ed these defeats, and to future halcyon days, which 
are promised to Scotland. One quotation or two 
will be sufficient to establish this fully: 

" Our Scottish king sal come ful keene, 

Tlie red lion beareth he; 

A feddertd arrow sharp, I weene, 

Shal make him wiuke and warre to see. 

Out of the fitld ht! shal be led 

When lie is bludie and wo for blood; 

Yet to his men shall he say, 

' For God"s luvf, turn you againe, 

And give you southerue folk a frey! 

Why should I lose the right is mine? 

My date is not to die this day.' " — 

Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers 
to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular reports 
concerning the doubtful fate of James IV? Allu- 
sion is immediately afterwards made to the death 
of George Douglas,' heir apparent of Angus, who 
fought and fell with his sovereign: 

" The stei-nes three that day shall die, 
Tliat bears the haile in silver sheen." 
The well known arms of the Douglas family are 
the heart and tliree stars. In another place, the 
battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by name: 

" At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt 
Much gentle blood that day; 
There shall the bear lose the guilt, 
And the eagill bear it away." 

To the end of all this allegorical and mystical 
rhapsody is interpolated, in the later edition by 
An(lro Hart, a new edition of Berlington's verses, 
before quoted, altered and manufactured so as to 
bear reference to tlie accession of James VI, which 
had just then taken place. The insertion is made, 
with a peculiar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a 
question put by the narrator, concerning the name 
and abode of the person who showed him these 
strange matters, and the answer of the prophet to 
that question; 

" Then io the Bairne could I say, 
Where dwells thou, or in what countrieF 
[Or who shall rule the isle of Britane, 
From the north to the south sey? 
A French queene shall beare the sonne, 
Shall rule all Britane to the sea; 
Which of the Bruce's blood shall come, 
As neere as the nint degree: 
I fraiiied fast what was his name. 
Where that he came, from what country."] 
In Ersliugtoun I dwell at hame, 
Thomas Rymour men cals me." 

There is surely no one, who will not conclude, 
with lord Hailes, that tlie eight lines, inclosed in 
brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrowed 
from Berlington, with such alterations as might 
render the supposed prophecy applicable to the 
union of the crowns. 

While we are on this subject, it may be pi'oper 
briefly to notice the scope of some of the other 
predictions in Hart's collection. As the prophecy 
of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits ol 
the nation, during the regency of Albai.y, so those 
of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the earl ot 
Arran, afterwards duke of Chalelherault, during 
the minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity 
This is obvious from the following; verses: 



322 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" Take a thousand in calculation. 

And the longest of the lyon, 

Four crescents under one crowne, 

With saiut Andrew's croce thrise, 

Then threescore and thrise three: 

Take tent to Merling truely, 

Then shall the warres ended be. 

And never againe rise. 

In that yere there shall a king, 

A duke, and no crowned king; 

Becaus the prince shall be yong, 

And tender of yeares." 
The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, 
when the Scottish regent, by means of some suc- 
cours derived from France was endeavouring to 
repair the consequences of the fatal battle of Pin- 
kie. Allusion is made to the suppl)' given to the 
«' Moldwarte (England) by the fained hart" (the 
earl of Angus. ) The regent is described by his 
bearing the antelope; large supplies are promised 
from France, and complete conquest predicted to 
Scotland and her allies. I'hus was the same hack- 
neyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest 
of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The 
regent was not, indeed, till after this period, cre- 
ated duke of Chatelherault; but that honour was 
the object of his hopes and expectations. 

The name of our renowned soothsayer is liber- 
allv used as an authority, throughout all the pro- 
phecies, published by Andro Hart. Besides those 
expressly put in his name, Gildas, another assum- 
ed personage, is supposed to derive his knowledge 
from him; for he concludes thus: 

" True Thomas rae told in a troublesome time 
In a harvest morn at Eldoun hills." 

The Prophecy of Gildas. 

In the prophecy of Berlington, already quoted, 
we are told, 

" Marvellous Merlin, that many men of tells, 
And Thomas's sayings comes all at once." 

While 1 am upon the subject of these prophe- 
cies may I be permitted to call the attention ot an- 
tiquaries toMerdwynn Wyllt, ov. Merlin the Wild, 
in whose name, and by no means in that of Am- 
hrose Merlin, the friend of Arthur, the Scottish 
•prophecies .arc issued. That this personage resid- 
ed at Druramelzier, and roamed, like a second 
Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweeddale, in re- 
morse for the death of his nephew, we learn from 
Fordun. In the Scotichronicon, lib. iii, cap. 31, is 
an account of an interview betwixt St. Kentigern 
and Merlin, then in this distracted and miserable 
state. He is said to have been called Lailoken, 
from his mode of life. On being commanded by 
the saint to give an account of himself, he says, 
that the penance which he performs was imposed 
on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody 
contest betwixt Lidel and Carwanolow, of which 
battle he had been the cause. According to his 
own prediction, he perished at once by wood, 
earth, and water: for, being pursued with stones 
by the rustics, he fell from a rock into the river 
Tweed, and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed 
there for the purpose of extending a fishing net: 
Sude perfossus, lapide percussus et unda, 
Hsec tria Merlinum fertur inire necem, 
Sicque ruit, mersusaue fuit lignoiiue pependit, 
Et fecit yatem per terna pericula verura. 

But, in a metrical history of Merlin of Caledo- 
nia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from tlie 
traditions of the Welch bards, tins mode ot deatli 
is attributed to a page, whom Merlin s sister, de- 
sirous to convict the prophet of talsehood because 
he had betrayed her intrigues, introduced to him, 



under three various disguises, inquiring each time 
in what manner the person should die. To the first 
demand Merlin answered, the parly should ])erish 
by a fall from a rock; to tlie second, that he should 
die by a tree; and to the third, that he should be 
drowned. The youth perished, while hunting, in 
the mode imputed by Fordun to Merlin himself. 

Fordun, contrary to the Welch authorities, con- 
founds this person with the Merlin of Arthur; but 
concludes by informing us, that many believed him 
to be a different person. The grave of Merlin is point- 
ed out at Drummelzier, in Tweeddale, beneath an 
aged thorn-tree. On the east side of the church- 
yard, the brook, called Pausayl, falls into the 
Tweed; and the following propliecy is said to have 
been current concerning their union: 

When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's grave, 
Scotland and England shall one monarch have. 

On the day of the coronation of James VI, the 
Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the 
Pausayl at the propliet's grave. — Pennycuich''s 
History of T-weeddale,\>. 26. Tliese circumstances 
would seem to infer a communication betwixt the 
south-west of Scotland and Wales, of a nature pe- 
culiarly intimate; for I presume that Merlin would 
retain sense enough to choose, for the scene of his 
wanderings, a country having a language and man- 
ners similar to his own. 

Be this as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylves- 
ter, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots during 
the reign of James V. Waldhave,* under whose 
name a set of prophecies was published, describes 
himselfas lying upon Lomond Law; he hears a voice, 
which bids him stand to his defence; he looks around, 
andbeholds a flock of Iiares and foxesfpursaed over 

* I do not know whether the person here meant be 
Waldhave, an abbot of Melrose, who died in the odour 
of sanctity, about 1160. 

t Tlie strange occupation, in which Waldhave beholds 
Merlin engaged, derives some illustralion from a curi- 
ous passage iii Geoffrey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, 
above quoted. The poem, after narrating that the pro- 
j>het had fled to the torests in a state of distraction, pro 
ceeds to mention, that, looking upon the stars one clear 
evening, he discerned, from his astronomical knowledge, 
that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, upon the next 
morning, to take another husband. As he had presaged 
to her that this would liai)pen, and had promised her a 
nuptial gift ^cautioning her, however, to keep tlu^ bride- 
groom out oi his sight,) he now resolved to make good liis 
word. Accordingly, he collected all the stags and lesser 
game in his neighbourhood, and, h.aving seated himself on 
a buck, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cum- 
berland, where Guendolen resided. But her lover's curi- 
osity leading him to inspect too nearly this extraorilinai-y 
cavalcade, Merlin's rage was awakened, and he slew him, 
with the stroke of an autler of the stag. The original runs 
thus: 

Dixerat: et silvas ct saltus circuit omues, 
Cervorumque greges agmen collegit in unum, 
Et damas, capreasque simul, cervoque reseditj 
Et veuieule die, compel lens agn^ina pra; se, 
festinans vadit quo nubit Guendolsena. 
Postquam venit eo, patienter eoegit 
Cervos ante fores, proclamans, " Guendohvna, 
Guendohena, veni, te talia munera spectant.' 
Ocius ergo venit subridens Gueiulola^na, 
Gestarique virum cervo miratur, et ilium 
Sic parere viro, tanturn quoque posse feravum 
Uniri numcrum quas pr* se solus ag'cbat, 
Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas; 
Stabat ab excelsa spousus spectailsque fenestra 
In solio mirans equitem, risumque movebat. 
Ast ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis esset, 
Calluit, extemplodivulsit comua ceryo 
quo gestahatur, vibrataque jecit in ilium 
Kt caput illius penitus contrivit, eumque 
Reddidit exanimeni, vitamque fiigavit in aurav 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



323 



the mountains by a savage figure, to whom he can 
hardly give the name of man. At the sight ot 
Wahlli.ive, the apparition leaves the objects of his 
pursuit and assaults him with a club. Waldhave 
defends himself with his sword, throws the savage 
to the earth, and refuses to let him arise, till he 
swears by the law and lead he lives upon, " to 
do him no harm." This done, he permits him to 
arise, and marvels at his strange appearance: 
" He was fonned like a freike (man) all his four quarters; 
And tlien his chin and his face haired so thick. 
With haire growing- so grime, fearful to see." 
He answers briefly to Waldhave's inquiry con- 
cerning his name and nature, that he " drees his 
weird," i. e. does penance, in that wood; and 
having hinted that questions as to his own state 
are offensive, he pours forth an obscure rhapsody 
concerning futurity, and concludes, 

" Go musing upon Merling if thou wilt; 
For I mean no more man at tliis time." 
This is exactly similar to the meeting betwixt 
Merlin and Kentigern in Fordun. These prophe- 
cies of Merlin seem to have been in request in the 
minority of James V; for among the amusements 
with which sir David Lindesay diverted that prince 
during his infancy, are 

" The prophecies of Rjiner, Bade, and Merlin." 
. Sir David Lindsay''s Epistle to the King. 
And we find, in Waldhave, at least one allusion 
to the very ancient prophecy, addressed to the 
countess of Dunbar; 

" This is a true token that Thomas of tells. 

When a ladde with a ladye shall go over tlie fields." 

The original stands thus: 
" When laddes weddeth lovedies." 
. Anotherprophecy of Merlin seems to have been 
current about the time of the regent Morton's ex- 
ecution. — When that nobleman was committed to 
the charge of his accuser, captain James Stewart, 
newly created earl of Arran, to be conducted to 
his trial at Edinburgh, Spottiswoode says that he 
asked, " ' Who was earl of Arran?' and being an- 
swered that captain James was the man, after a 
short pause he said, 'And is it so? I know then 
what I ma)' look for!' meaning, as was thought, 
that the old prophecy of the ' falling of the heart* 
by the mouth of Arran,' should then be fulfilled. 
Whether this was his mind or not, it is not known; 
but some spared not, at the time when the Hamil- 
tons were banished, in which business he was held 
too earnest, to say, that he stood in fear of this 
prediction, and went that course only to disappoint 
it. But, if so it was, he did find himself now de- 
luded; for he fell by the mouth of another Arran 
tlian he imagined." — Spottiswoode, p. 313. The 
fatal words alluded to seem to be these in the pro- 
phecy of Merlin: 
" In tlie raouth of Arrane a selcouth shall fall. 
Two bloodie hearts shall be taken with a false traine. 
And deiHj' dung down without any dome." 
To return from these desultory remarks, into 
which the editor has been led by the celebrated 
name of .Merlin, the style of all tliese prophecies, 
pnblished b)' Hart, is very mucli the same. Tlie 



Ocius inde suum, talorum. verbere, cei-vuia 
DifFugiens egit, silvasque redire paravit." 
For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied 
fi-om a MS. in the Cotton library, nearly coeval with the 
author, I was indebted to my learned fnend, the late Mr. 
Ritson. There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the cu- 
rious and entertaining Specimens of Early English Ro- 
mances, published by Mr. Ellis. 
* The heart was the cognizance of Morton. 



measure is alliterative, and somewhat similar to 
that of P/erce Plo-ivmari's Visions; a circumstance 
which might entitle us to ascribe to some of them 
an earlier date than the reign of James V, did we 
not know that sir Galloran of Galloivay, and Ga- 
■waine aiid Golog-ras, two romances rendered al- 
most unintelligible by the extremity of affected 
alliteration, are perhaps not prior to that period. 
Indeed, although we may allow, that during much 
earlier times, prophecies, under the names of those 
celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scot- 
land, yet those published by Hart have obviously 
been so often vamped and re-vamped, to serve the 
political purposes of different periods, that it may 
be shrewdly suspected, that, as in the ease of sir 
John Cutler's transmigrated stockings, veiy little 
of the original materials now remains. I cannot 
refrain from indulging my readers with the pub- 
lisher's title to the last prophecy; as it contains 
certain curious information concerning the queen 
of Sheba, who is identified with tlie Cumaan sybil: 
— " Here followeth a prophecie, pronounced by a 
noble queene and matron, called Sybilla, Regina 
Austri, that came to Solomon. Through the which 
she compiled four bookes, at the instance and re- 
quest of the said kiug Sol, and otlier divers: and 
the fourth hook was directed to a noble king, 
called Baldwine, king of the broad isle of Britain; 
in the which she niaketh mention of two noble 
princes and emperours, the which is called Le- 
ones. How these two shall subdue, and overcome 
all earthlie princes to their diudeme and crowne, 
and also be glorified and crowned in the heaven 
among saints. The fii-st of these two is Constan- 
tinus Magnus; that was Leprosus, the son of saint 
Helene, that found the croce. The second is the 
sixt king of the name of Steward of Scotland, the 
which is our most noble king." With such editors 
and commentators, what wonder that the text be- 
came unintelligible, even beyond the usual oracu- 
lar obscurity of prediction? 

If there still remain, therefore, among these 
predictions, any verses having a claim to real an- 
tiquity, it seems now impossible to discover them 
from those which are comparatively modern. Ne- 
vertheless, as there are to be found, in these com- 
positions, some uncommonly wild and masculine 
expressions, the editor has been induced to throw 
a few passages together, into the sort of ballad to 
which this disquisition is prefixed. It would, in- 
deed, have been no difiicult matter for him, by a 
judicious selection, to have excited, in favour of 
Tliomas of Ercildoun, a share of tlie admiration 
bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Ro- 
bert Fleming. For example: 

" But then the lilye shall be loused when they least think; 
Then clear king's blood slial quake for fear of death; 
For churls shal chop off heads of their chief beiins. 
And cai-fe of the crowns that Christ hath appointed. 



Thereafter on eveiy side sorrow slial arise; 
The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken; 
Seculars shal sit in spiritual seats. 
Occupying offices anoimed as they were." 

Taking the lily for the emblem of France, can 
there be a more plain prophecy of the murder of 
her monarch, the destruction of her nobility, and 
the desolation of her hierarchy' 

But, without looking farther into the signs of 
the times, the editor, though tlie least of all the 
prpphets, cannot help thinking that every true 
Briton will approve of his application of the ^ast 
prophecj quoted in the ballad. 



324 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hart's collection of prophecies has been fre- 
quently printed -within the century, probably to 
favour" the pretensions of the unfortunate family of 
Stuart. For the prophetic renown of Gildas and 
Bede, see Fordun, lib. 3. 

Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predic- 
tions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, pass- 
ing for his proplieiic effusions, are still current 
among the vulgar. Thus, he is said to have pro- 
phesied of the very ancient family of Haig of Be- 
merside, 

" Betide, betide, whate'er betide, 
Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside." 

The grandfather of the present proprietor of 
Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady 
brought him a male heir. The common people 
trembled for the credit of their favourite sooth- 
sayer. The late Mr. Haig was at length born, 
and their belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond 
a shadow of doubt. 

Anotlier memorable prophecy bore, that the old 
kirk of Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the 
abbey, should fall when "at the fullest." At a 
very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a 
piece of lime fell from the roof of the church. The 
alarm, for the fulfilment of the words of the seer, 
became universal; and happy were they who were 
nearest the door of the predestined edifice. The 
church was in consequence deserted, and has ne- 
ver since had an opportunity of tumbling upon a 
full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a beau- 
tiful specimen of Saxo-Golhic architecture, that 
the accomplishment of this prophecy is far distant. 

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, 
seems to have been founded on that sort of insight 
into futurity, possessed by most men of a sound 
and combining judgment. It runs thus: 

" At Eildon tree if you shall be, 

A brigg owei- Tweed you there may see." 

The spot in question commands an extensive 
prospect of the coarse of tiie river; and it was easy 
to foresee, that when the country should become 
in the least degree improved, a bi-idge would be 
somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, you 
now see no less than three bridges from that ele- 
vated situation. . 

Corspatrick (Comes Patrick,) earl of March, 
but more commonly taking his title from his cas- 
tle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars 
of Edward 1 in Scotland. As Thomas ofErcildoun 
is said to have delivered to him his famous pro- 
phecy of king Alexander's death, the author has 
chosen to introduce him into the following ballad. 
All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's 
publication. 

PART IT. 
ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. 

Whex seven years were come and gaue, 

The sun blinked fair on pool and stream; 
And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 

Like one awakened from a dream. 
He heard the trampling of a steed. 

He saw the flash of armour fiee. 
And he beheld a gallant knight, 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 
He was a stalwart knight, and strong; 

Of giant make he 'peared to be: 
He stirred his horse, as he were wode, 

Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free. 



Says—" Well met, well met, true Thomas! 

Some uncouth ferlies show to me."' 
Says — "Clirist thee save, Corspatrick brave! 

Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me! 

"Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave. 
And I will show thee curses three. 

Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane, 
And change the green to the black livery. 

" A storm shall roar, this very hour, 

From Rosse's hills to Solway sea." 
"Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea." 
He put his hand on the earlie's head; 

He showed him a rock, beside the sea, 
Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,* 

And steeldight nobles wiped their ee. 

" The neist curse lights on Branxton hills; 

By Flodden's high and heathery side, 
Shall wave a banner red as blude. 

And chieftains throng wi' mickle pride. 

" A Scottish king shall come full keen; 

The ruddy lion beareth he; 
A feathered arrow sharp, I ween, 

Shall make him wink and warre to see. 

" When he is bloodj', and all to bledde. 
Thus to his men he still shall say — 

' For God's sake turn ye back again, 
And give yon southern folk a fray! 

Why should I lose the right is mine? 
My doom is not to die this day.'f 

" Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, 

And wo and wonder ye sail see; 
How forty thousand spearman stand, 

Wliere yon rank river meets the sea. 

" There shall the lion lose the gylte, 
And the libbards bear it clean away; 

At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt 
Much gentil blude that day." 

"Enough, enough, of curse and ban; 

Some blessing show thou now to me, 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said, 

" \'e shall rue the day ye e'er saw me!" 

" The first of blessings 1 shall thee show, 
Is by a burn, that's called of bread;:f 

Where Sa.xon men shall tine the bow. 
And find their arrows lack the head. 

" Beside that brigg, out-ower that burn. 

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen. 

Shall many a falling courser spurn, 
And knights shall die in battle keen. 

" Beside a headless cross of stone. 
The libbards there shall lose the gree; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And drink the Saxon blood sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know. 
So thick the corses there shall be." 



* King Alexander; killed by a fall from his horse, near 
Kinghorn. 

t The »mcertainty which long prevailed in Scotland 
concerning the fate of James IV is well known. 

X One of Thomas's rhymes, presei-ved by tradition, run* 
thus: 

" The bum of breid 

Shall run fow reid." 

Bannock-buni is the brook here meant. The Scots gire 

the name oi bannock to a thick round cake of unleavened 

bread. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



325 



" Uut tell me now," said brave Dunbai', 
" True Thomas, tell now unto me, 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 

Even from the north to the southern sea?" 

" A Fi'ench queen shall bear the son.. 

Shall rule all Britain to the sea: 
He of the Bruce's blood shall come, 

As near as in the ninth degree. 

" The waters worship shall his race, 
Likewise the waves of the farthest sea; 

For they shall ride ower ocean wide. 
With hempen bridles, and horse of tree. " 

PART III. 

Thomas the Rhyther was renowned among his 
contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated 
romance of Sir Tristrem. Of this once admired 
poem only one copy is known to exist, which is in 
the Advocates' Library. The author, in 1804, pub- 
lished a small edition of this curious work, which, 
if it does not revive the reputation of the bard of 
Erceldoune, is at least the earliest specimen of 
Scottish poetr)'' hitherto published. Some account 
of this romance has already been given to the 
world in Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Ancient Poetry, 
vol. i, p. 165, iii, p. 410; a work, to which our 
predecessors and our posterity are alike obliged; 
the former, for the preservation of the best selected 
examples of their poetical taste; and the lattei', for 
a history of the English language, which will only 
cease to be interesting with the existence of our 
mother-tongue, and all that genius and learning 
have recorded in it. It is sufficient here to men- 
tion, that, so great was the reputation of the ro- 
mance of Sir Tristrem, that few were thouglit 
capable of reciting it after the manner of the au- 
thor; — a circumstance alluded to by Robert de 
Brune, the annalist: 

" I see in song, in sedg'eyngf tale, 
Of Ei'celdoun, and of Kendale. 
Now tharae says as they thame wroght, 
And in thare saying- it semes nocht, 
That thou may here in sir Tristrem, 
Over gestes it has the steme, 
Over all that is or was; 
If men it said as made Thomas," &c. 
It appears, from a very curious MS. of the thir- 
teenth century, penes Mr. Douce of London, con- 
taining a French metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, 
that the work of our Thomas the Rliymer was 
known, and referred to, by the minstrels of Nor- 
mandy and Bretagne. Having arrived at a part of 
the romance, where reciters were wont to differ 
in the mode of telling the story, the French bard 
expressly cites the authority of the poet of Ercel- 
doune: 

" Plusurs de nos granter ne volent, 

Co que del naira dire se solent, 

Ki femme Kaherdin dul aimer, 

Li naim redut Tristram narrer, 

E entusch^ par grant engin. 

Quant il afole Kaherdin; 

Pur cest plaie e pur cest mal, 

Envtiad Tristran Guvernal, 

En Engleterre pur Ysolt 

Thomas ico granter ne volt, 

Et si volt par raisun mostrer, 

Qu' ico ne put pas esteer," &c. 

The tale of Sir Tristrem, as narrated in the 
Edinburgh MS., is totally different from the vo- 
luminous romance in prose, originally compiled 
on the same subject by Rusticien de Puise, and 
analysed by M. de Tressan; but agrees in every 
essential particular with the metrical performance 



just quoted, which is a work of much higher an- 
tiquity. 

PART HI. — MODERN, 

When seven j'ears rnore had come and gone, 
Was war through Scotland spread. 

And Ruberslaw showed high Dunyon' 
His beacon blazing red. J 

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,2 
Pitched palliouns took their room, 

And crested helms, and spears a rowe, 
Glanced gaily through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie;*' 
They roused the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee.^ 
The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 

In Learraont's high and ancient hall; 
And there were knights of great renown, 

And ladies laced in pall. 
Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine, 

The music nor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 

Nor mantling quaighsf of ale. 
True Thomas rose, with harp in hand, 

When as the feast was done; 
(In minstrel strife, in P'airy land. 

The elfin harp he won.) 

Hushed were the throng, both limb and tongae 

And harpers for envy pale; 
And armed lords leaned on their swords, 

And harkenej to the tale. 

In numbers high, the witching tale 

The prophet poured along; 
No after bard might e'er a\ail| 

Those numbers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years, 
As, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears. 

He sung king Arthur's table round: 

The warrior of the lake; 
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,* 

And bled for ladies' sake. 

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, 

The notes melodious swell; 
Was none excelled, in Arthur's days. 

The knight of LioncUe. 
For Marke, his cowardly uncle'f right, 

A venomed wound he bore; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight. 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand; 

No medicine could be found. 
Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 

Had probed the rankling wound. 
With gentle hand and soothing tongue. 

She bore the leeches part; 
And, while she o'er his sick bed hung. 

He paid her with his heart. 
O fatal was the%ift, I ween! 

For, doomed in evil tide. 
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen. 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 



* Enscnzie — War-cry, or gathering word. 
t Qualghs — Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped 
together. { See introduction to this ballad. 



326 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 

In fairy tissue wove; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright. 

In gay confusion strove. 

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 

High reared its glittering head; 
And Avalon's enchanted vale 

In all its wonders spread. 
Brengwain was there, and Segramore, 

And fiend-born Merlin's gi'araarye; 
Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 

O who could sing but hei" 

Through many a maze the winning song 

In changeful passion led, 
Till bent at length the listening throng 

O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 

His ancient wounds their scars expand; 

With agony his heart is wrung; 
O where is Isolde's lily hand. 

And where her soothing tongue? 

She comes, she comes! like flash of flame 

Can lovers' footsteps fly: 
She comes, she comes ! she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die: her latest sigh 
Joined in a kiss his parting breath: 

The gentlest pair, that Britain bare. 
United are in death. 

There paused the harp; its lingering sound 

Died slowly on the ear; 
The silent guests still bent around, 

For still they seemed to hear. 

Then wo broke forth in murmurs weak, 
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh: 

But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek 
Did many a gauntlet dry. 

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower, 

The mists of evening close: 
In camp, in castle, or in bovver. 

Each warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent. 

Dreamed o'er the woful tale; 
When footsteps light, across the bent. 

The warrior's ears assail. 

He starts, he wakes; " What, Richard, ho! 

Arise, my page, arise! 
What venturous ■<^ight, at dead of night. 

Dare step v^here Douglas lies ! " 

Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth* sight they see, 
A hart and hind pace side by side. 

As white as snow on Fairnalie.s 

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud, 

They stately move and slow; 
Nor scare they at the gatliering crowd. 

Who marvel as they go. 

To Learmont's tower a message sped, 

As fast as page might run; 
And Thomas started from his bed, 

And soon his clothes did on. • 

First he woxe jjale, and then he woxc red; 

Never a word he spake but three: 
*' My sand is run; my thread is spun; 

This sign regardeth me." 



Selcouth— WonicTOW. 



The elfin harp his neck around. 

In minstrel guise, he hung; 
And on the wind, in doleful sound. 

Its dying accents rung. 

Then forth he went; yet turned him oft 

To view his ancient liall; 
On the gi'ay tower, in lustre soft. 

The autumn moonbeams fall. 

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen. 

Danced shimmering in the ray: 
In deepening mass, at distance seen. 

Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 

" Farewell, my father's ancient tower! 

A long farewell," said he: 
" The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power. 

Thou never more shall be. 

" To Learmont's name no foot of earth 

Shall here again belong. 
And on thy hospitable hearth 

The hare shall leave her young. 

" Adieu! adieu!" again he ci-ied. 

All as he turned him roun': 
" Farewell to Leader's silver tide! 

Farewell to Ercildoun!" 

The hart and hind approached the place. 

As lingering yet he stood: 
And there, before lord Douglas' face. 

With them he crossed the flood. 

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry brown steed. 

And spurred him the Leader o'er; 
But, though he rode with lightning speed. 

He never saw them more. 
Some said to hill, and some to glen, 

Their wonderous course had been; 
But ne'er in haunts of living men 

Again was Thomas seen. 

NOTE TO PART I, 

1. she pu'd an apple frae a tree, &c. — 1\ 319. 

The traditional commentary upon this ballad 
informs us, that the apple was the produce of the 
fatal tree of knowledge, and that the garden was 
the terrestrial paradise. The repugnance of Tho- 
mas to be debarred the use of falsehood, when he 
might find it convenient, has a comic effect. 

APPENDIX. 

The reader is here presented, from an old, and 
unfortunately an imperfect MS., with the undoubt- 
ed original of Tliomas the Rhymer's intrigue with 
the queen of Faery. It will affbitl great amuse- 
inent to those, who would study the nature of tra- 
ditional poetr)^ and the changes effected by oral 
tradition, to compare this ancient romance with 
the foregoing ballad. The same incidents are 
narrated, even the expression is often the same, 
yet the poems are as different in appearance, as if 
the older tale had been regularly and systemati- 
cally modernized by a poet of the present day. 
Incipit Prophcsia Thome ile Erseldoun. 

In a lande as I was kiit, 

In the grykiiif!; of the (lay. 

Ay alone as I wtnt. 

In Humle banUys me for to play: 

I saw the thvostyl, and the jay. 

Ye mawes mov)de ot'lier song^. 

Ye wodwale sang notes gay, 

That al the wod about range. 

In that longynj' as I lay, 

TJndir netlie a derne tre, 

I was war of a lady gay, 

Come rydjiig oiiyr a fair le; 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 



327 



Zogh I suld sitt to doomysday. 

With my toug to wrabbe and wiy, 

Certanly all hyr aray, 

It beth neuyr discryuyd fov me. 

Hyr palfia was dappyll gray, 

Sycke on say neuer none, 

As the son in somers day, 

All abowte that lady shone; 

Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone, 

A semly sight it was to se, 

Bryht with mony a precyous stone, 

And compasyd all with crapste; 

Stones of oryens gret pleute. 

Her hair about her hede it hang. 

She rode ouer the farnyle. 

A while she blew a while she sang, 

Her girths of nobil silke they were, 

Her boculs were of bei-yl stone, 

Sadyll and brj'dill war — : 

With sylk and sendel about bedone, 

Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne. 

And hyr croper of the arase, 

Hyr brydil was of gold fyne, 

On euei-y syde forsothe hong bells tbre, 

HjT brydil reynes 

A semly syzt 

Crop and patyrel 

In every jojnit 

She led thre grew hounds in a leash, 
And ratehes cowpled by her ran; 
She bar an horn about her halse. 
And undir her gyrdil raeny flene. 

Thomas lay and sa 

In the bankes of — - 

He sayd yonder is Mary of Might, 

That bar the child that died for me, 

Certes hot I may speke viiih that lady bright, 

Myd my hert will breke in three; 

I schal me hye with all my might, 

Hyr to mete at Eldyn tree. 

Thomas rathly up he rase. 

And ran ouer mountayn hye. 

If it be sothe the story says. 

He met her euyn at Eldyn tre. 

Thomas knelyd down on his kne 

Undir nethe the grenewood spray. 

And sayd. Lovely lady, thou rue on me, 

Queen of heaven as you well may be; 

But I am a lady of another countrie. 

If I be pareld most of prise, 

I ride after the wild fee. 

My ratehes rinnen at my devj's. 

If thou be pareld most of prise. 

And rides a lady in Strang foly. 

Lovely lady, as thou art wise, 

Giue you me leue to lig ye by. 

Do way, Thomas, that were foly, 

I pray ye, Thomas, late me be. 

That sin will fordo all my bewtie: 

Lovely lady, rewe on me. 

And euer more I shall with ye dwell, 

Here my trowth I plyght to thee. 

Where you beleues in heuyn of hell. 

Thomas, and you myght lyge me by, 

Undir nethe this grene wode spray, 

Thou would tell full hastely. 

That thou had layn by a lady gay. 

Lady, I mote lyg by the, 

Undir nethe the greene wode tre, 

For all the gold in chrystenty, 

Suld you neuer be wryede for me. 

Man on molde you will me marre. 

And yet bot you may haf you will, 

Trow you well, Thomas, you cheuyest ye warre; 

For all my bewtie wilt you spill. 

Down ly^jhtyd that lady bryzt, 

Undir nethe the grene wode spray. 

And as ye story sayth full ryzt, 

Senvn tymes by her he lay. 

She seyd, man, you lyste thi play. 

What berde in bouyr may dele with thee, 

That maries me all this long day; 

I pray ye, Thomas, lat me be. 

Thomas stode up in the stede, 

And hehelde the lady gay, 

Her heyre hang downe about hyr hede, 

The tone was blak, the other gray, 

Her eyn semyt onte before was gray. 

Her gay clethyng was all away, 

23 



That he before had sene in that stedc; 

Hyr body as bio as ony bede. 

Thomas sighede, and sayd, alias, 

Me thynke this a dullfuU syght. 

That thou art fadyd in the face. 

Before you shone as son so bi-yzt. 

Take thy leue, Thomas, at son and mone, 

At gresse, and at euery tre, 

This twelvemonth sail you with me gone, 

Medyl erth you sail not se. 

Alas, he seyd, full wo is me, 

I trow my dedes will werke me care, 

Jesu, my sole tak to ye. 

Whedir so euyr my botly sail fare. 

She rode furth with all her myzt, 

Undir nethe the deme lee. 

It was derke as at midnyzt. 

And euyr in water unto the kne; 

Through the space of days thre. 

He herde but s^vow5^lg of a flode; 

Thomas sayd, ful wo is me, 

Nowe I spyll for fawte of fode; 

To a garden she lede him tyte, 

There was fruyte in grete plente, 

Peyres and appless ther were rj-pe, 

The date and the damese. 

The figge and als fylbert tre; 

The nyghtyngale bredjing in her neste. 

The papigaye about gan ffe. 

The throstylcok sang wold hafe no rest. 

He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand 

As man for faute that was faynt; 

She seyd, Thomas, lat al Stand, 

Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt. 

Sche said, Thomas, I the hyzt, 

To lay thi hede upon my kne. 

And thou shalt see fayrer sight. 

Than euyr sawe man in their kiutre. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon fair way. 

That lyggs ouyr youe fayr ])layn? 

Yonder is the waye to heuyn for ay, 

Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yone secund way, 

That lygges lawe undir the ryst? 

Streight is the way, sothly to Say, 

To the joyes of paradyce. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yone thyrd way, 

That ligges ouyr yone how? 

Wide is the way sothly to say. 

To the brynyng fyres of hell. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castells. 

That standes ouyr yone fayr hill? 

Of town and tower it bereth the belle. 

In middel erth is non like tlieretill. 

Whan thou comyst in yon castell gaye 

I pray thu curteis man to-be; 

What so any man to you say, 

Soke thu answer non but me. 

My lord is servyed at yclie messe, 

With XXX kniztes feir and fre; 

I sail say sj-ttyiig on the dese, 

I toke thy speche beyonde the le. 

Thomas stode as still as stone, 

And beheld that ladye gaye; 

Than was sche fayr and lyche anone. 

And also i-jal on hir palfreye. 

The grewhoundes had fykle tliem on the dere, 

The ratehes coupled, by my fay, 

She blewe her horn Thomas to there. 

To the castle she went her way. 

The lady into the hall went, 

Thomas folowyd at her hand; 

Thar kept hyr mony a lady gent. 

With curtasy and lawe. 

Harp and fedyl both he fande. 

The getern and the sawtry, 

Lut and rybib ther gon gang, 

Thair was al maner of mynstralsy. 

The most fertly that Thomas thoght, 

When he com emyddes the flore, 

Fourty hertes to quari-y were bioglit. 

That had ben befor both long and store. 

Lymors lay lappyng blode, 

And kokes standing with dressyng knifb, 

And dressyd dere as thai wer wode. 

And rewell was thair wonder. 

Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre 

All that leue long day. 

Ladyes that were gret of gre . 

Sat and sang of rych aray. 



328 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thomas sawe much more in that place, 

Than I can descryve, 

Til on a day alas, alas, 

My lovelye ladye sayd to me. 

Busk ye, Thomas, you must agayn, 

Here you may no longer be: 

Hy then zerne that you were at hame, 

I sal ye hryag to Eldyn tre. 

Thomas answerd with heuy cher, 

And sayd, lowely ladye, lat ma be, 

For I say ye certainly here 

Haf I be bot the space of dayes three. 

Sothly, Thomas, as I telle ye. 

You hath been here thre yeres. 

And here you may no longer be; 

And I sal tele ye a skele, 

To-morrowe of helle ye foule fende 

Amang our folke shall chuse his fee: 

For you art a larg man and an hende, 

Trowe you wele he will chuse thee. 

For all the golde that may be, • 

Sal you not be betrayed for me, 

And thairfor sal you hens wend. 

She broght him eu5^l to Eldyn tre. 

Under nethe the grene wode spray. 

In Huntle bankes was fayr to be, 

Ther breddes syng both nyzt and day. 

Ferre ouyr montayns gray. 

There hathe my facon: 

Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way. 

[The elfin queen, after restoring Thomas to 
earth, pours forth a string of prophecies, in which 
we distinguish references to the events and per- 
sonages of the Scottish wars of Edward III. The 
battles of Dupplin and Halidon are mentioned, 
and also black Agnes, countess of Dunbar. There 
is a copy of this poem in the museum in the ca- 
thedral of Lincoln, another in the collection of 
Peterborough, but unfortunately tliey are all in an 
imperfect state. Mr. Jamieson, in his curious col- 



lection of Scottish ballads and songs, has an entire 
copy of this ancient poem, with all the collations. 
The lacwix of the former edition have been sup- 
plied from his copy.] 

NOTES TO PART III. 

1. And Ruberslaw showed high Dunyon.— P. 325. 
Ruberslaw and Buyon.are two high hills above 

Jedburgh. 

2. Then all by bonny Coldingknow.— P. 325. 

An ancient tower near Ercildoun, belonging to 
a family of the name of Home. One of Thomas's 
prophecies is said to have run thus: 

Vengeance, vengeance! when and whei-e? 

On the house of Coldingknow, now and evermair. 
The spot is rendered classical by its having given 
name to the beautiful melody, called the Bvoom 
o' the Co-wdenkna-uis. 

3. They roused the deer from Caddenhcad, 

'i'o distant Tovwoodlee.— P. 325. 

Torwbodlee and Caddenhead are places in Sel- 
kirkshire. 

4. How courteous Gawaine niet the wound.— P. 325. 

See in thei^fi6/mi<a,'of Monsier le Grande, ele- 
gantly translated by the late Gregory Way, esq., 
the tale of the Knight and the Sword. 

5. As white as snow on Fairnalie. — P. 326. 

An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirk- 
shire. In a popular edition of the first part of Tho- 
mas the Rhymer, the fairy queen thus addresses 
him: 

Gin ye wad meet wi' me again, 
Ganir to the bonnie banks of Fairnalie. 



^^xtm Vbt m^xmtltmx 



A POEM. 



INTRODUCTION. 

There is a mood of mind we all have known, 

On drowsy eve, or dark and low'ring day. 
When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone, 

And nought can chase the lingering hours away. 
Dull on our soul falls fancy's dazzling ray. 

And wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain. 
Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay. 

Nor dare we of our listless load complain, 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell 
of pain? 

The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood. 

When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain. 
Clouding that morn which threats the heath-cock's 
brood; 

Of such, in summer's drought, the anglers plain. 
Who hope the soft mild soiuhern shower in vain; 

But, more than all, the discontented fair, 
Whom fiUlier stern, and sterner aunt, restrain 

From county ball, or race occuring rare, 
While all her friends around their vestments gay 

prepare. 
Ennui! — or, as our mothers called thee. Spleen! 

To thee we owe full many a rare device; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, 1 ^^ieen, 

The rolling billiard ball, the rattling dice, 
The turning lathe for framing gimcrack nice. 

The amateur's blotched pallet thou may 'st claim, 



Retort, and air pump, threatening frogs and mice, 

(Murders disguised by philosophic name,) 
And much of trifling grave, an^l much of buxom 

game. 
Then of the books, to catch thy drowsy glance 

Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once; — 

But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote, 
That bears thy name, and is thine antidote; 

And not of such the strain by Thomson sung, 
Delicious dreams inspiring by his note. 

What time to indolence his harp he strung: 
Oh! might my lay be ranked that happier list 

among ! 
Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 

For me, I love my study-fire to trim. 
And con right vacantly some idle tale. 

Displaying on the couch each listless limb, 
Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim, 

And doubtful slumber half sup|)lies the theme; 
While antique shapes of knight and giant grim. 

Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam. 
And the romancer's tale becomes the reader's 

dream. 
'Tis thus my malady I well may bear, 

Albeit outstretched, like pope's own Paridel, * 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair; 

And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



329 



111 old romaunts of errantly that tell, 

Or later legends of the fairy-folk, 
Or oriental tale of Afrite fell, 

Of genii, talisman, and broad-wiiig'd roc, 
Tho' taste may blush and frown, and sober reason 
mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsouglit, 

Arrange themselves in some romantic lay;* 
The which, as things unfitting graver thought. 

Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day; — 
These few survive — and proudly let me say. 

Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his frown; 
They well may serve to while an hour away, 

Nor does the volume ask for more renown, 
Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops 
it down. 

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

CATfTO I. 
I. 

List to the valorous deeds that were done 

By Harold the Dauntless, count VVitikind's son! 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain, 

And roved with his Norsemen the land and the 

main. 
Wo to the realms which he coasted! for there 
Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair. 
Rape of maiden, and slaughter of jjriest, 
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast: 
When he hoisted his standard black. 
Before him was battle, behind him wrack. 
And he burned the churches, that heathen Dane, 
To light his band to their barks again. 

IL 

On Erin's shores was his outrage known, 

The winds of France had his banners blown; 

Little was there to plunder, yet still 

His pirates had foray'd on Scottish hill: 

But upon merry England's coast 

More frequent he sail'd, for he won the most. 

So wide and so far his ravage they knew. 

If a sail but gleam 'd white 'gainst the welkin blue, 

Trumpet and bugle to arms did call. 

Burghers hasten'd to man the wall. 

Peasants fled inward his fury to 'scape. 

Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, 

Bells were toll'd out, and aye as they rung, 

Fearful and faintly the gray brotiiers sung, 

•' Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire. 

From famine and jjest, and count VVitikind's ire !" 

HI. 

He liked the wealth of fair England so well, 
That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell. 
He enter'd the Humber in fearful hour. 
And disembark'd with his Danish power. 
Three earls came against him with all their train, 
Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain: 
Count Witikind left the Humber's rich strand. 
And he wastfed and warr'd in Northumberland. 
But the Saxon king M'as a sire in age, 
Weak in battle, in council sage; 
Peace of that heathen leader he sought. 
Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought: 
And the count took upon him the peaceable style. 
Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain's broad isle. 

IV. 
Time will rust the sharpest sword. 
Time will consume the strongest cord; 



That which moulders hemp and steel, 
Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 
Of the Danish band, whom count Witikind led, 
Many wax'd aged, and many were dead; 
Himself found his armour full weighty to bear. 
Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hair; 
He lean'd on a staff, when his step went abroad. 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode; 
As he grew feebler his wildness ceased. 
He made himself peace with prelate and priest, 
Made his peace, and, stooping his head, 
Patiently listed the counsel they said: 
Saint Cuthbert's bisliop was'holy and grave, 
Wise and good was the ctiunsel he gave. 

V. 
"Thou hast murder'd, robb'd, and spoil'd, 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoil'd; 
Pi'iest did'st thou slay, and churches burn. 
Time it is now to repentance to turn; 
Fiends hast thou worshipp'd, witli fiendish i-ite, 
Leave now the darkness, and wend into light: 
O! while life and space are given. 
Turn thee yet, and think of heaven!" 
That stern old heathen his liead he raised. 
And on the good prelate he steadfastl)- gazed: 
" Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, 
My faith 1 will leave, and I'll cleave unto thine." 

VL 
Broad lands be gave him on Tyne and on Wear, 
To be held of the church by bridle and spear; 
Part of Monkwearmnuth, of Tynedale part. 
To better his will, and to soften his heart: 
Count Witikind was a joyful man, 
Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. 
The high churcli of Durham is dress'd for the day, 
The clergy are rank'd in their solemn array; 
There came the count, in a bear-skin warm. 
Leaning on Hilda, his concubine's arm; 
He kneel'd before saint Cuthbert's shrine, 
With patience unwonted at rites divine: 
He al)jured the gods of heathen race. 
And he bent his head at the font of grace; 
But such was the griesly old proselyte's look, 
That the priest who baptized him grew pale and 

shook; 
And the old monks mutter'd beneath their hood, 
*' Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good!" 

VIL 

Up then arose that grim convertite, 
Homeward he hied him when ended the rite 
The pi-elate in honour will with him ride, 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side. 
Banners and banderols danced in the wind. 
Monks rode before them, and sj)earmeu behind; 
Onward they pass'd, till fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tjne: 
And full in front did that fortress lower. 
In darksome strength with its buttress and tower: 
At the castle-gate was young Harold there. 
Count VVitikind's only offsDring and heir. 

VIIL 

Young Harold was fear'd for his hardihood, 

His strength of frame, and his fury of mood; 

Rude he was, and wild to behold, 

Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold. 

Cap of vair, nor rich array. 

Such as should grace that festal day: 

His doublet of bull's liido was all unbraced. 

Uncovered his head, and his sandal unlaced; 

His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low, 

And his eyes glanced thro' them a swarthy glowj 



330 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A Danish club in his hand he bore, 

The spikes were clotted with recent gore; 

At his back a she wolf, and her wolf cubs twain, 

In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 

Rude was the greeting to his father he made, 

None to the bishop — while thus he said: 

IX. 
" What priest-led hypocrite art thou, 
With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, 
Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow ? 
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known. 
Royal Eric's fearless son. 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord. 
Who won his bride by the axe and sword: 
From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who tore, 
And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor; 
Withoneblowof hisgauntletwhobursted the skull, 
Before Odin's stone, of the mountain bull? 
Then ye worshipp'd with rites that to war-gods 

belong, 
With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the 

strong, 
And now, in thine age, to dotage" sunk. 
Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven monk, 
Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of hair. 
Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou bear? 
Or, at best, he admitted in slothful bower 
To batten with priest and with paramour? 
O ! out upon thine endless shame I 
Each scald's high harp shall blast thy fame, 
And thy son will refuse thee a father's name!" 

X. 
Ireful wax'd old Witikind 's look, 
His faultering voice with fury shook; — 
•' Hear me, Harold, of harden'd heart I 
Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. 
Thine outrage insane I command thee to cease. 
Fear my wrath and remain at peace: — 
Just is the debt of repentance I've paid. 
Richly the church has a recompense made. 
And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my 

blade. 
But reckoning to none of my actions I owe. 
And least to my son such accounting will show. 
Why speak I to thee of repentance or truth, 
Who ne'er from tliy chi Idhood knew reason or ruth ? 
Hence! to the wolf and the bear in her den; 
These are thy mates, and not rational men. " 

XI. 
Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied, 
•' We must honour our sires, if we fear when they 

chide. 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, 
1 was rock'd in a buckler and fed from a blade; 
An infant, was taught to clap hunds and to shout. 
From the roofs of the tower when the flame had 

broke out; 
In the hlood of slain foemen my finger to dip. 
And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. — 
' ris thou know'st not t:-uth,that has bai-ter'd in eld, 
For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors 

held. 
When this wolf" — and the carcass he flung on the 

plain — 
" Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again. 
The face of his father will Harold review; 
Till then, aged heatlien, young christian, adieu!" 

XII. 
I'riest, monk, and prelate stood aghast, 
As through the pageant the heathen pass'd. 



A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung, 
Laid his hand on the pommel and into it sprung; 
Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. 
When the holy sign on tiie earth M'as thrown! 
The fierce old count unsheathed his brand, * 
But the calmer pi-elate stay'd his hand; 
" Let him pass free !— rHeaven knows its hour — 
But he must own repentance's power. 
Pray and weep, and penance bear. 
Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear." — 
Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father '.i: gone 
Young Harold the Dauntless, count Witikind's 
son. 

XIII. 
High was the feasting in Witikind's hall, 
Revell'd priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all; 
And e'en the good bishop was fain to endure 
The scandal which time and instruction might 

cure: 
It were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to re- 
strain. 
In his wine and his wassail, a half-christen 'd Dane, 
The mead flow'd around, and the ale was drain'd 

dry. 
Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry; 
With Kyrie Eleison came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesman, Norweyan, and Finn, 
Till man after man the contention gave o'er, 
Outstretch'd on the rushes that strew'd the hall 

floor; 
And the tempest within, having ceased its wild 

rout. 
Gave place to the tempest that thunder'd without 

XIV. 
Apart from the wassail, in turret alone. 
Lay flaxen-hair'd Gunnar, old Ermengarde's son; 
In the train of lord Harold the page was the first, 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed; 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master should 

roam. 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of rain. 
He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and 

pane; 
"And oh! "said the page, "on the shelterless 

wold 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! 
Wliat though he was stubborn, and wayward, and 

wild. 
He endur'd me because I was Ermengarde's child, 
And often from dawn till the set of the sun. 
In the chase, by his stirrup, unchidden 1 run: 
1 would I were older, and knighthood could bear, 
1 woidd soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the 

Wear; 
For my mother's command with her last parting 

breath. 
Bade me follow her nursling in life and to death. 

XV. 
" It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. 
As if Lok', the destroyer, had burst from his chain ! 
Accursed by the church, and expell'd by his sire. 
Nor christain nor Dane give him shelter or fire. 
And this tempest what mortal may houseless en- 
dure? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor! 
Whale 'er comes of Gunnar he tarries not here." 
He leapt from his couch and he grasp'd to his spear. 
Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturbed by his 

tread, 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead: 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



331 



" Ungi'ateful ami bestial!" his anger broke forth, 
" To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of the 

Nortli ! 
And you, ye cowl'd priests, -wrio have plenty in 

store, 
Must give Gunnar for rausom a palfrey and ore.'' 

XVI. 

Then heeding full little of ban or of curse. 
He has siezed on the prior of Jorvaux's purse: 
Saint Meneholt's abbot next morning has miss'd 
His mantle, deep furr'd from the cape to the wrist: | 
The seneschal's keys from his belt he has ta'en, 
(Well drench 'd on that eve was old Hildebran^'s 

brain. ) 
To the stable-yard he made his way. 
And mounted "the bishop's palfrey gay. 
Castle and hamlet behind him has cast, 
And right on his way to the moQrland has pass'd. 
Sore snorted the ])alfre3'', unused to face 
A weather so wild at so rash apace; 
So long he snorted, so loud he neigh'd. 
There answer'd a steed that was bound beside. 
And the red flash of lisrhtnins: show'd there where 

lay 
His master, lord Harold, outstretch'd on the clay. 

xvn. 

Up he started, and thunder'd out, " Stand!" 
And rais'd the club in his deadly hand. 
The flaxen-hair'd Gunnar his purpose told, 
Show'd the palfrey and profTer'd the gold. 
"Back, back, and home, thou simple boy! 
Thou can'st not share my grief or joy: 
Have I not raark'd thee wail and cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die? 
And can'st thou, as my follower should, 
Wade ancle-deep through foeman's blood, , 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the fiends below, 
And man on eartli, more hateful still, 
The very fountain head of ill? 
Desperate of life, and careless of death. 
Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe, 
Such must tliou be with me to roam. 
And such thou canst not be — back, and home!" 

xvin. 

Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough. 

As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark 

brow. 
And half he repented his purpose and vow. 
But now to draw back were bootless shame, 
And he loved his master, so urged his claim: 
" Alas! if my arm and my courage be weak, 
Bear with me a while for old Ermengarde's sake; 
Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith. 
As to fear he would break it for peril of death. 
Have 1 not risk'd it to fetch thee this gold. 
This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold? 
And, did I btar a baser mind, 
What lot remains if I stay behind? 
The priests' revenge, thy fatlier's wrath, 
A dungeon and a shameful death. " 

XIX. 

With gentler look lord Harold eyed 

The page, then turn'd his head aside; 

And either a tear did his eye lash stain. 

Or it caught a drop of tlie passing rain. 

" Art thou an outcast then?" quoth lie, 

" The meeter page to follow me." 

'Twere bootless to tell what climes they sought, 

Ventures achieved, and battles fought; 



How oft with few, how oft alone. 

Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won. 

Men swore his eye, that flash'd so red 

When eaqh other glance was quench'd with dread. 

Bore oft a liglit of deadly flame 

That ne'er from mortal courage came. 

Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern, 

That loved the couch of heath and fern, 

Afar from liamlet, tower, and town. 

More than to rest on driven do^vn; . 

That stubborn frame, that sullen mood, 

Men deem'd must come of aught but good; 

And they whisper'd, the great master fiend was at 

one 
With Harold ihe Dauntless, count Witikind's sod. 

XX. 

Years after years had gone and fled. 

The good old prelate lies lapp'd in lead; 

In the chapel stijl is shown 

His sculptured form on a marble stone, 

With staff" and ring and scapulaire. 

And folded hands in the act of prayer. 

Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now 

On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow; 

The power of his crozier he loved to extend 

O'er whatever would break or whatever would 

bend: 
And now hath he cloth'd him in cope and in pall, 
And the chapter of Durham has met at his call. 
"And hear ye not, brethren," the proud bishop 

said, 
" That our vassal, the Danish count Witikind's 

dead? 
All his gold and his goods hath he given 
To holy church for the love of heaven, 
And hath founded a chantry with stipend and dole. 
That priests and that beadsmen may pray for his 

soul; 
Harold his son is wandering abroad. 
Dreaded by man and abhorr'd by God; 
Meet it is not, that such should heir 
The lands of the church on the Tyne and the Wear; 
And at her pleasure, her hallow'd hands 
May now resume these wealthy lands." — 

XXI. 

Answer'd good Eustace, a canon old, 

" Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold; 

Ever renown blows a note of fame. 

And a note of fear, when she sounds his name: 

Much of bloodshed and much of scathe 

Have been their lot who have waked his wrath. 

Leave him these lands and lordships still. 

Heaven in its hour may change his will; 

But if reft of gold, and of living bare, 

An evil counsellor is despair." — 

More had he said, but the prelate frown'd, 

And murmur'd his brethren, who sate around, 

And with one consent have they giv'n their doom, 

That the ohurch should the lands of St. Cuthbert 

resume. 
So will'd the prelate; and canon and dean. 
Gave to his judgment tlieir loud amen. 

CANTO ir. 

I. 

'Trs merry in greenwood, thus runs the old laj, 

In the gladsome month of lively May, 

When the wild birds' song on stem and spray 

Invites to forest bower; 
Then rears the asli his airy crest. 
Then shines the birch in silver vest. 



332 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And the beech in glistening leaves is dress'd, 
And dark between shows the oak's proud breast, 

Like a chieftain's frowning tower; 
Though a thousand branches join their screen, 
Yet the broken sun-beams glance between, 
And tip the leaves with lighter green, 

With brighter tints the flower; 
Dull is tlie heart that loves not then 
The deep recess of the wild-wood glen. 
Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den, 

When the sun is in his power. 

IL 

Less merry, perchance, is the fading leaf 
That follows so soon on the gather'd sheaf^ 

When the green-wood loses the name; 
Silent is then the forest bound. 
Save the red-breast's note, and the rustling sound 
Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round. 
Or tlie deep-moutli'd cry of the distant hound 

That opens on his game; 
Yet then, too, I love the forest wide, 
Whether the sun in splendour ride, 
And gild its nian3'-colour'd side. 
Or whether the soft and silvery haze. 
In vapoury folds, o'er the landscape strays, 
And half involves the woodland maze, 

Like an early widow's veil, 
Where wimpling tissue from the gaze 
The form half hides and half betrays, 

Of beauty wan and pale. 

in. 

Fair Metelill was a woodland maid. 
Her father a rover of green-wood shade, 
By forest statutes undismay'd. 

Who lived by bow and quiver. . 
Well known was Wulfstane's archery, 
By merry Tyne both on moor and lea, 
Through wooded Weardale's glens so free, 
Well beside Stanhope's wild-wood tree, 

And well on Ganlesse river. 
Yet free though he trespass'd on woodland game. 
More known and more fear'd was the wizard fame 
Of Jutta of Rookhope, the outlaw's dame; 
Fear'd when she frown'd was her eye of flame 

More fear'd when in wrath she laugh'd; 
For then, 'twas said, more fatal true 
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew. 
Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew 

Sprung forth the gray goose shaft, 

IV. 

Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair, 
So heaven decreed, a daughter fair; 

None brighter crown'd the bed, 
In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince, 
Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since 

In this fair isle been bred. 
And nought of fraud, or ire, or ill, 
Was known to gentle Metelill, 

A simjde maiden she; 
The spells in dimpled smiles that lie. 
And a downcast blush, and tlie darts that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye. 

Were her arras and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet, 
She scarce could childhood's joys forget. 
And still she loved, in secret set 

Beneath the green-wood tree. 
To plait the rusliy coronet, 
And braid with flowers her locks of jet, 

As when in infancy; — 



Yet could that heart, so simple, prove 
The early dawn of stealing love: 

Ah ! gentle maid, beware ! 
The power who, now so mild a guest. 
Gives dangerous, yet delicious zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy breast, 
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 

Let none his empire share. 
V. 
One morn, in kirtle greea aiTay'd, 
Deep in the wood the maiden stray 'd. 

And, where a fountain sprung. 
She sat her down, unseen, to thread 
The scarlet ben-y's mimic braid. 

And while her beads she strung. 
Like the blith lark, whose carol gay 
Gives a good moi-row to the day, 

So liglitsomcly she sung: 
Vl. 

■ SOXG. 

" Lord William was born in gilded bower, 
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower; 
Yet better loves lord William now 
To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow; 
And William has lived where ladies fair 
With gauds and jewels deck their hair, 
Yet better loves the dew-drops still 
That pearl the locks of Metelill. 
" The pious palmer loves, I wis, 
Saint Cuthbert's hallow'd beads to kiss; 
But I, thougli simple girl I be, 
Might have'such homage i)aid to me; 
For did lord William see me suit 
This necklace of the bramble's fruit. 
He fain — but must not have his will, — 
Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 
" My rturse has told me many a tale. 
How vows of love are weak and frail; 
My mother says that courtly youth 
By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 
What should they mean? it cannot be. 
That such a warning's meant for me. 
For nought— oil ! nought of fraud or ill 
Can William mean to Metelill ' " — 

VII. 
Sudden she stops— and starts to feel 
A weighty hand, a glove of steel. 
Upon her shrinking shoulders laid; 
Fearful sheturn'd, and saw, dismay'd, 
A knight in plate and mail an-ay'd. 
His crest and bearing worn and fray'd, 

His surcoat soil'd and riven; 
Form'd like that giant race of yore. 
Whose long-continued crimes outwore 

The sufferance of heaven. 
Stern accents made his pleasure known. 
Though then he used his gentlest tone: 
" Maiden," he said, " sing forth thy glee- 
Start not— sing on— it pleases me. " ' 

VIII. 
Secured within his powerful hold. 
To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 

Was all the maiden might; 
And " Oh! forgive," she faintly said, 
" The terrors of a simple maid. 

If thou art mortal wight! 
But if— of such strange tales are told,— 
Unearthly warrior of tlie wold, 
Tliou com'st to chide mine accents bold. 
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell, 
At noon and midnight pleasing well. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



333 



The disembodied ear; 
Oh ! let her powerful charms atoue 
J^'or aught my rashness may have done, 

And cease thy grasp of fear." 
Then laughed the knight— his laughter's sound 
Half in the hollow helmet drown'd; 
His barred visor then he raised, 
And steady on the maiden gazed. 
He smooth'd his brows, as best he might, 
To the dread calm of autumn night, 

Wlien sinks the tempest's roar; 
Yet still the cautious fishers eye 
The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky, 

And haul their barks on shore. 
[X. 
" Damsel," lie said, " be wise, and learn 
Matters of weight and deep concern: 

From distant realms I come. 
And, wanderer long, at length have planned 
In this my native northern land 

To seek myself a home. 
Nor that alone — a mate 1 seek; 
She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — 

No lordly dame for me: 
Myself am something rough of mood. 
And feel the fire of royal blood. 
And therefore do not hold it good 

To match in my degree: 
Then, since coy maidens say my face 
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace. 
For a fair lineage to provide, 
'Tis meet that my selected bride 

In lineaments be fair; * 

I love thine well — till now I ne'er 
Look'd patient on a face of fear. 
But now that tremulous sob and tear 

Become thy beauty rare. 
One kiss — nay, damsel, coy it not; 
And now, go seek thy parents' cot, 
And say, a bridegi-oom soon I come. 
To woo my love and bear her home. " 

X. 

Home sprung the maid without a pause 
As levret 'scaped from greyhound's jaws; 
But still sh»2 lock'd, howe'er distress'd, 
The secret in her boding breast; 
Dreading her sire, who oft forbade 
Her steps should stray to distant glade. 
Night came — to her accustom'd nook 
Her distaff aged Jutta took, 
And, by the lamp's imperfect glow. 
Rough Wulfstane trimm'd his shafts and bow. 
Sudden and clamorous, from the gi'ound 
Upstarted slumbering brach and hound; 
Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, 
And Wulfstane snatches at his arms, 
When open flew the yielding door. 
And that grim warrior press'd the floor. 

XI. 

" All peace be here — What! none replies? 
Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 
'I'is I — that maid hath told my tale. 
Or, trembler, did thy courage fail? 
It reeks not — it is I demand 
Fair Metel ill in marriage band; 
Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 
Is brave men's boast and caitiff"'s shame." 
The parents sought each other's eyes, 
With awe, resentment, and sui-prise: 
Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began 
The str-inger's size and thewes to scan; 



But, as he scann'd, his courage sunk, 
And from unequal strife he shrunk. 
Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies 
The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes; 
Yet fatal howsoe'er the spell 
On Harold innocently fell! 
And disappointment and amaze 
Were in the witch's wilder'd gaze. 

xn. 

But soon the wit of woman woke, 

And to the warrior mild she spoke: 

" Her child was all too yoftng." — " A toy, 

The refuge of a maiden coy." 

Again, " A powerful baron's heir 

Claims in her heart an interest fair." 

" A trifle — whisper in his ear 

That Harold is a suitor here ! " 

Bafliled at length, she sought delay: 

" Would not the knight till morning stay > 

Late was the hour — he there might rest. 

Till morn, their lodge's honoured guest." 

Such were her words — her craft might cast. 

Her honour'd guest should sleep his last: 

" No, not to night — but soon," he swore, . 

" He would return, nor leave them more," 

The threshold then his huge stride crost. 

And soon he "was in darkness lost. 

XIll. 

Appall'd awhile the parents stood, 
Then changed their fear to angry mood. 
And foremost fell their words of ill 
On unresisting Metelill: 
Was she not cautioned and forbid, 
Forewarn'd, implored, accused, and chid. 
And must she still to greenwood roam, 
To marshal such misfortune home? 
" Hence, minion — to thy cliamber hence. 
There prudence learn and penitence. " 
She went — her lonely couch to steep 
In tears which absent lovers weep; 
Or if she gain'd a troubled sleep, 
Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme 
And terror of her feverish dream. 

XIV. 

Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire- 

Upon each other bent their ire: 

" A woodsman thou, and hast a spear. 

And couldst thou such an insult bear?" 

Sullen he said, " A man contends 

With men — a witch with sprites and fiends; 

Not to mere mortal wight belong 

■Von gloomy brow and frame so strong: 

But thou — is this thy promise fair, 

That your lord William, wealthy heir 

To Ulrick, baron of Witton-le-wear, 

Should Metelill to altar bear? 

Do all the spell's thou boast'st as thine 

Serve but to slay some peasant's kiiie. 

His grain in autumn's storms to steep. 

Or thorougli fog and fen to sweep, 

And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep? 

Is such mean mischief wortii the fame 

Of sorceress and witch's name.' 

Fame, which with all men's wish conspires. 

With thy deserts and my desires. 

To damn thy corpse to penal fires' 

Out on thee, witch! aroint! aroint! 

What now shall put thy schemes in joint? 

What save this trusty arrow's jipint, 

From the dark dingle when it flies, 

And he wlio meets it gasps and dies." 



S34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XV. 

Stern she replied, " 1 will not wage 
War with thy folly or thy rage; 
But ere the morrow's sun be low, 
Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know, 
If I can venge me on a foe. 
Believe the while, that whatsoe'er 
1 spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, 
It is not Harold's destiny 
The deatli ofpilfer'd deer to die. 
But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, 
That shall be yet more pallid soon, 
Before she sink behind the dell. 
Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell 
What Jutta knows of charm or spell." 
Thus muttering, to the door she bent 
Her wayward steps, and forth she went, 
And left alone the moody sire. 
To cherish or to slake his ire. 

XVI. 

Far faster than belonged to age. 

Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. 

A priest has met her as she pass'd, 

And cross'd himself and stood aghast: 

She traced a hamlet — not a cur 

His throat would ope, his foot would stir; 

By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, 

They made her hated presence known! 

But when she trode the sable fell. 

Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 

For far was heard the fox's yell, 

The black-cock waked- and faintly crew, 

Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew; 

Where o'er the cataract the oak 

Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak; 

The mountain-cat, which sought his prey, 

Glared, scream'd, and started from her way. 

Such music cheer'd her journey lone 

To the deep dell and rocking stone: 

There, with unhallow'd hymn of praise. 

She call'd a god of heathen days. 

xvn. 

INVOCATION. 

From thy Pomeranian throne, 
Hewn in rock of living stone. 
Where, to thy godhead faithful yet. 
Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 
And their swords in vengeance whet, 
That shall make thine altars wet — 
Wet and red for ages more 
With the christians' hated gore, — 
Hear me! sovereign of the rock, 
Hear me ! mighty Zernebock. 

Mightiest of the mighty known. 
Here thy wonders have been shown: 
Hundred tribes in various tongue 
Oft have here thy praises sung; 
Down that stone with runic seam'd. 
Hundred victims' blood hath stream'd! 
Now one woman comes alone, 
And but wets it with her own, 
The last, the feeblest of thy flock; — 
Hear — and be present, Zernebock ! 

Hark! he comes; the night-blast cold 
Wilder sweeps along the wold; 
The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, 
And bristling hair and quaking limb 
Proclaim the master demon nigh, — 
Those who view his form shall die! 



Lo ! I stoop and veil my head. 
Thou who rid'st the tempest dread. 
Shaking hill and rending oak — 
Spare me ! spare me ! Zernebock. 

He comes not yet! Shall cold delay 
Thy votaress at her need repay: 
Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend? — 
Let others on thy mood attend 
With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms 
Are necromantic words and charms; 
Mine is the spell, that utter'd once, 
Shall wake thy master from his trance. 
Shake his red mansion-house of pain. 
And burst his seven-times twisted chain. 
So! com'st thou ere the spell is spoke? 
I own thy presence, Zernebock. 

xvin. 

"Daughter of dust," the deep voice said, 

— Shook while it spoke the vale for dread; 

Rock'd on tlie base that massive stone. 

The evil deity to own, — 

" Daughter of dust! not mine the power 

Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 

'Twixt heaven and hell there is a sti'ife 

Waged for his soul and for his life. 

And fain would we the combat win, 

And snatch him in his hour of sin. 

There is a star now rising red. 

That threats him with an influence dread: 

Woman, thine arts of malice whet, 

To use the space before it set. 

Involv^him with the church in strife. 

Push on adventurous chance his life; 

Ourself will in the hour of need, 

As best we may, thy counsels speed." 

So ceased the voice; for seven leagues round 

Each hamlet stai-ted at the sound; 

But slept again, as slowly died 

Its thunders on the hill's brown side. 

XIX. 

" And is this all," said Jutta stern, 

"That thoy canst teach and I can learn' 

Hence ! to the land of fog and waste ! 

There fittest is thine influence placed, 

Thou powerless sluggish deity! 

But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 

Again before so poor a god." 

She struck the altar with her rod; 

Slight was the touch, as when at need 

A damsel stirs her tardy steed; 

But to the blow the stone gave place. 

And, starting from its balanced base, 

lioU'd thundering down the moon-light dell, — 

Re-echoed mooriand, rock, and fell; 

Into the moon-light tarn it dash'd. 

Their shores the sounding surges lash'd, 

And there was ripple, rage, and foam; 
But on that lake, so dark and lone. 
Placid and pale the moonbeam shone, 

As Jutta hied her home. 

CANTO III. 

I. 

Gray towers of Durham! there was once a time 
I view'd your battlements with such vague hope, 

As brightens life in its first dawning prime; 
Not that e'en then came within fancy's scope 

A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope; 
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall. 

Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 



I 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



335 



Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, 
And thus hope me deceived as she deceiveth all. 
Well yet I love thy mix'd and massive piles. 

Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, 
And long to roam tliese venerable aisles, 

With records stored of deeds long since forgot: 
There might 1 share my Surtees' happier lot, 

Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack every crypt and hallow'd spot, 

And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield, 
Restoring priestly chant,. and clang of knightly 

shield. 
Vain is the wish^ — since other cares demand 

Each vacant hour, and in another clime; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand. 

Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time; 
And tain its numbers would 1 now command, 

To paint the beauties of thy dawning fair. 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 

Upon the western iieights of Beaurepaire, 
Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding 
Wear. 

H. 
Fair on tlie half-seen stream the sunbeams danced. 

Betraying it beneath the woodland bank. 
And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced 

Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank, 
Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank. 

And girdled in the massive donjon keep. 
And from their circuit peal'd o'er bush and bank 

The matin bell with summons long and deep, 
And echo answer'd still with long-resounding 
sweep. 

HI. 
The morning mists rose from the gi"OUnd, 
Each merry bird awaken'd round 

As if in revelry; 
Afar the bugles' clanging sound 
Call'd to the chase tlie lagging hound; 

The gale breathed soft and free. 
And seem'd to linger on its way. 
To catch fresh odours from the spi-ay, 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So light and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveal. 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round him steal. 
It melted Harold's heart of steel. 

And, hardly wotting why. 
He doff'd his helmet's gloomy pride, 
And hung it on a tree beside. 

Laid mace and Talchion by, 
And on the green sward sate hira down, 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Relax'd his rugged brow — 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
From that stern Dane a boon to ask 

Were wise to ask it now 
IV. 
His place beside young Gunnar took. 
And mark'd his master's softening look. 
And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
The gloom nf stormy thought subside. 
And cautious watch'd the fittest tide 

To speak a warning word. 
So when the toiTcnt's billows shrink. 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sink, 

Ere he dare brave the ford; 
And often, after douljtful pause, 
His step advances or withdraws: 



Fearful to move the slumbering ire 
Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire, 

Till Harold raised his eye. 
That glanced as when athwart the shroud 
Of the dispei-sing tempest'-cloud 

The bursting sunbeams fly. 

V. 

" Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 
Off"spring of prophetess and bard! 
Take harp, and greet this lovely prime 
With some high strain of runic rhyme. 
Strong, deep, and powerful! Peal it round 
Like that loud bell's sonorous sound. 
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire, Erick's sport. 
When dawn gleam'd on his martial court. 
Heymar the scald, with harp's high sound, 
Summon'd the chiefs who slept around; 
Couch 'd on the spoils of wolf and bear. 
They roused like lions from their lair, 
Then rush'd in emulation forth 
To enhance the glories of the north. — 
Proud Erick, mightiest of thy race. 
Where is thy shadowy resting place? 
In wild Valhalla hast thou quaft"'d 
From foeman's skull metheglin draught, 
Or wander'st where thy cairn was piled, 
To frown o'er oceans wide and wild? 
Or have the milder christians given 
Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven? 
Where'er thou art, to thee are known 
Our toils endured, our trophies won. 
Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes." — 
He ceased, and Guimar's song arose. 
VI. 

SONG. 

"Hawk and osprey scream'd for joy, 
O'er the beetling clift's of Hoy, 
Crimson foam the beach o'erspread, 
The heatli was dyed with darker red, 
When o'er Erick, Inguar's son, 
Dane and Northman piled the stone; 
Singing wild the war-song stern. 
Rest tliee, Dweller of the Cairn I 

*' Where eddying currents foam and boil 
By Bersa's burgh and Grtemsay's isle. 
The seaman sees a martial form 
Half mingled with the mist and storm. 
In anxious awe he bears away 
To moor his bark in Stromna's bay. 
And murmurs from the bounding stern, 
'Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn!' 

" Wliat cares disturb the mighty dead? 
Each honoured rite was duly paid; 
No daring hand thy helm unlaced. 
Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed. 
Thy flinty couch no te.ar profaned. 
Without, with hostile blood 'twas stained; 
Within, 'twas lined with moss and fern. 
Then rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn! 

" He may not rest; from realms afar 
Comes voice of battle and of war. 
Of conquest wrought with bloody hand 
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand. 
When Odin's warlike son could daunt 

The turban'd race of l^ermagaunt " 

VII. 

" Peace," said the knight, "the noble scald 

Our warlike fathers' deeds recall'd, 



336 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But never strove to sooth the son 

With tales of what himself liad done. 

At Odin's board the bard sits high 

Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery; 

But highest he whose daring lay 

Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." 

With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed 

His master's looks, and nought replied — 

But well that sraile his master led 

To construe what he left unsaid. 

*' Is it to me, thou timid youth, 

Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth? 

My soul no more thy censure grieves 

Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. 

Say on — and yet — beware the rude 

And wild distemper of my blood; 

Loth were 1 that mine ire should wrong 

The youtli that bore my shield so long, 

And who, in service constant still. 

Though weak in frame, art strong in will." 

" Oh!" quoth the page, " even there depends 

My counsel — there my warning tends. 

Oft seems as of mj' master's breast 

Some demon were the sudden guest; 

Then at the first misconstrued word 

His hand is on the mace and sword, 

From her firm seat his wisdohi driven, 

His life to countless dangers given. 

O! would that Gunnar could suffice 

To be the fiend's last sacrifice. 

So that, when glutted with my gore, 

He fled and tempted thee no more ! " 

VIIT. 
Then waved liis hand, and shook his head. 
The impatient Dane, while thus he said: 
" Profane not, youth — it is not thine 
To judge the spii-it of our line, 
The bold Berserkar's rage divine, 
Through whose inspiring, deeds are wrought 
Past human strength and human thought. 
When full upon his gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence roll, 
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall — 
Heeds not tlie depth, nor plumbs the fall — 
Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes; 
Their spears he holds like wither'd reeds, 
Their mail like maiden's silken weeds; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive. 
Take countless wounds, and yet survive. 
Then rusli the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victor'y, 
And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl, 
Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks his soul; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to I'uin, i-out, and fire, 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, 
And couches till he's man agen. — 
Thou know'st the signs of look and limb, 
When 'gins that rage to over-ibrim. 
Thou know'st when I am mov'd, and why; 
And when tiiou seest me roll mine eye, 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot. 
Regard thy safety, and be mute; 
But else, sueak boldly out whate'er 
Is fitting that a knight should hear. 
I love thee, youth. Thy lay has power 
Upon my dark and sullen hour; 
So, christian monks are wont to say, 
Demons of old were charm'd away: 
Then fear not I will rashly deem • 

iJl of thy speech, whate'er the theme." 



IX. 

As down some strait in doubt and dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead. 
And, cautious in the midst to sleer. 
The shoaling channel sounds with fear; 
So, lest on dangerous ground he swerved, 
The page his master's brow observed, 
Pausing at intervals to fling , 
His hand on the melodious string. 
And to his moody breast apply 
The soothing cliarm of harmony. 
While hinted half, and half exprest. 
This warning song conveyed the rest: 
I. 
" 111 fares the bark with tackle riven. 
And ill when on the breakers driven, 
111 when the storm-sprite shrieks in air, 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair; 
But worse when on her helm the hand 
Of some false traitor holds command. 

2. 
" 111 fares the fainting palmer, placed 
'Mid Hebron's I'ocks or Rama's waste, 
111 when the scorching sun is high. 
And the expected font is dry. 
Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath, 
The barb:u'ous Copt, has plann'd his death. 

3. 
" 111 fares the knight with buckler cleft, 
And ill when of liis helm bereft, 
111 when his steed to earth is flung. 
Or from his grasp his falchion wrung; 
But worse, if instant ruin token, 
When he lists rede by woman spoken." 
X. 
" How now, fond boy? — Canst thou think ill," 
Said Harold, "of fair Metelill?" 
" She may be fair," the page replied. 

As through the strings he rang'd, 
"She may be fair; but yet," — he cried. 
And theu the strain he changed. 
1. 
" She may be fair," he sang, " but yet 

Far fairer have 1 seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet. 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish kniglit in arms. 

As one day I may be. 
My heart should own no foreign charms, 
A Danish maid for me. 
2. 
" I love my father's northern land. 
Where the dark pine trees grow, 
And the bold Baltic's echoing strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe.* 
I love to mark the lingering sun. 

From Denmark loth to go. 
And leaving on the billows bright. 
To cheer the short-lived summer night, 
A path of ruddy glow. 
3. 
" Uut most the northern maid I love. 
With breast like Denmark's snow. 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine, 
Who loves with purple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow; 
And sweetly blends that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue, 
And faith might for her mirror hold 
That eye of maitchless blue. 



Oe, island. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



337 



" 'Tis hers tlie manly sports to love 
Thai snuthern maidens fear, 

To bend the bow liy stream and grove, 
And lift the hunter's spear. 

She can her chosen champion's fight 
With eye undazzled see. 

Clasp him victorious from the strife. 

Or on his corpse yield up her life,— 
A Danish maid for me!" 
Then smiled the Dane — " thou canst so well 
The virtues of our maidens tell. 
Half could 1 wish ray choice had been 
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen. 
And lofty soul, — yet what of ill 
Hast thou to charge on Metelill?" 
'• On herself nought," young Gunnar said, 
"But her base sire's ignoble trade. 
Her mother, too — the general fame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name. 
And in her gray eye is a flame 
Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. 
That sordid woodman's peasant cot 
Twice have thine honour'd footsteps sought, 
And twice return 'd with such ill rede 
As sent thee on some desperate deed." 

XL 
" Thou errest; Jutta wisely said. 
He that comes suitor to a maid, 
Ere link'd in marriage, should provide 
Lands and a dwelling for his bride — 
My father's by the Tyne and Wear 
I have reclaim'd." — " O, all too dear, 
And all too dangerous the prize, 
E'en were it won," — young Gunnar cries. 
" And then this Jutta's fresh device, 
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, 
From Durham's priests a boon to gain. 
When thou hast left their vassals slain 
In their own halls!" — Flash'd Harold's eye — 
Thunder'd his voice, — " False page, you lie! 
The castle, hall, and tower, is mine. 
Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 
The wild-cat will defend his den, 
Fights for her nest the timid wren; 
And think'st thou I'll forego my right 
For dread of monk or monkish knight? — 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the bisliop's conclave tell. 
Thither will 1, in manner due, 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue; 
And, if to right me they are loth, 
Then wo to church and chapter both ! " 
Now shift the scene and let the curtain fall. 
And our next entry be saint Cuthbert's hall. 

CANTO IV. 

I. 

Fuit many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom. 

Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb'd roof. 
O'er canopying shrine, and gorgeous tomb, 

Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof. 
And bending with the shade — a matchless proof 

Of higli devotion, which hath now wax'd cold; 
Yet legends say, that luxury's brute hoof 

Intruded oft within such sacred fold. 
Like step of Bel's false priest, track'd in his fane 

of old. 
Well pleas'd am I, howe'er, that when the route 

Of our rude neighbours whilome deign'd to 
come. 



Uncall'd, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
And cleanse our chancel from the rage of Rome, 

They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own, 

But spared the martyr'd saint and storied tomb, 
Thougli papal miracles had graced the stone. 

And though the aisles still loved the-organ's sweK 
ling tone. 

And deem not, though 'tis now ray pai't to paint 

A prelate sway'd by love of power and gold. 
That all who wore the mitre of our saint 

Like to ambitious Aldingar 1 hold; 
Since both in modern times and days of old 

It sate on those whose virtues might atone 
Their predecessors' frailties trebly told: 

Matthew and Morton we as such may own — 
And such (if fame speak truth) the honoured Bar- 
rington. 

II. 

But now to earlier and to ruder times, 

As subject meet, I tune ni}' rugged rhymes. 

Telling how fairly the chapter was met. 

And rood and books in seemly order set; 

Huge brass-clasp'd volumes, which the iiand 

Of studious priest but rarely scann'd, 

Now on fair carved desk display'd, 

'Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. 

O'erhead with many a scutcheon graced, 

And quaint devices interlaced, 

A labyrinth of crossing rows, 

Tlie roof in lessening arches shows; 

Beneath its shade, placed proud and high, 

With footstool and witli canop)'. 

Sate Aldingar, and prelate ne'er 

More haughty graced saint Cuthbert's chair. 

Canons and deacons were placed below. 

In due degree and lengthen 'd row. 

Unmoved and silent each sate there, 

Like image, in his oaken chair; 

Nor head, nor hand, nor foot, they stirr'd, 

Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard, 

And of their eyes severe alone 

The twinkle show'd they were not stone. 

HI. 

The prelate was to speech address'd. 

Each head sunk reverend on each breast: 

But ere his voice was heard — without 

Arose a wild tumultuous shout, 

Offspring of wonder mix'd with fear. 

Such as in crowded streets we hear, 

Hailing the flames, that, bursting out, 

Attract yet scarce the rabble rout. 

Ere it had ceas'd a giant hand 

Shook oaken door and iron baud. 

Till oak and iron both gave way, 

Clash 'd the long bolts, the hinges bray, 

And ere upon angel or saint they can call. 

Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the hall. 

IV. 

" Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and rood. 
From bishop with mitre to deacon with hood! 
For hei-e stands count Harold, old Witikind's son. 
Come to sue forthe lands which his ancestors won." 
The prelate look'd round him with- sore troubleil 

eye. 
Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny. 
While each canon and deacon who heard the Dane 

speak, 
To be safely at home would have fasted a week- — 



338 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then AldingRr roused him and answer'dagahi: 
" Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not ob- 
tain; 
The church hath no fiefs for an tmehristen'd Dane. 
Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath given, 
That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to 

heaven: 
And the fiefs which whilome he possess'd as his 

due, 
Have lapsed to the church, and been granted anew 
To Anthony Coiiyers and Alberic Vere, 
For the service saint Cuthbert's bless'd banner to 

bear, 
When the bands of the north come to foray the 

Wear. 
Then disturb not oui' conclave with wrangling or 

blame, 
But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye 

came." 

V. 

Loud laughed the stern pagan — " They're free 

from tlie care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere, 
Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, 
A buckler of stone and a corselet of lead. 
Ho, Gunnar! — the tokens!" — and, sever'd anew, 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Then shudder'd with terror both canon and monk. 
They knew the glazed eye and the countenance 

shrunk, 
And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, 
And the scar on the hand of sir Alberic Vere. 
There was not a churchman or priest that was 

there, 
But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to 

prayer. 

VI. 

Count Harold laugh 'd at their looks of fear: 

*' Was this the hand should your banner bear? 

Was that the head should wear the casque 

In battle at the church's task? 

Was it to such )'ou gave the place 

Of Harold with the heavy mace? 

Find me between the Wear and Tyne 

A knight will wield this club of mine. 

Give him my fiefs, and I will say 

There's wit beneath the cowl of gray." 

He raised it, rough with mai\y a stain, 

Caught from crush'd scull and spouting brain; 

He wheel'd it that it shrilly sung. 

And the aisles echoed as it swung. 

Then dash'd it down with sheer descent, 

And split king Osric's monument. 

" How like ye this music? How trow ye the hand 

That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land ? 

No answer? — I spare ye a space to agree. 

And saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be. 

Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on 

your bell. 
And again I am with you — grave fathers, farewell. " 

vn. 

He turn'd from theif presence, he clash'd the oak 
door. 

And the clang of his stride died away on the floor; 

And his head from his bosom the prelate uprears 

Witlx a ghost-seer's look when the ghost disap- 
pears. 

" Ye priests of saint Cuthbert, now give me your 
rede. 

For never of counsel had bishop more need ! 



Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, 
The language, the look, and the laugh were his 

own. 
In the bounds of saint Cuthbert there is not a 

knight 
Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight. 
Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'Tis unlawful to grant, and 'tis death to deny." 

vni. 

On ven'son and malmsie that morning had fed 
The cellarer Vinsauf, 'twas thus tliat he said: 
" Delay till to-morrow the chapter's reply; 
Let the feast be spread fair, and the wine be pour'4 

high: 
If he's mortal he drinks, — if he drinks, he is ours — 
His bracelets of iron,— his bed in our towers." 
This man had a laughing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such you spy; 
A beaker's depth he well could drain. 
Revel, sport, and jest apaain — 
The haunch of the deer and the grape's bright 

dye 
Never bard loved them better than I; 
Bui sooner than Vinsauf filled me my wine, 
Pass'd me liis jest, and laughed at mine. 
Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bordeaux 

the wine. 
With the dullest hermit I'd rather dine 
On an oaten cake and a draught of the Tyne. 

IX. 
Walwayn the leech spoke next — he knew 
Each plant that loves the sun and dew. 
But special those whose juice can gain 
Dominion o'er the blood and brain; 
The peasant who saw him by pale moonbeam 
Gathering such herbs by bank and stream, 
Deem'd his thin form and soundless tread 
Were those of wanderer from the dead. 
"Vinsauf, thj^ wine," he said, " hath power, 
Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower; 
Yet tnree drops from this flask of mine. 
More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wine. 
Shall give him prison under ground 
More dark, more narrow, more profoimd. 
Short rede, good rede, let Harold have^ — 
A dog's death and a heathen's grave," 
I have lain on a sick man's bed. 
Watching for hours for tiie leech's tread, 
As if I deem'd that his presence alone 
Were of power to bid my pain begone; 
I have listed his words of comfort given. 
As if to oracles from heaven; 
I have counted his steps from my chamber door, 
And bless'd them when they were heard no more; 
But sooner tlian Walwayn my sick couch should 

nigh. 
My choice were by leech-craft unaided to die. 

X. 
" Such service done in fervent zeal 
The church may pardon and conceal," 
The doubtful prelate said, " but ne'er 
The counsel ere tlie act should hear. 
Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now. 
The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow; 
Thy days, thy nights in cloister pent. 
Are still to mystic learning lent; 
Anslem of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 
Thou well canst give counsel to prelate or pope." 

XI. 

Answer'd the prior — " 'Tis wisdom's use 
Still to delay what we dare not refuse; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



339 



Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask. 

Shape for the giant gigantic task; 

Let us see how a step so sounding can tread 

In paths of darkness, danger, aud dread; 

He may not, he will not, impugn our decree. 

That calls but for proof of his chivalry, 

And were Guy to return, or sir lievis the Strong, 

Our wilds have adventure might cumber them long, 

The castle of seven shields" — "Kind Anselm, no 

more ! 
The step of the pagan approaches the door." 
The cliurchmen were hush'd. In his mantle of skin. 
With his mace on his shoulder, count Harold 

strode in. _ ■ 

There was foam on his lip, there was fire in his eye, 
For, chafed by attendance, his fury was high. 
" Ho! bishop," he said, " dost thou grant me my 

claim? 
Or must I assert it by f\»lchion and flame?" 

XII. 

" On thy suit, gallant Harold," the bishop replied, 
In accents which trembled, " we might not decide. 
Until proof of your strength and your valour we 

saw — 
'Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law." 
•• And would you, sir Prelate, have Harold make 

sport 
For the cowls and the shavelings that herd in thy 

court' 
Say what shall he do ? From the shrine shall he tear 
The lead bier of thy patron and heave it in air. 
And through the long chancel make Cuthbert take 

wing. 
With the speed of a bullet dismiss'd from the sling ? " 
" Nay, spare such probation," the cellarer said, 
" From the mouth of our minstrels thy task shall 

be read, 
While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of gold. 
And tlie revel is loudest, thy task shall be told; 
And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing it, tell 
That the bishop, his cowls, and his shavelings 

meant well." 

XIII. 
Loud revell'd the guests, and the goblets loud rang, 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville, sang; 
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul. 
E'en when verging to fury, own'd musfc's control, 
Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye, 
And often untasted the goblet pass'd by; 
Than wine, or than wassail, to him was more dear 
The minstrel's high tale of enchantment to hear; 
And the bishop that day might of Vinsauf complain 
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain. 

XIV. 

THE CASTtB O'F THE SEVEX SHIELDS. — A BALLAD. 

The druid Urien had daughters seven. 
Their skill could call the moon from heaven; 
So fair their forms, and so high their fame, 
That seven proud kings for their suitors came. 

King .Mador and Rhys came from Powis and 

Wales, 
Unshorn was their hair, and unpruned were their 

nails; 
From Strath Clwyde came Ewain, and Ewain was 

lame. 
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came. 

Lot, king of Lodon, was hunch-back 'd from youth; 
Dunraail of Cumbria had never a tooth; 
li ut Adol ph of Uambrough, Northumberland's hei r, 
Was gay and was gallant, was young and was fair. 



There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one 

would have 
For husband king Adolph, the gallant and brave. 
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows. 
When tlie firm earth was cleft, and the arch-fiend 

arose ! 
He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil — 
They swore to the foe they would work by his will. 
A spindle and distaft'to each has he given, 
"Now hearken my spell," said the outcast of 

heaven. 

"Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour. 

And for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong shall 

have power, 
And there shall ye dwell with your paramour. " 

Beneath the pale moon-light they sate on the wold. 
And the rhymes which thej' chanted must never 

be told; 
And as the black wool from the distaff they sped, 
With blood from their bosom they moisten'd the 

thread. 
As light danc'd the spindles beneath the cold 

gleam. 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream — 
The seven towers ascended like mist from the 

ground. 
Seven portals defend them, seven ditchps surround, 

Within that dread castle seven monarchs were wed, 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead; 
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all 

red. 
Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian's bed. 

" Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done. 
Six gallant kingdoms king Adolf hath won, 
Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do, 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be Imsbandless too." 

Well chanced it that Adolf, the night when he wed. 
Had confess'd aud had saiu'd him ere boune toliis 

bed; 
He sprung from the couch, and his broadsword he 

drew, 
And there the seven daughters of Urien "he slew. 
The gate of the castle he boiled and seal'd, 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a 

shield; 
To the cells of saint Dunstan then wended his way, 
And died in his cloister an anchorite gray. 

Seven monarchs' wealth in tliat castle lies stow'd, 
The foul fiendsbrood o'er them like raven and toad. 
Whoever shall guesten these chambers within. 
From curfew till matins, that treasure siiall win. 
But manliood grows faint as the world waxes old ! 
There lives not in Britain a champion so bold. 
So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain. 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave witlitherye. 
Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland fly. 
And the flint clifts of Bambro' shall melt in the 

sun. 
Before that adventure be peril'd and won. 

XV. 

" And is this my probation ?" wild Harold he said, 
" Within a lone castle to press a lone bed? — 
Good even, my lord bishop — saint Cuthbert to 

borrow. 
The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-mor- 
row. " 



340 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO V. 
I. 

Deitmaiik's sage courtier to her princely youth, 

Granting his cloud an ouzel or a whale, . 
Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial trutli; 

P'or phantasy embroiders nature's veil. 
The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale. 

Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze. 
Are but the ground- work of the rich detail 

Which phantasy with pencil wild porti-ays, 
Blending what seems and is, in tlie rapt muser's 

gaze. 
Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 

Less to the sorceress's empire given: 
For not with unsubstantial hues alone, 

Caught from the varying surge, or vacant heaven, 
From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing levin, 

She limns her pictures — on the earth, as air, 
Arise her castles, and her car is driven; 

And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, 
But of its boasted charms fancy gave half the share. 

II. 
Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 

Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay; 
Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love, 

Ever companion of his master's way. 
Midward their path, a i-ock of granite gray 

From the adjoining cliff had made descent, — 
A barren mass — yet with her drooping spray, 

Had a young birch-tree crowned its battlement. 
Twisting her fibrous roots through crannj^, flaw, 

and rent. 
This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought engage, 

Till fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye. 
And at his master asked the timid page, 

" What is the emblem that a bard should spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy?" 

And Harold said, " Like to the helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie, 

And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wave 
Not all unlike the plume his lady's favour gave." 

"Ah, no!" replied the page; " the ill-starr'd love 

Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, 
Whose fates are with some hero's interwove. 

And I'ooted on a heart to love unknown: 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 

• Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the scathe 
Of tlie red lighti\ing rends both tree and stone, 
So fares it with her unrequited faith 

Her sole relief is tears — her only refuge death." 
IIL 

"Thou art a fond fantastic boy," 

Harold replied, " to females coy, 
Yet prating still of love: 

Even so amid the clash of war 

I know thou lovest to keep afar, 

Though destined by thy evil star 
Willi one like me to rove, 

Whose business and whose joys are found 

Upon the bloody battle-ground. 

Yet, foolish trembler as thou ai-t. 

Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, 

And thou and I will never part; 

Harold would wrap tlie world in flame 

Ere injury on Gunnar came." 

IV. 

The grateful page made no reply. 
But turn'd to licavcn his gentle eye, 
And clasp'd his hands, as one who said, 
"My toils — my wanderings are o'erpaid!" 



Then in a gayer, lighter strain, 
Compell'd himself to speech again; 

And, as they flow'd along, 
His words took, cadence soft and slow. 
And liquid, like dissolving snow, 

They melted into song. 

V. 

" What though through fields of carnage wide 
1 may not follow Harold's stride. 
Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride 

Lord Harold's feats can see? 
And dearer than the couch of pride 
He loves the bed of gray wolf's hide. 
When slumbering by lord Harold's side. 

In forest, field, or lea." 

VI. 

"Break off!" said Harold, in a tone 
Where hurry and surprise were shown, 

With some slight touch of fear, 
" Break off, we are not here alone; 
A palmer form comes slowly on! 
By cowl, and staft', and mantle known. 

My monitor is near. 
Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfuUy; 
He pauses by the blighted tree — 
Dost see hi.ra, youth? — Thou coull'st not see 
When in the vale of Galilee 

I first beheld his form, 
Nor when we met that other while 
In Cephalonia's rocky isle. 

Before the fearful storm — 
Dost see him now?" — The page, distraught 
With terror, answer'd, "I see nought. 

And there is nought to see. 
Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling down 
Upon the path a shadow brown. 
That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown. 

Waves with the waving tree." 

VII. 

Count Harold gazed upon the oak 

As if his e3'e-strings would have broke, 

And then resolvedly said, 
" Be what it will, yon phantom gray. 
Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 
That for their shadows from his way 

Count'Harold turn'd dismay 'd: 
I'll speak him, though his accents fill 
My heart with that unwonted thrill 

Which vulgar minds call fear, 
I will subdue it!" — Forth he strode. 
Paused where the blighted oak-tree show'd 
Its sable shadow on the road. 
And, folding on his bosom broad 

His arms, said, " Speak — I hear." 
VIII. 
The deep voice said, " O wild of will, 
Fui'ious thy purpose to fulfil — 
Heart-sear'd and unrcjjentant still. 
How long, O Harold, shall thy tread 
Disturb the slumbers of the dead' 
Each step in thy wild way thou makest 
The ashes of the dead tliou wakest; 
And shout in triumph o'er thy path 
The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 
In this thine hour, yet turn and hear! 
For life is brief and judgment near." 

IX. 
Then ceased the voice. —The Dane replied 
In tones where awe and inborn pride 
For mastery strove, — "In vain ye chide 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



541 



The wolf for ravaging the flock, 

Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 

I am as they — my Danish strain 

Sends streams of fire through every vein. 

Amid tiiy realms of goule and ghost, 

Say, is the fame of Erick lost? 

Or Witikind's the Waster, known 

Where fame or spoil was to he won; 

Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore 
They left not black with flame? 

He was my sire, — and sprung of ium, 

That rover mei-ciless, and grim, 
Can I be soft and tame ? 
Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid 

me, 
1 am that Waster's son, and am but what he made 
me." 

X. 
The phantom groan'd; the mountain shook around. 
The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound, 
The goi-se and fern did wildly round them wave, 
As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. 
" All thou hast said is truth — Yet ou the head 
Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid. 
That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace, 
From grave to cradle ran the evil race: 
Relentless in his avarice and ire, 
Churches and towns he gave to sword and fire; 
Shed blood like water, wasted every land, 
Like the destroying angel's burning brand; 
FulfiU'd whate'er of ill might be invented: 
Yes — all these things he did — he did, but he re- 
pented ! 
Perchance it is part of his punishment still, 
That his offspring prfrsues his example of ill.. 
But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next 

shake thee, 
Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake 

thee; 
If thou yield'st to thy fur}% how tempted soever, 
The gale of repentance shall ope for thee never!" 

" He is gone," said lord Harold, and gazed as he 

spoke; 
" There is nought on the path but the shade of the 

oak — 
He is gone, whose strange presence my feelings 

oppress'd, 
Like the night-hag that sits on the slumberer's 

breast. 
My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread. 
And cold dews drop from my brow and my head. 
Ho! Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave; 
He said that three drops would recal from the 

grave. 
For the first time count Harold owns leech-craft 

has power. 
Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower! " 
The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had 

fiU'd 
With the juice of wild roots that his art had dis- 

till'd 
So baneful their influence on all that had breath. 
One drop had been frenzy, and two had been death. 
Haroltl took it, but drank not: for jubilee shrill. 
And music and clamour, were heard on the hill. 
And down the steep pathway, o'er stock, and o'er 

stone, 
The train of a bridal came blithsomely on; 
There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, 

and still 
The burden was, " Joy to the fair Metelill!" 



Xlf. 
Harold might see from his high stance, 
Himself unseen, that train advance 

With mirth and melody; — 
On horse and foot a mingled throng. 
Measuring tlieir steps to bridal song 

And bridal minstrelsy; 
And ever when the blithsome rout 
Lent to the song tiieir choral shout, 
Redoubling echoes roll'd about. 
While eolioing cave and cliff sent out 

The answering symphony, 
Of all those mimic notes which dwell 
In hollow rock and sounding dell. 

XIU. 
Joy shook his torch above the band. 
By many a various passion tann'd; 
As elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed. 
Gentle, or stormy, or refined, . 
Joy takes the colours of tlie mind. 
Lightsome and pure, but unrepress'd. 
He fired the bridegroom's gallant breast; 
More feebly strove with maiden fear, 
\'et still joy glimmer'd througli the tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek, that shows 
Like dew-drop on the budding rose; 
While Wulfstane's gloomy smile declared 
The joy- that selfish avarice shared. 
And pleased revenge and malice high 
Its semblance took in Jutta's eye. 
On dangerous adventure sped. 
The witch deem'd Harold with the dead, 
For thus that morn her demon said: — 
" If, ere the set of sun, be tied 
The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride. 
The Dane shall have no power of ill 
O'er William and o'er Metelill." 
And the pleased witch made answer, " Then 
Must Harold have pass'd from the paths of men! 
Evil repose may his spirit have — 
May hemlock and mandrake find rootin his grave, 
May his death-sleep be dogg'd by dreams of dismay, 
And his waking be worse at the answering day!" 
XIV. 
Such was their various mode of glee 
Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when joy is brimming highest, 
Of sorrow and misfortune nighest. 
Of terror with her ague cheek. 
And lurking danger, sages speak: — 
These haunt each path, but chief they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose way. — 
, Thus found that bridal band their path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
Trembling beneath his maddening mood. 
High on a rock the giant stood; 
His shout was like the doom of death 
Spoke o'er their heads that pass'd beneath. 
His destined victims might not spy 
The reddening terrors of his eye — 
The frown of rage that writhed his face — 
The lip that foam'd like boar's in chase; — 
But all could see — and, seeing, all 
Bore back to shun the threatened fall— 
The fragment which their giant foe 
Rent from the clift' and heaved to throw. 

XV. 
Backward they bore; — yet are there two 

For battle who prepare: 
No pause of dread lord William knew 
Ere his good blade was bare; 



342 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew, 
But ere the silken cord he drew, 
As hurl'd from Heola's thunder, ftew 

That ruin through tiie air;i 
Full on the outlaw's front it came, 
And all that late had human name, 
And human face, and human frame. 
That lived, and moved, and had free will 
To choose the path of good or ill, 

Is to its reckoning gone; 
And nought of Wulfstane rests behind. 

Save that beneath that stone, 
Half buried in the dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay, 

Of mingled flesh and bone! 

XVI. 

As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle darts amain. 
Three bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train; 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
The noble falcon dares the fight, 

But dares the fight in vain, 
So fought the bridegroom; from his hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand. 
Its glittering fragments strew the sand, 

Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, heaven ! take noble William's part, 
And melt that yet unmelted heart. 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart, 

The hapless bridegroom's slain ! 

xvn. 

Count Harold's frenzied rage is high, 

There is a death-fire in his eye. 

Deep furrows on his brow are trench'd, 

His teeth are set, his hand is clench'd, 

The foam upon his lip is white. 

His deadly arm is up to smite! 

But, as the mace aloft he swung. 

To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung, 

Around his master's knees he clung, 

And cried, "In mere)' spare! 
O, think opon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary seer. 
The crisis he foretold is here — 

Grant mercy — or des|)air!" 
This word suspended Harold's mood. 
Yet still with arm upraised he stood, 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
" O mark thee .witii the blessed rood," 
The page implored: " Speak word of good, 
Resist the fiend, or be subdued!" 

He signed the cross divine — 
Instant his eye hath human light, 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright; 
His brow relax'd the obdurate frown. 
The fatal mace sinks gently down. 

He turns and strides away; 
Yet oft, like revellers who leave 
TJnfinish'd feast, looks back to grieve. 
As if repenting the reprieve 

He granted to liis prey. 
Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given. 
And fierce Wilikind's son made one step towards 
heaven. 

XVIII. 
But though his dreaded footsteps part. 
Death is behind and shakes his dart: 



Lord William on the plain is lying. 

Beside him Metelill seems dying! 

Bring odours — essences in haste— 

And lo! a flasket richly chased. 

But Jutta the elixir proves 

Ere pouring it for those she loves — 

Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted. 

For when three drops the hag had tasted. 

So dismal was her yell, 

Each bird of evil omen »'oke. 

The i-aven gave his fatal croak. 

And shriek'd the night-crow from the oak, 

The screech-owl from the thicket broke. 

And flutter'd down the dell ! 
So fearful was the sound and stern. 
The slumbers of the full-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern. 

Of forest and of fell. 
The fox and famish'd wolf replied, 
(For -wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side,) 
From mountain head to mountain head 
The unhallow'd sounds around were sped; 
But when their latest echo fled. 
The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 

XIX. 
Such was the scene of blood and woes, 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of William and of Metelill; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread. 
The summer-morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill. 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The king of splendour walks abroad; 
So, when this cloud had pass'd away. 
Bright was the noon-tide "of their day. 
And all serene its setting ray. 

CANTO TI. 
I. 

Weil do I hope that this my minstrel tale 

Will tempt no traveller from southern field;-. 
Whether in tilbury, barouche, or mail. 

To view the castle of these seven proud shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 

To Meneville's high lay — no towers are seen 
On the wild heath, but those that fancy builds. 

And, save a fosse which tracks the moor with 
green, 
Is nought remains to tell of what may there have 

been. 
And yet grave authors, with the no small waste 

Of their grave time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prove the fortress placed 

By Roman liands, to curb the invading Scot. 
Hutchinson, Horsley, Camden, 1 might quote, 

But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who^ origin of things forgot. 

Refer still to the origin of evil. 
And for their master-mason choose that master- 
fiend the devil. 

II. 
Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers 

That stout count Harold bent his wond'ring gaze, 
When evening dew was on the heather flowers. 

And the last sunbeams bade the mountain blaze, 
And tinged the battlements of other days 

With a bright level light ere sinking down. 
Illumined thus, the dauntless Dane surveys 

The seven proud shields that o'er the portal 
j frown. 

And on their blazons traced high marks of old re- 
nown. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



543 



A wolf North Wales had on his ai-mour-coat, 

And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag; 
Strath-Clwyde's strange emhlem was a stranded 
hoat; 

Donald of Galloway a trotting nag; 
A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's l)rag; 

A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn; 
Northurabrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 

Surmounted by acvoss — such signs were borne 

Upon these antique shields, all wasted now and 

worn. 

III. 
These scann'd, count Harold sought the castle door, 

Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay; 
Yet till that hour adventurous knight forbore 

The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong than armed wardei's in array. 

And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 

While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay, 
Cast spells across the gate, and barr'd the onward 
way. 

Vain now those spells — for soon with heavy clank 

The feebly-fasten'd gate was inward pus'h'd. 
And, as it oped, through th;it emblazon'd rank 

Of antique shields the wind of evening rush'd 
With sound most like a groan, and then was hush'd. 

Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear 
But to his heart the blood had faster rush'd, 

Yet to bold Harold's breast .hat throb was dear. 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. 

IV. 

Yet Harold and- his page no signs have tr.iced 

Within the castle that of danger show'd; 
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste. 

As through their precincts the adventurers strode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad. 

Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall in which a king might make abode. 

And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and high. 
Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might 
lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been, 

Deck'd stood the table in each gorgeous hall; 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 

Since date of that unhallow'd festival. 
Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all 

Of tarnish'd gold, or silver nothing clear, 
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, 
And tapestry clothed tlie walls with fragments 
sear, — 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof ap- 
pear. 

V. 
In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung 

A dusk)' crimson curtain o'er the bed, 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung 

The wasted relics of a monarch dead; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread, 

Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious 
stone. 
And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head; 
While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them 
thrown. 
The wearer's fleshless scull, alike with dust be- 
strown. 

For these were they who, drunken with delight, 

On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, 

24 



For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light. 

Was changed ere morning to the murderer' 
tread. 
For human bliss and wo in the frail thread 

Of human life are all so closely twined. 
That till the shears of fate the texture shred. 

The close succession cannot be disjoin'd, 
Nor dare we from one hour judge that which comes 
behind. 

VI. 
But where the work of vengeance had been done, 

In that seventh chamber was a sterner sight; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, 

Still in the posture as to death when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright; 

And that, as one who struggled long in dying; 
One bony hand held knife as if to smite; 

One bent on fleshless knees as mercy crying; 
One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying. 
The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see — 

For his chafed thought return'd to Metelill; 
And, " Well," he said,' "hath woman's perfidy. 

Empty as air, as water volatile. 
Been here avenged. — The origin of ill 

Thro' woman rose, the christian doctrine saith; 
Nor deem I, Guniiar, that thy minstrel skill 

Can show example where a woman's breath 
Hath made a true-love vow, and tempted, kent her 



faith. 



VII. 



The minstrel boy half smiled, half sigh'd. 
And his half filling eyes he dried. 
And said, " The theme I should but wrong, 
Unless it were my dying song, 
(Our scalds have said in dying hour 
The northern harp has treble power, ) 
Else could I tell of woman's faith 
Defying danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that faith — as diamond stone 
Pure and unflaw'd — her love unknown. 
And unrequited; firm and pure. 
Her stainless faith could .ill endure; 
From clime to clime — from place to place — 
Through want, and danger, and disgrace, 
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. 
All this she did, and guerdon none 
Required, save that her burial-stone 
Should make at length her secret known; 
Thus hath a faithful woman done. 
Not in each breast such truth is laid. 
But Eivir was a Danish maid." ' 

VIII. 

"Thou art a wild enthusiast," said 
Count Harold, " for thy Danish maid; 
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own 
Her's were a faith to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath Her stone, 
And all resemliling her are gone. 
What maid e'er show'd such constancy 
In plighted faith, like thine to mei' 
But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we; our little day 
O'erspent, and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid. 
Thy couch upon my mantle made, 
That thou may'st think, should fear invade. 

Thy master slumbers nigh." 
Thus couch'd they in that di-ead abode 
Until the beams of dawning glow'd. 



344 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



IX. 

An alter'd man lord Harold rose, 
When he beheld that dawn unclose — 

There's trouble in his eyes. 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder speak: 

" My page," he said, "arise; 
Leave we this place, my page." Nor more 
He utter'd till the castle door 
They cross'd — but there he paused and said, 
•' My wildness hath awaked the dead — 

Disturb'd the sacred tomb! 
Methought this night I stood on high 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky. 
And in her cavern 'd gulfs could spy 

The central place of doom ! 
And there before my mortal ej'e 
Souls of the dead came flitting by, 
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry, 

Bore to that evil den ! 
My eyes grew dizz)*, and my brain 
Was wilder'd, as the elvish train, 
With shriek and howl, dragg'd on amain 

Those who had late been men. 

X. 

*• With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 

Jutta, the sorceress, was there. 

And there pass'd Wulfstane, lately slain, 

All crush'd and foul with bloody stain. 

More had I seen, but that uprose 

A whirlwind wild, and swept the snows; 

And with such sound as when at need 

A champion spurs liis horse to speed. 

Three armed knit^hts rush on, who lead 

Caparison'd a sable steed. 

Sable their harness, and there came 

Through their closed visors sparks of flame. 

The first proclaim'd, in sounds of fear, 

' Harold the Dauntless, welcome here!' 

The next cried, ' Jubilee! we've won 

Count Witikind the Waster's son!' 

And the third riiler sternly spoke, 

' Mount, in the name of Zernebock! 

From us, O Harold, were thy powers. 

Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours; 

!Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, 

With hell canst strive.' The fiend spoke true! 

My inmost soul the summons knew, 

As captives know the knell. 
That says the headsman's sword is bare, 
And with an accent of despair 

Commands them quit tlieir cell. 
I felt resistance was in vain. 
My foot had tliat fell stirrup ta'en. 
My hand was ori the fatal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That palmer's visidnary form, 
And, like the passing of a storm, 

The demons yell'd and fled! 

XI. 

"His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd 
The features it before conceal 'd; 

And, Gunnar, I could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful waj-^. 

My fiither Witikind ! 
Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for mine, 
A wanderer upon earth to pine. 
Until his son shall turn to grace. 
And smooth for him a resting-place ! 



Gunnar, he must not haunt in vain 
This world of wretchedness and pain: 
I'll tame my wilful heart to live 
In peace — to pity and forgive — 
And thou, for so the vision said. 
Must in thy lord's repentance aid. 
Thy mother v/as a prophetess," 
He said, " who by her skill could guess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knit that thread of lite with mine; 
Then, dark, he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious eyes. 
That not a moment might divide 
Thy fated footsteps from my side. 
Methought, while thus my sire did teach, 
I caught the meaning of his speech. 
Yet seems its purport doubtful now." 
His hand then sought his thoughtful brow. 
Then first he mark'd, that in the tower 
His glove was left at waking hour. 

XII. 

Trembling at first, and deadly pale, 
Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale; 
But when he learn'd the dubious close. 
He blushed like any opening rose. 
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek. 
Hied back that glove of mail to seek; 
When soon a shriek of deadly dread 
Summon'd his master to his aid. 

XIII. 

What sees count Harold in that bower. 

So late his resting place? 
The semblance of the Evil Power, 

Adored by all his race! 
Odin in living form stood there. 
His cloak the spoils of polar bear; 
For plumy crest, a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head, 
Yetveil'd its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eye. 
Such height was his, as when in stoue 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown; 

So flow'd li^s hoary beard; 
Such was his lance of mountain-pine, 
So did his sevenfold buckler shine; 

But when his voice he rear'd. 
Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, 
The powerful accents roll'd along. 
And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 
On captive Gunnar's shrinking head. 

XIV. 

" Harold." he said, " What rage is thine 

To quit the worship of thy line. 

To leave thy warrior god? 

With me is glory or disgrace. 

Mine is the onset and the chase. 

Embattled hosts before my face 

Are withered by a nod. 

Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat, 

Deserved by many a dauntless feat 

Among the heroes of thy line, 

Eric and fiery Thorarine? 

Thou wilt not. Only I can give 

The joys for which the valiant live. 

Victory and vengeance — only I 

Can give the joys for which they die. 

The immortal tilt— the banquet full. 

The brimming draught from foeman's skull. 

Mine art thou, witness this thy glove. 

The faithful pledge of vassal's love." 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



345 



XV. 

" Tempter!" said Harold, firm of heart, 

" I charge thee, hence! whate'er thou art, 

I do defy thee — and resist 

The kindling frenzy of my breast. 

Waked by thy words; and of my mall 

Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nor nail, 

Shall rest with thee — that youth release, 

And god, or demon, part in peace." 

" Eivir," ihe shape replied, " is mine, 

Mark'd in the birtli-hour with my sign. 

Think'st thou that priest with drops of spray 

Could wash that blood-red mark away? 

Or that a borrow'd sex and name 

Can abrogate a godhead's claim?" 

Thrill'd tliis strange speech thro' Harold's brain, 

He clench'd his teeth in high disdain, 

For not his new-born faith subdued 

Some tokens of his ancient mood. 

" Now, by the hope so lately given 

Of better trust and purer heaven, 

I will assail thee, hend!" Then rose 

His mace, and with a storm of blows 

The mortal and the demon close. 

XVI. 

Smoke roll'd above, fire flash 'd around, 
Darken'd the sky and shook the ground; 

But not the ai-tillery of hell. 
The bickering lightning, nor the rock 
Of turrets to fhe earthquake's shotSk, 

Could Harold's courage quell. 
Sternly the Dane his purpose kept, 
And blows on blows resistless heap'd. 

Till quail'd that demon form; 
And — for his power to hurt or kill 
Was bounded by a higher will — 

Evanish'd in the storm. 
Nor paused the champion of the north, 
But raised, and bore liis Eivir forth 
From that wild scene of fiendish strife. 
To light, to liberty, and life ! 

xvn. 

He placed her on a bank of moss, 

A silver runnel bubbled by, 
And new-born thoughts his soul engross, 
And tremors yet unknown across 

His stubborn sinews fly; 
The whilewithtimid hand the dew 
Upon her brow and neck he threw, 
And mark'd how life with rosy hue 
On her pale cheek revived anew, 



And glimmer 'd in her eye. 
Inly he said, " That silken tress, 
"What blindness mine that could not guess, 
Or how could page's rugged dress 

That bosom's pride belie? 
O, dull of heart, through wild and wave 
In search of blood and death to rave, 

With such a partner nigh!" 
XVIII. 
Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd. 
Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard, 
The stains of recent conflict clear'd — 

And thus the champion proved. 
That he fears now who never fear'd, 

And loves who never loved. 
And Eivii' — life is on her cheek. 
And yet she will not mov.e or speak, 

Nor will her eyelid fully ope; 
Perchance it loves, that half-sliut eye. 
Through its long fringe, reserved and shy, 
Aft'ection's opening dawn to spy; 
And the deep blush, which bids its dye 
O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly. 

Speaks shame-facedness and hope. 

XIX. 

But vainly seems the Dane to seek 
For terms his new-born love to speak, — 
For words, save those of wrath and wrong, 
Till now were strangers to his tongue; 
So, when he raised the blushing maid. 
In blunt and lionest terms he said, — 
(Twere well that maids, when lovers woo. 
Heard none more soft, were all as true.) 
" Eivir! since thou for many a day 
Hast followed Harold's wayward way, 
It is but meet that in the line 
Of after-life I follow thine. 
To morrow is saint Cuthbert's tide. 
And we will grace his altar's side, 
A christian knight and christian bride; 
And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be said. 
That on the same morn he was christen'd and wed." 

CONCLUSIOX. 

And now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid? 

And why these listless looks ofyawning sorrow. 
No need to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, 

Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. 
Be cheer'd — 'tis ended — and 1 will not borrow. 

To try thy patience more, one anecdote 
From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. 

Then pardon thou thy mhistrel, who hath wrote 
A tale si.\ cantos long, yet scorn'd to add a note. 



^t)t f$vi3fnl ot mtttmnin; 

OH, 

THE VALE OP ST. JOHN. 

A LOVER'S TALE. 



An elf-ouene wol I love ywis, 
For in this world no woman is 

Worthy to be my make in toun: 
All other women I forsake, 
And to an elf-quene I me take 

By dale and eke by doun. 

Rime of sir Thopas, 



PREFACE. 

In the Edinbzirgh Jlnnual Register for the year 
1809, three fragments ■were inserted, written in 
imitation of living poets. It must have been ap- 
parent, that by these prolusions, nothing burlesque 
or disrespectful to the authors was intended, but 
that they were offered to the public as serious, 
though certainly very imperfect, imitations of that 
style of composition, by which each of the writers 
is supposed to be distinguished. As these exer- 
cises attracted a greater degree of attention than 
the author anticipated, he has been induced to 
complete one of them, and present it as a separate 
publication. 

It is not in this place that an examination of the 
works of the master whom he has here adopted as 
his model can, with propriety, be introduced; 
since his general acquiescence in the favourable 
suffrage of the public must necessarily be inferred 
from the attempt he has now made. He is induced, 
by the nature of his subject, to offer a few remarks 
on what has been called Romantic Poetry, — the 
popularity of which has been revived in tlie pre- 
sent (lay, under the auspices, and by the unparal- 
leled success of one individual. 

The original purpose of poetry is either reli- 
gious or historical, or, as must frequently happen, 
a mixture of both. To modern readers, the poems 
of Homer have many of the features of pure ro- 
mance; but, in the estimation of his contempora- 
ries, they probably derived tVieir chief value from 
their supposed historical authenticity. The same 
may be generally said of the poetry of all early 
ages. The marvels and miracles which the poet 
blends with his song do not exceed in number or 
extravagance the figments of the historians of the 
same period of society; and, indeed, the difference 
betwixt poetry and prose, as the vehicles of his- 
torical truth, is always of late introduction. Poets, 
under various denominations of Bards, Scalds, 
Chroniclers, and so forth, are the first historians 
of all nations. Their intention is to relate the 
events they have witnessed, or the traditions that 
have reached them; and they clotlie the relation 
in rhyme, merely as the means of rendering it 
more solemn in the narrative, or more easily com- 
mitted to memory. But as the poetical liistorian 
improves in the art of conveying information, the 
authenticity of his narrative unavoidably declines. 
He is tempted to dilate and dwell upon the events 
that are interesting to his imagination, and, con- 
scious how different his audience is to the naked 
truth of his poem, his history gradually becomes 
a romance. 



It is in this situation that those epics are found 
which have been generally regarded the standards 
of poetry; and it has happened somewhat strange- 
ly, that the moderns have pointed out, as the cha- 
racteristics and peculiar excellences of narrative 
poetry, the very circumstances which the authors 
themselves adopted, only because their art involv- 
ed the duties of the historian as well as the poet. 
It cannot be believed, for example, that Homer 
selected the siege of Troy as the most appropriate 
subject for poetry; his purpose was to write the 
early history of his country: the event he has 
chosen, though-not very fruitful in varied incident, 
nor perfectly well adapted for poetry, was never- 
theless combined with traditionary and genealogi- 
cal anecdotes extremely interesting to those who 
were to listen to him; and liiis he has adorned by 
the exertions of a genius, which, if it has been 
equalled, has certainly never been surpassed. It 
was not till comparatively a late period that the 
general accuracy of his narrative, or his purpose 
in composing it, was brought into question. Aox«< 

TOtTstTr/i'liTTO/iwJ Tui OfMipcu TToiitTiv a.7ropyvxr6xl 
etvav Apirii; kui SiKctoo-uv^c.* But whatever the- 
ories miglit be framed by speculative men, his 
work was of an historical, not of an allegorical na- 
ture. EvAvriKXiro fxerct rou MsvrsaiCj xat/ ottou 

IKCta-TOTi CKpHCOlrO, TTctVTCt 'TO. iTTI^uplCt. ^llpuTdi- 
TO, X.ltl KTTOpiVaiV iTrVvBuLViTO . il>lo; Si jUIV )IV KUt 

(x.vniJi.oa-vva. TrtLVTuv •ypeefiia'Scti.f Instead of re- 
commending the choice of a subject similar to that 
of Homer, it was to be expected that critics should 
have exhorted the poets of these later days to adopt 
or invent a narrative in itself more susceptible of _ 
poetical ornament, and to avail themselves of that ■ 
advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, ^ 
the inferiority of genius. The contrary course has 
been inculcated by almost all the writers upon the 
Epopsda; with what success, the fate of Homer's 
numerous imitators may best sholv. The ultiimim 
supplicitun of criticism was inflicted on the author 
if he did not choose a subject which at once de- 
prived him of all claim to originality, and placed 
him, if not in actual contest, at least in fatal com- 
parison, with those giants in the land, whom it 
was most his interest to avoid. The celebrated 
recipe for writing an epic poem, M'hich appeared 
in the Guardian, was the first instance in which 
common sense was applied to this department of 
poetry; and indeed, if the question be considered 
on its own merits, we must be satisfied that narra- 



• Diogenes Laertius, 1. xi, p. 8. 



t Homeri Vita. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



347 



live poetry, if strictly confined to the great occur- 
rences of history, would be deprived of the indi- 
vidual interest which it is so well calculated to 
excite. < 

Modem poets may therefore be pardoned in 
seeking simpler subjects of verse, more interesting 
in proportion to their simplicity. Two or three 
figures, well grouped, suited the artist better than 
a crowd, for whatever purpose assembled. For 
the same reason a scene immediately pi-esented to 
the imagination, and directly brought nome to the 
feelings, though involving the fate but of one or two 
persons, is more favourable for poetry than the 
political struggles and convulsions which influence 
the fate of kingdoms. The former are within the 
reach and comprehension of all, and, if depicted 
with vigour, seldom fail to fix attention: the other, 
if more sublime, are more vague and distant, less 
capable of being distinctly understood, and infi- 
nitely less capable of exciting those sentiments 
which it is the very purpose of poetry to inspire. 
To generalize is always to destroy effect. We 
would, for example, be more interested in the fate 
of an individual soldier in combat, than in the 
grand event of a general action; with the happiness 
of two lovers raised from misery and anxiety to 
peace and union, than with the successful exertions 
of a whole nation. From what causes this may 
originate, is a separate, and obviously an immate- 
rial consideration. Before ascribing this peculia- 
rity to. causes decidedly and odiously selfish, it is 
proper to recollect, that while men see only a li- 
mited space, and while their affections and con- 
duct are regulated, not by aspiring at an universal 
good, but by exerting their power of making them- 
selves and others happy within the limited scale 
allotted to each individual, so long will individual 
history and individual virtue be the readier and 
more accessible road to general interest and atten- 
tion; and perhaps we may add, that it is the more 
useful, as well as the more accessible, inasmuch 
as it affords an example capable of being easily 
imitated. 

According to the author's idea of Romantic Po- 
etry, as distinguished from Epic, the former com- 
prehends a fictitious narrative, framed and com- 
bined at the pleasure of the wx-iter; beginning and 
ending as he may judge best; which neither exacts 
nor refuses the use of supernatural machinery; 
which is free from the technical rules of the Ep^e; 
and is subject only to those which good sense, good 
taste, and good morals apply to every species of 
poetry without exception. The date may be in a 
r"?mote age, or in the present; the story may de- 
■ ail the adventures of a prince or of a peasant. In 
a word, the author is absolute master of his countrj' 
and its inhabitants, and every thing is permitted 
to him, excepting to be heavy or prosaic, for which, 
free and unembarrassed as he is, he has no man- 
ner of apology. Those, it is probable, will be found 
the peculiarities of this species of composition: 
and, before joining the outcry against the vitiated 
taste that fosters and encourages it, the justice and 
grounds of it ought to be made perfectly apparent. 
If the want of sieges and battles and great military 
evolutions in our poetry is complained of, let us 
reflect, that the campaigns and heroes of our day 
are perpetuated in a record that neither requii-es 
nor admits of the aid of fiction; and if the complaint 
refers to the inferiority of our bards, let us pay a 
just tribute to their modesty, limiting them, as it 
does, to subjects, which, however indifferently 



treated, have still the interest and charm of novel- 
ty, and which thus prevents them from adding in- 
sipidity to their other more insuperable defects. 

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 

inthoductioit. 
I. 

Come, Lucy! while 'tis morning hour, 

The woodland brook we needs must pass; 
So, ere the sun assume his power, 
We shelter in our poplar bower, . 
Where dew lies long upon the flower, 

Though vanished from the velvet grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony ridge 
May serve us for a sylvan bridge; 
For here, compelled to disunite, 

Round petty isles the runnels glide. 
And, chafing oft' their puny spite. 
The shallow murmurs waste their might. 
Yielding to footsteps free and light 

A dry-shod pass from side to side. 

IL 

Nay, why this hesitating pause? 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws. 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim!" 

Titania's foot without a slip. 
Like thine, though timid, light, and slim, 

From stone to stone might safely trip. 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper's silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover's strength; nor fear 

That tliis same stalwart arm of mine, 
Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprear, 
Siiall sink beneath the burthen dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine. — 
So, — now, the danger dared at last. 
Look back and smile at perils past! 

III. 

And now we reach the favourite glade. 

Paled in by copse-wood, cliff, and stone. 
Where never harsher sounds invade. 

To break affection's whispering tone. 
Than the deep breeze that waves the shade, 

Than the small brooklet's feeble moan. 
Come! rest thee on thy wonted seat; 

Moss'd is the stone, the turf is green, 
A place where lovers best may meet. 

Who would not that their love be seen. 
The boughs, that dim the summer sky, 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy. 

That fain would spread the invidious tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye. 
Noble in birth, in fortunes high. 
She for whom lords and barons sigh. 

Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. 

IV. 

How deep that blush! — how deep that sigh! 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its colour from some secret cause. 
Some hidden movement of the breast, 
She would not that her Arthur guess'd? 
O! quicker far is lovers' ken 
Than tfie dull glance of common men, 
And by strange sympathy, can spell 
The tfioughts the loved one will not tell! 
And mine, in Lucy's blush, saw met t 

The hue of pleasure and regret; 
Pride mingled in the sigh her voice, 
And shared with Love the crimson glow; 



348 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choice. 

Yet shamed thine own is placed so low. 
Thou turn'st thy self-confessing cheek, 

As if to meet the breeze's cooling; 
Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak, 

For Love, too, has his hours of schooling. 
V. 
Too oft ray anxious eye has spied 
That secret grief thou fain would'st hide, 
The passing pang of humbled pride: 
Too oft, wlien through the splendid hall. 

The load-star of each heart and eye. 
My fair one leads the glittering ball. 
Will her stolen glance on Arthur fall, 

With such a blush and such a sigh ! 
Thou would'st not yield, for wealth or rank. 

The heart thy worth and beauty won, 
Nor leave me on this mossy bank. 

To meet a rival on a throne: 
Why, then, should vain repinings rise, 
That to thy laver fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A baron's birth, a menial train. 
Since heaven assign'd him, for his part, 
A lyre, a falchion, and a heart? 

VI. 
My sword its master must be dumb; 

But, when a soldier names my name. 
Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come, 

N or dread to hear of Arthur's shame. 
My heart 'mid all yon courtly crew. 

Of lordly rai\k and lofty line. 
Is there to love and honour true, 

That boasts a pulse so warm as mine? 
They praised thy diamond's lustre i-are— 

Matched with" thine eyes, I thouglit it faded; 
They praised the pearls that bound thy hair— 

I only saw the locks they braided; 
They talked of wealthy dower and land. 

And titles of high birth the token— 
I thought of Lucy's heart and hand. 

Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. 
And yet, if ranked in fortune's roll, 

I might have learn 'd their choice unwise. 
Who rate the dower above the soul. 

And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes. 
VII. 
My lyre — it is ao idle toy. 

That borrows accents not its own, 
Like warbler of Columbian sky. 

That sings but in a mimic tone.* 
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. 
Nor boasts it aught of border spell; 
Its strings no feudal slogan pour. 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore; 
No shouting clans applauses raise, 
Because it sung their father's praise; 
On Scottish moor, or English down. 
It ne'er was graced with fair renown. 
Nor won, — best meed to minstrel true, — 
One favouring smile from fair Buccleuch! 
By one poor sti-eamlct sounds its tone. 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 

VIII. 
But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell 
Of errant knight and damozelle; 
Of the dread knot a wizard tied. 
In punislunent of maiden's pride, 
in notes of marvel and of fear. 
That best may charm romantic ear. 



' The Mocking; bird. 



For Lucy loves, — like Collins, ill-starr'd name!' 
Whose lay's requital was, that tardy fame. 
Who bound no laurel round his living head. 
Should hang it o'er his monument when dead,— 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand. 
And thread, like him, the maze of fairy-land; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam, 
And slumber soft by some Elysian stream: 
Such lays she loves, — and, such my Lucy's choice. 
What other song can claim her poet's voice' 

CANTO I. 
I. 

Where is the maiden of mortal strain. 

That may watcli with the baron of Triermain ?2 

She must be lovely and constant and kind, 

Holy and pure and humble of mind, 

Blith of cheer and gentle of mood. 

Courteous and generous and noble of blood — 

Lovely as tlie sun's first ra}'. 

When it breaks the clouds of an April day; 

Constant and true as the widow'd dove, 

Kind as a minstrel that sings of love; 

Pure as the fountain in rocky cave. 

Where never sun-beam kissed the wave: 

Humble as maiden that loves in vain. 

Holy as hermit's vesper strain; 

Gentle as breeze tliat but whispers and dies, 

Yet blith as the light leaves that dance in its sighs; 

Courteous as monarcli the morn he is crown'd, 

Gen'rous as spring-dews that bless the glad gi-ound, 

Noble her blood as the currents that met 

In the veins of the noblest Platagenet 

Such must her form be, her mood, and her strain, 
That shall match with sir Roland of Triermain. 
II. 
Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid him to sleep. 
His blood it was fevered, his breathing was deep. 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long and the skirmish hot; 
His dinted helm' and his buckler's plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight. 

All in the castle must hold them still, 
Harpers must lull him to liis rest, 
With the slow soft tunes he loves the best, 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill. 

III. 

It was the dawn of an autumn day; 
The sun was struggling with frost fog gray, 
That like a silvery crape was spread 
Round Skiddaw's dim and distant head. 
And faintly gleam'd each painted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 

When that baron bold awoke. 
Starting he woke, and loudly did call. 
Rousing his menials in bower and hall, 

While hastily he spoke. 

IV. 

"Hearken, my minstrels! Which of ye all 
Touch'd his harp with that dying fall. 

So sweet, so soft, so faint. 
It seem'd an angel's wliisper'd call 

To an expiring saint? 
And hearken, my merry men ! what time or where 

Did she pass, that raa'id with her heav'nly brow 
With her look so sweet and her eyes so fair, 
And her graceful step and her angel air. 
And the eagle plume in her dark brown hair. 

That pass'd from my bower e'en now?" — 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



349 



V. 

Answer'd him Richard de Brettville; he 
Was chief of the baron's minstrelsy, — 
*' Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sate since midnight close, 
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings, 
Murmur'd from our melting strings. 

And hush'd you to repose. 
Had a harp-note sounded here. 
It had caught my watchful ear. 

Although it fell as faint and shy 

As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh. 
When she thinks her lover near." — 
Answer'd Philip of Fasthwaite tall, 
He kept guard in the outer hall, — 
•' Since at eve our walch took post, 
Not a foot has thy portal cross'd; 

Else had I heard the steps, though low 
And light they fell as when earth receives, 
In morn of frost, the withered leaves. 

That drop when no winds blow." 
VI. 
" Then come thou hither, Henry, my page, 
Whom I saved from sack of Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and spire', 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And redden'd all the Nine-stane hill, 
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 
Thro' devouring flame and smothering smoke, 

Made the warrior's heart-blood chilli 
The trustiest thou of all my train. 
My fleetest courser thou must rein. 

And ride to Lyulph's tower, 
And from the baron of Triermain 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from druid sires. 
And British bards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise, 
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.^ 
Gifted like his gifted race. 
He the characters can trace, 
Graven deep in elder time 
Upon Helvellyn's cliffs sublime; 
Sign and sigil well doth he know. 
And can bode of weal and wo. 
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars. 
From mystic dreams and-course of stars. 
He shall tell if middle earth 
To that enchanting shape gave birth, 
Or if 'twas but an airy thing, 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes. 
Or fading tints of western skies. 
For, by the blessed i-ood I swear. 
If that fair form breathe vital air, 
No other maiden by ray side 
Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride!" 

vn. 

The faithful page he mounts his steed. 

And soon he cross'd green Irthing's mead, 

Dash'd o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain. 

And Eden barr'd his course in vain. 

He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round,* 

For feats of chivalry renown'd. 

Left Myl)urgh's mound and stones of pow'r,^ 

By druids raised in magic hour. 

And traced the Eamont's winding way. 

Till Ulfo^s lake beneath him lay. 

VIII. 
Onward he rode, the path-way still 
Winding betwij't the lake and hillj 



Till on the fragment of a rock. 

Struck from its base by lightning shock, 

He saw the hoary sage: 
The silver moss and lichen twined. 
With fern and deer-hair check'd and lined, 

A cushion fit for age; 
And o'er him shook the aspen tree, 
A restless rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Henry from his sella, 

And greeted Lyulph grave, 
And then his master's tale did tell, 

And then for counsel crave. 
The man of years mused long and deep. 
Of time's lost treasures taking keep, 
And then, as rousing from a sleep, 

His solemn answer gave. 

IX. 

" That maid is born of middle earth. 

And may of man be won, 
Though Ahere have glided since her birth. 

Five liTindred years and one. 
But Where's the knight in all the north, 
That dare the adventure follow forth. 
So perilous to knighth' worth. 

In the valley of saint Johni' 
Listen, youth, to what I tell, 
And biW it on thy memory well: 
Nor mure that I commence the rhyme 
Far (hstant 'mid the wrecks of time. 
The mystic tale, by bard and sage. 
Is handed down from Merlin's age." 

X. 

ltuiph's taie. 
KiffR Arthur has ridden from merry Carlisle, 

When pentecost was o'er; 
He journeyed like errant knight the while 
And sweetly the summer sun did smile 

On mountain, moss, and moor. 
Above his solitary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back, 
Amid whose )'awning gulfs the sun 
Cast umbered radiance red and dun. 
Though never sun-beam could discern 
The surface of that sable tarn, 6 
In whose black mirror )'ou may spy 
The stars, while noontide lights the sky. 
The gallant king, he skirted still 
The margin of that mighty hill; 
Rocks upon rocks incumbent hung, 
And torrents, down the gullies fl i, 
Join'd the rude river that brawl'ii on. 
Recoiling now from crag and stone, 
Now diving deep from human ken, 
And raving down its darksome glen. 
The monarch judged this desert wild, 
With such romantic ruin piled. 
Was theatre by Nature's hand 
For feat of high achievement plaun'd. 

XI. 

O rather he chose, that monarch bold. 

On vent'rous quest to ride, 
In plate and mail, by wood and wold. 
Than, with ermine irapp'd and cloth of gold, 

In princeh' bower to bide; 
The bursting crasli of a foeman's spear. 

As it shiver'd against his mail. 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than corn-tier's whisper'd tale; 
And the clash of Caliburn ipore dear, 



350 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When on the hostile casque it rung, 
Than all the lays 
To their monarch's praise 
That the harpers of Reged sung. 
He loved better to rest by wood or river, 
Than in bower of his bride, dame Guenever; 
For he left that lady so lovely of cheer, 
To follow adventures of danger and fear; 
And the frank hearted monarch full little did wot, 
That she smiled, in his absence, on brave Lancelot. 

XII. 

He rode, till over down and dell 
The shade more broad and deeper fell; 
And though around the mountain's head 
Flow'd streams of purple, and gold, and red. 
Dark at the base, unblest by beam, 
Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream. 
With toil the king his way pursued 
By lonely Tbrelkeld's waste and wood, 
Till on his course obliquely shone 
The narrow valley of saint Jouk, ^ 
Down sloping to the western sky. 
Where lingering sun-beams love to lie. 
Right glad to feel those beams again. 
The king drew up his charger's rein; 
With gauntlet raised he skreen'd his sight. 
As dazzled with the level light, ^* 
And, from beneath his glove of ma\^ 
Scann'd at his ease the lovely vale; 
While 'gainst the sun his armour bright 
Gleam 'd ruddy like the beacon's light. 

xm. 

Paled in by many a lofty hill. 
The narrow dale lay smooth and still. 
And, down its verdant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet foimd its bed. 
But, midmost of the vale, a mound 
Arose, with airy turrets crown'd. 
Buttress and rampire's circling bound, 

And mighty keep and tower; 
Seem'd some primeval giant's hand 
The castle's massive walls had plann'd, 
A ponderous bulwark, to withstand 

Ambitious J^imrod's power. 
Above the mbated entrance slung. 
The balanced draw-bridge trembling hung, 

As jealous of a foe; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
With iron studded, clenched, and barr'd, 
And prong'd portcullis, joined to guard 

The gloomy pass below. 
But the gray walls no banners crown'd. 
Upon the watch tower's airy round 
No warder stood his horn to sound. 
No guard beside the bridge was found. 
And, where the Gothic gateway frown'd. 

Glanced neither bill nor bow. 

XIV. 

Beneath the castle's gloomy pride. 
In ample round did Arthur ride 
Three times; nor living thing'^he spied, 

Nor heard a living sound. 
Save that, awakening from her dream, 
The owlet now began to scream, 
In concert with the rushing stream, 

That washed the battled mound. 
He lighted from his goodly steed. 
And he left him to graze on bank and mead; 
And slowly he climbed the narrow way. 
That reached the entrance grim and gray, 



And he stood the outward arch below, 
And his bugle horn prepar'd to blow, 

In summons blith and bold. 
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep 
The guardian of this dismal keep. 

Which well he guess'd the hold 
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim, 
Or pagan of gigantic limb. 

The tyrant of the weld. 

XV. 

The ivory bugle's golden tip 

Twice touched the monarch's manly lip, 

And twice his hand withdrew. 
Think not but Arthur's heart was good! 
His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood. 
Had a pagan host before him stood. 

He had charged them through and through; 
Yet the silence of that ancient place 
Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space 

Ere yet his horn he blew. 
But, instant as its larum rung. 
The castle-gate was open flung. 
Portcullis rose with crashing groan. 
Full harshly up its groove ot stone; 
The halance beams obeyed the blast. 
And down the trembling draw-bridge cast; 
The vaulted arch before him lay. 
With nought to bar the gloomy way. 
And onward Arthur paced, with hand 
On Caliburn's resistless brand. 

XVI. 

A hundred torches, flashing bright. 
Dispelled at once the gloomy night 

That loured along the walls. 
And showed the king's astonished sight 

The inmates of the halls. 
Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim. 
Nor giant huge of form and limb. 

Nor heathen knight was there; 
But the cressets, which odours flung aloft. 
Showed, by their yellow light and soft, 

A band of damsels fair. 
Onward they came, like summer wave 

That dances to the shore; 
An hundred voices welcome gave. 

And welcome o'er and o'er! 
An hundred lovely hands assail 
The bucklers of the monarch's mail. 
And busy laboui-ed to unhasp 
Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 
One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair. 
And one flung odours on his hair; 
His short curled ringlets one smooth'd down, 
One wreathed them with a myrtle crown. 
A bride, upon her wedding daj", 
Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 

XVII. 

Loud laughed they all, — the king, in vain, 
With questions tasked the giddy train; 
Let him entreat, or crave, or call, 
'Twas one reply, — loud laughed they all. 
Then o'er him mimic chains they fling. 
Framed of the faii-est flowers of spring. 
While some their gentle force unite. 
Onward to drag the wondering knight. 
Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows, 
Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
Behind him were in triumph borne 
The warlike arms he late had worn. 
Four of the train combined to rear • 
The terrors of Tintagel's spear;'' 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



351 



Two, laughing at their lack of strength, 
Dragg'd Caliburn in cumbrous length ;8 
One, while she aped a martial stritle, 
Placed on her brows the helmet's pride, 
Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise, 
To feel its depth o'erwlielm her eyes. 
With revel-shout and triumph-song, 
Thus gayly marched the giddy throng. 

XVIII. 

Through many a gallery and hall 
They led, I ween, their royal thrall; 
At length, beneath a fair arcade 
Their march and song at once they staid. 
The eldest maiden of the band, 

(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen, > 
Raised, with imposing air, her hand. 
And reverend silence did command. 

On entrance of their queen; 
And they were mute. — But as a glance 
They steal on Arthur's countenance. 

Bewildered with surprise. 
Their smothered mirth again 'gan speak, 
In archly dimpled chin and cheek, 

And laughter-lighted eyes. 

XTX. 

The attributes of those high days 
Now only live in minstrel lays. 
For nature, now exhausted, still 
Was then profuse of good and ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valour high. 
And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky. 
And beauty had such matchless beam, 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet, e'en in that romantic age. 

Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen 
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage, 
When forth on that enchanted stage, 
With glittering train of maid and page, 

Advanced the castle's queen ! 
While up the hall she slowly passed, 
Her dark eye on the king she cast. 

That flash'd expression strong; 
The longer dwelt that lingering look. 
Her cheek the livelier colour took. 
And scarce the shame-faced king could brook 

The gaze that lasted long. 
A sage, who had that look espied, 
Where kindling passion strove with pride. 

Had whisper'd, " Prince, beware! 
From the chafed tyger rend the prey, 
Rush on the lion wlien at bay. 
Bar the fell di-agon's blighted way. 

But shun that lovely snare!" 

XX. 

At once, that inward strife suppress'd. 
The dame approaclied her warlike guest. 
With greeting in that fair degree. 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are blended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the heart. 
A courtly welcome first she gave. 
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 

Construction fair and true 
Of her light maidens' idle mirth. 
Who drew from lonely glens their birth. 
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due; 
And then she pray'd that he would rest 
That night her castle's honoured guest. 
The monarch meetly thanks express'd; 



The banquet rose at her behest; 
With lay and tale, and laugh and jest. 
Apace the evening flew. 

XXI. 

The lady sate the monarch by, 
Now in her turn abashed and shy, 
And with indifference seemed to hear 
The toys he whispered in her ear. 
Her bearing modest was and fair. 
Yet shadows of constraint were there, 
That show'd an over-cautious care 

Some inward thought to hide; 
Oft did she pause in full reply. 
And oft cast down her large dark eye, 
Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh. 

That heav'd her bosom's pride. 
Slight symptoms these; but shepherds know 
How hot the mid-day sun shall glow. 

From the mist of morning sky; 
And so the wily monarch guess'd. 
That this assumed restraint express'd 
More ardent passions in the breast. 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Closer he press'd, while beakers rang. 
While maidens laughed and minstrels sang. 

Still closer to her ear — 
But why pursue the common tale? 
Or wherefore show how kniglits prevail 

When ladies dare to hear' 
Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause 
Its source one tyrant passion draws. 

Till, mastering all within. 
Where lives the man that has not tried. 
How mirth can into folly glide. 

And folly into sin ! 

CAITTO II. 

LTULPH's TAIE, CONTIUCED. 

1. 

Another day, another day. 
And yet another, glides away ! 
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores again. . 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower. 
Lies loitering in a lady's bower; 
The horn, that foemen wont to fear. 
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer, 
And Caliburn, the British pride, 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 

II. 
Another day, another day. 
And yet another, glides away ! 
Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd. 
He thinks not of the Table Roimd; 
In lawless love dissolved his life. 
He thinks not of his beauteous wife; 
Better he loves to snatch a flower 
From bosom of his paramour, 
Than from a Saxon knight to wrest 
The honours of his heathen crest; 
Better to wreath, 'mid tresses brown, 
The heron's plume her hawk struck down, 
Than o'er the altar give to flow 
The banners>f a Paynim foe. 
Tlius, week by week, and day by day. 
His life inglorious glides away; 
But she, that sooths his dream, with fear 
Beholds his hour of waking near. 

m. 

Much force have mortal charms to stay 
Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way; 



352 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But Guendolen's might far outshine 
Each maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth, 
Her sire a e;enie of the earth, 
In days of old deemed to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride, 
By youths and virgins worshipped long. 
With festive dance and choral song. 
Till, when the cross to Britain came, 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale's solitude. 
The downfall ofiiis rites he rued, 
And, born of his resentment heir. 
He trained to guile that lady fair. 
To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The champions of the christian name. 
Well-skilled to keep vain thoughts alive, 
And all to promise, nought to give. 
The timid youth had hope in store. 
The bold and pressing gained no more. 
As wildered children leave their home, 
After the rainbow's arch to roam. 
Her lovers bartered fair esteem. 
Faith, fame, and honour, for a dceara. 

IV. 
Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame 
She practised thus— till Arthur came. 
Then frail humanity had part. 
And all the mother claimed her heart. 
Forgot each rule her father gave. 
Sunk from a princess to a slave. 
Too late i^iust Guendolen deplore. 
He, that has all, can hope no more! 
Now, must she see her lover strain. 
At every turn, her feeble chain; 
Watch, to new-bind each knot, and shrink 
To view each fast-decaying link. 
Art she invokes to nature's aid, 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid; 
Each varied pleasure heard her call, 
The feast, the tourney, and the ball: 
Her storied lore she next applies. 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes; 
Now more than mortal wise, and thf n ,^ 
In female softness sunk again; 
Now, raptured, witli each wish complying, 
With feigned reluctance now denying; 
Each charm she varied, to retain 
A varying heart — and all in vain! 

Thus in the garden's narrow bound, 
Flank'd by some castle's gothic round, 
Fain would the artist's skill provide, 
The limits of his realm to hide. 
The walks in labyrinths he twines, 
Shade after shade with skill combines. 
With many a varied flovery knot, 
And copse and arbour deck the spot. 
Tempting the hasty foot to stay. 

And linger on the lovely way 

Vain art! vain hope! 'lis fruitless all! 
At length we reach the bounding wall, 
And, sick of flower and trim-dressed tree, 
L.onir for rough glades and forest free. 

^ VI. 

Three summer months had scantly flown. 
When Arthur, in embarrassed tone. 
Spoke of iiis liegemen and his throne; 
Said, all too long had been his stay. 
And duties, which a monarch sway, 
Duties unknown to humbler men. 
Must tear her knight from Guendolen. — 



She listen'd silently the while. 
Her mood express'd in bitter smile; 
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail, 
And oft resume the unfinish'd tale, 
Confessing, by his downcast eye. 
The wrong he sought to justify. 
He ceased. A moment mute she gazed. 
And thenlier looks to heaven she raised; 
One palm her temples veil'd, to hide 
The tear that sprung in spite of pride; 
The other for an instant press'd 
The foldings of her silken vest! 

yii. 

At her reproachful sign and look. 

The hint the monarch's conscience took. 

Eager he spoke — " No, lady, no! 

Deem not of British Arthur so. 

Nor think he can deserter prove 

To the dear pledge of mutual love. 

I swear by sceptre and by sword. 

As belted knight and Britain's lord, 

That if a boy shall claim my care. 

That boy is born a kingdom's heir; 

But, if a maiden fate allows. 

To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 

A summer day in lists shall strive 

My knights, — the bravest knights alive,— 

And he, the best and bravest tried. 

Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride."'^ 

He spoke, with voice resolved and high— • 

The lady deigned him not reply. 

V[1I. 

At dawn of morn, ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make. 
Or stirr'd his wing to brush away 
A single dew-drop from the spray. 
Ere yet a sunbeam, through the mist. 
The castle battlements had kiss'd. 
The gates revolve, the draw-bridge falls, 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
DofF'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, 
And steel from spur to helmet-plume. 
His Lybian steed full proudly trode. 
And joyful neighed beneath his load. 
The monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence and pleasures Ijj-, 
When, lo! to his astonished ken 
Appeared the form of Guendolen. 

IX. 

Beyond the outmost wall she stood, 

Attired like huntress of the wood; 

Sandall'd her feet, her ancles bare. 

And eagle plumage decked hep hair; 

Firm was her look, her bearing bold. 

And in her hand a cup of gold. 

"Thou goest!" she said, "and ne'er again 

Must we two meet, in joy or pain. 

Full fain would 1 ttiis hour delay, 

Though weak the wish — yet, wilt thou stay?- 

No! thou look'st forward. Still attend, — 

Part we like lover and like friend." — 

She raised the cup — "Not this the juice 

The sluggish vines of eartli produce; 

Pledge we, at parting, in the draught 

Which genii love!" — she said, and quaff 'd; 

And strange unwonted lustres fly 

From her flushed cheek and sparkling eye. 

X. 

The courteous monarch bent him low. 
And, stooping down from saddle-bow. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



353 



Lifted the cup, in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the goblet's brink- 
Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
Upon the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright, 
He bolted twenty feet upright— 
— The peasants still can show the dint, 
Where his hoofs lighted on the fliiit.— 
From Arthur's hatid the goblet flew,i 
Scattering a shower of fiery dew, 
Tliat burned and blighted where it fell! 
The frantic steed rushed up tlie dell, 
As whistles from the bow the reed; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed 

Until he gained the iiill; 
Then breath and sinew failed apace. 
And, reeling ft'om the desperate race, 

He stood, exhausted, still. 
The monarch, breatidess and amazed, 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, 
Darkening against "the morning sky;2 
Hut, on tiie spot wl^,ere once they frowned. 
The lonely stieamlet brawled around 
A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stone. 
Musing on this strange hap the while, 
The king wends back to fair Carlisle; 
And cares, that cumber royal sway, 
Wore memory of the past away. 

XI. 

Full fifteen years, and more, were sped. 

Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 

Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought, 

The Saxons to subjection brought;'' 

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 

By his good brand, relieved Bretagne; 

The Piotish Gillamore in fight. 

And Roman Lucius, owned liis might; 

And wide were through the world renowned 

The glories of liis Table Round. 

Each knight, who souglit adventurous fame, 

To the bold court of Britain came, 

And all who suffered causeless wrong. 

From t3rant proud or faitour strong, 

Sought Arthur's presence to complain, 

Nor" there for aid implored in vain. 

XII. 

For this the king, with pomp and pride. 
Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, 

And summoned prince and peer. 
All who owed homage for their land. 
Or who craved knighthood from his hand, 
Or who had succour to demand. 

To come from far and near. 
At sucli high tide, where glee and game 
Mingled witli feats of martial fame. 
For many a stranger champion came 

In lists to break a spear; 
And not a knight of Arthur's host. 
Save tliat he trod some foreign coast. 
But at tiiis feast of I'entccostj 

Before liim must appear. — 
Ah, minstrels! when tlie Table Round 
Arose, witli all its warriors crowned, 
There was a theme for bards to sound 

In triumph to their string.! • 
Five hundred years are past and gone, 
But Time shall draw his dying groan. 
Ere he behold the Britisli throne 

Begirt witlj such a ring! 



xni. 

The heralds named the appoinieQ spot, 
As Caerleon or Camelot, 

Or Carlise fair and free. 
At Penrith, now, the feast was set, 
And in fair Eamont's vale were met 

The flower of chivalry. 
There Galaad sate witii manly grace. 
Yet maiden meekness in his face; 
There Morolt of the iron mace,'* 

And love-lorn Tristrem there: 
And Dinadam with lively glance, 
And Lanval with the fairy lance, 
And Mordred with his look askaunoe 

Brunor and Bevidere. 
Why shoidd I tell of numbers more' 
Sir Cay, sir Banier, and sir Bore, 

Sir Carodac the keen. 
The gentle Gawain's courteous lore, 
Hecter de Mares of Pellinore, 
And Lancelot, that evermore 

Look'd stol'n-wise on the queen. * 

xiy. 

when wine and mirth did most abound, 
And harpers play'd their blithest round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the ground. 

And marslials cleared the ring, 
A maiden, on a palfrey white. 
Heading a band of damsels bright. 
Paced through the circle, to alight 

And kneel before the king. 
Arthur, witli strong emotion, saw 
Her graceful boldness check'd by awe. 
Her dress like huntress of the wold. 
Her bow and baldrick trapped with goln, 
Her sandall'd feet, her ancles bare, 
And the eagle plume that deck'd lier hair. 
Graceful her veil slie backward flung 
The king, as from his s^at he sprung. 

Almost cried, " Guendolen!" 
But 'twas a tace more frank and wild. 
Betwixt the woman and the child. 
Where less of magic beauty smiled 

Than of the race of men; 
And in the forehead's haughty grace. 
The lines of Britain's royal race, 

Pcndragon's, j ou might ken. 

XV. 

Faltering, yet gracefully, she said — 
" Great prince! behold an orphan maid, 
In her departed mother's name, 
A father's vowed protection claim ! 
The vow was sworn in desert lone. 
In the deep valley ot saint John."— 
At once the king the suppliant raised. 
And kissed her brow, lier beauty ])raised; 
His vow, he saiii, should well be kept. 
Ere in the sea the sun was dipp'd; 
Then, conscious, glanced upon his queen: 
But she, unruflled at the scene. 
Of human frailty construed mild,' 
Looked upon Lancelot, and smiled. 

XAT. 

" Up! up! each knight of gallant crest! 

Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 
He that to-day shall bear him best. 

Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 
And Arthur's daughter, when a bride, 

Shall bring a noble dower; 
Both fair Strath-(31ydp and Reged wide. 

And Carlisle town and tower." — 



354 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then might you hear each valiant knight, 

To page and squire that cried, 
" Bring ray armour bright, and my courser wight ! 
'Tis not each day that a waiTior's might 

May win a royal bride." — 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling; 
The helmets glance, and gleams the lance, 

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful array, 

They might gather in that wolde: 
For brake and bramble glittered gay. 

With pearls and cloth of gold. 

XVfl. 

Within trumpet-sound of the Table Round 

Were fifty champions free. 
And they all arise to iight that prize, — 

They all arise, but three. 
Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath. 

One gallant could withhold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow. 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown. 
To plead their right, and true-love plight, 

And plain of lionour flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast, 

With buckling spur and belt, 
That sigh and look by ladies cast, 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading or upbraiding glance. 

Each gallant turns aside. 
And only thought, " If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my bride! 
She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide, 

And Carlisle tower and town; 
She is the loveliest maid, beside, 

That ever heir'd a crown." — 
So in haste their coursers they besti'ide. 

And strike their visors down. 

XVIII. 

The champions, arm'd in martial sort, 

Have throiig'd into the list. 
And but three knights of Arthur's court 

Are from the tourney miss'd. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown. 
There were two wholov'd their neighbours' wives 

And one who loved his own. 6 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

The second Tristrem bold. 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold,^ 
What time, of all king Artliur's crew 

(Thereof came jeer and laugh,) 
He, as the mate of lady true. 

Alone the cup could quafl". 
Though envy's tongue would fain surmise, 

That, but for very shame, 
Sir Carodac, to fight that prize, 

Had given both cup and dame. 
Yet, since but one of that fair court 

Was true to wedlock's shrine, 
Brand him who will with base report. 

He shall be free from mine. 

XIX. 

Now caracol'd the steeds in air. 
Now plumes and pennons wanton 'd fair. 
As all around the lists so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 



King Arthur saw, with startled eye, 
The flower of chivalry march by. 
The bulwark of the christian creed, 
The kingdom's shield in hour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the wo 
Might from their civil conflict flow: 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue. 
And Gyneth then apart he drew; 
To her his leading-staff" resign'd, 
But added caution grave and kind. 

XX, 
" Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bounu, 
1 bid the trump for tourney sound, 
Take thou my warder, as the queen 
And umpire of the martial scene; 
But mark thou this: — as beauty bright. 
Is polar star to valiant knight. 
As at her word his sword he draws, 
His fairest guerdon her applause, 
So gentle maid should never ask 
Of knighthood vain and dangerous task- 
And Beauty's eye should ever be 
Like the twin stars that sooth the sea, 
And Beauty's breath should whisper peace. 
And bid the storm of battle cease. 
I tell thee this, lest all too far 
Tliese knights urge tourney into war. 
Blith at the trumpet let them go, 
And fairly counter blow for blow; 
No striplings these, who succour need 
For a razed helm or fallen steed. 
But, Gynetii, when the strife grows warm 
And threatens death or deadly harm, 
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands. 
Thou drop the warder from tiiy bauds. 
Trust thou thy father with thy'fate. 
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate: 
Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride 
A rose of Arthur's cbaplet died." — 

XXI. 
A proud and discontented glow 
O'er shadowed Gyneth's brow of snow; 

She put the warder by: — 
" Reserve thy boon, my liege," she said, 
" Thus chafi"ered down and limited. 
Debased and narrowed, for a maid 

Of less degree than I. 
No petty chief, but holds his heir 
At a more honoured price and rare 

Than Britain's king holds me! 
Although the sun-lnirn'd maid, for dower. 
Has but her father's rugged tower. 

His barren hill and lea. 
King Arthur swore, ' by crown and sword, 
' As belted knight, and Britain's lord, 
' That a whole summer's day should strive 
' His knights, the bravest knights alive! ' 
Recal thine oath ! and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen': 
Not on tliy daughter will the stain. 
That soils thy sword and crown, remain. 
But think not she will e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried; 
Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splintered spear. 

Nor shrink Hiough blood should flow; 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men. 
That child of liers should pity, when 

Tlieir meed they undergo." — 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



355 



XXII. 

He frowned and sighed, the monarch bold: — 

" I give — what 1 may not withhold; 

For, not for danger, dread, or death. 

Must British Arthur break his faith. 

Too late I mark, thy mother's art 

Hath taught thee this relentless part. 

I blame Iier not, for she had wrong, 

But not to these my faults belong. 

Use, then, the warder as thou wilt; 

But trust me that, if life be spilt. 

In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace, 

Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place." — 

With that he turn'd his head aside. 

Nor brooked to gaze upon her pride. 

As, with the truncheon raised, she sate 

The arbi tress of mortal fate; 

Nor brooked to mark, in ranks disposed, 

How tlie bold champions stood opposed; 

For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 

Upon his ear like passing bell! 

Then first from sight of martial fray 

Did Britain's hero turn away. 

XXIII. 

^ But Gyneth heard the clangor high. 
As hears the hajvk the partridge-cry. 
Oh, blame her not ! the blood was hers. 
That at the trumpet's summons stirs! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

Awhile unti'oubled view; 
So well accomplished was each knight. 
To strike and to defend in fight. 
Their meeting was a goodly sight. 

While plate and mail held true. 
The lists with painted plumes were strewn, 
Upon the wind at random thrown, 
But helm and breast-plate bloodless shone; 
It seemed their feathered crests alone 

Should this encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows. 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose, 
Like lark's shrill song the flourish flows, 
Heard while the gale of April blows 

The merry greenwood through. 

XXIV. 

But soon to earnest grew their game, 

The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame, 

And, horse and man, to ground there came 

Knights who shall rise no more! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced. 
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced. 
And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced. 

And pennons streamed with gore. 
Gone, too, were fence and fair array. 
And desperate strength made deadly way 
At random through the bloody fray, 
And blows were dealt with head-long sway, 

Unheeding where they fell; 
And now the trumpet's clamours seem 
Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream. 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing sti'eam, 

The sinking seaman's knell ! 

XXV. 

Seemed in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate. 

And spare dark Mordred's crime; 
Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Kound, 

Of chivalry the prime. 



Arthur, in anguish, tore away 

From head and beard his tresses gray^. 

And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay. 

And quaked with rutli and fear; 
But still she deem'd her mother's shade 
Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter staid, 

And chid the rising tear. 
Then Brunor, Taulus, Mador, fell, 
Helias the White, and Lionel, 

And many a champion more; 
Rochemont and Dinadam are down, 
And Ferl-and of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in his gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd 
Even to tiie confines of the list, 
Young Vanoc of the beardless face, 
(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race,) 
O'erpowered at Gyneth's footstool bled. 
His heart's blood died her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast. 
Then howled at once a whirlwind's blast. 

And, rent by sudden throes, 
Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth, 
And from the gulf, — tremendous birth' 

Tlie form of Merlin rose. 

XXVL 

Sternly the wizard prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed, 

And sternly raised his hand: — 
" Madmen," he said, " your strife forbear! 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 

Tlie doom thy fates demand ! 
Long shall close in stony sleep 
Eyes for ruth that would not weep; 
Iron lethargy shall seal 
Heart that pity scorned to feel. 
Yet, because {hy mother's art 
Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart, 
And for love of Arthur's race. 
Punishment is blent with grace. 
Thou shalt bear tiiy penance lone. 
In the valley of saint John, 
And this weird* shall overtake thee; — 
Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee, 
For feats of arms as far renowned 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endurance of thy slumber 
Well may teach the world to number 
All their woes from Gyneth's pride, 
When the Red Cross cliarapions died." — 

XXVII. 

As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
Slumber's load begins to lie; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light alive. 
Twice, with effort and with pause. 
O'er her brow her hand she draws; 
IVice her strength in vain she tries. 
From the fatal chair to rise; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eye-lids fall. 
Curtaining each azure ball, 
Slowlj' as on summer eves 
Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears down lier sinking hand. 
On her shoulder droops lier head; 
Net of pearl and golden thread. 



356 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bursting, gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovel}' seem'd she there, 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair. 
That her angry sire, repenting. 
Craved stern Merlin for relenting, 
And the champions, for her sake, 
Would again the contest wake; 
Till, in necromantic night, 
Gyneth vanish'd from their sight. 

XX VIII. 
Still she bears her weird alone, 
In the valley of saint John; 
And her semblance oft will seem 
Mingling in a champion's dream. 
Of her weary lot to plain, 
And crave his aid to burst her chain. 
While her wondrous tale was new, 
Wari'iors to her rescue drew. 
East and west, and south and north. 
From the LifFey, Thames, and Forth. 
Most have souglit in vain the glen, 
Tower nor castle could they ken; 
Not at every time or tide. 
Nor by every eye, descried. 
Fast and vigil must be borne. 
Many a night in watching worn. 
Ere an eye of mortal powers 
Can discern those magic towers. 
Of the persevering few. 
Some from hopeless task withdrew, 
When they read the dismal threat 
Graved upon the gloomy gate. 
Few have braved the yawning door. 
And those few return'd no more. 
In the lapse of time forgot. 
Well nigh lost is Gyneth's lot; 
Sound her sleep as in the tomb. 
Till waken'd by the trump of doom. 

END OF ll'ULPU'S TALE. 



Here pause, my tale; for all too soon, 
My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 
Already from thy lofty dome 
Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam. 
And, each, to kill the goodly day 
That God has granted them, his way 
Of lazy sauntering has sought; 

Lordings and witlings not a few, 
Incapable of doing aught. 

Yet ill at ease with nought to do. 
Here is no longer place for me; 
For, Lucy, thou would'st blush to see 
Some phantom, fashionably thin. 
With limb of lath and kcrchief'd chin. 
And lounging gape, or sneering grin, 
Steal sudden on our privacy. 
And how should I, so humblj' born. 
Endure the graceful spectre's scorn! 
Faitli ! ill 1 fear, while conjuring wand 
Of English oak is hard at hand. 

II. 
Or grant tlie hour he all too soon 
For Hessian boot and pantaloon. 
And grant the lounger seldom strays 
Beyond tlie smooth and gravell'd maze. 
Laud we the gods, that Fashion's train 
Holds hearts of more adventurous strain. 
Artists are hers, wlio scorn to trace 
Thvir rules from Nature's boimdless grace, 



But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art, 
Damning whate'er of vast and fair 
Exceeds a canvass three feet square. 
This thicket, for their gtimption fit. 
May furnish such a happy bit. 
Bards, too, are her^, wont to recite 
Their own sweet la^'s by waxen light. 
Half in the salver's tinkle drown'd. 
While the chasse-cafe glides around! 
And such may hither secret stray, 
To labour an extempore: 
Or sportsman, with his boisterous hullo, 
May here his wiser spaniel follow. 
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume 
To choose this bower for tiring room; 
And we alike must shun regard. 
From painter, player, sportsman, bard. 
Insects that skim in Fashion's sky. 
Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 
For all can hum and all can buz. 

III. 

But oh, my Lucy, say how long 

We still must dread this trifling throng. 

And stoop to hide, with coward art, 

The genuine feelings of the heart ! 

No parents thine, whose just command 

Should rule their child's obedient hand; 

Thy guardians, with contending voice. 

Press each his individual choice. 

And which is Lucy's! — Can it be 

That puny fop, trimm'd cap-a-pie, 

Who loves in the saloon to show 

The arms that never knew a foe; 

Whose sabre trails along the ground, 

Whose legs in shapeless boots are drown'd; 

A new Achilles, sure, — the steel 

Fled from his breast to fence his heel; 

One, for the simple manly grace 

That wont to deck our martial race. 

Who comes in foreign trashery 

Of tinkling chain and spur, 
A walking haberdashery. 

Of feathers, lace, and fur: 
In llowley's antiquated phrase, 
Horse-milliner* of modern days. 

IV. 

Or is it he, the wordy youth. 

So early train'd for statesman's p!»rt. 
Who talks of honour, taith, and truth, 
As themes that he has got by heart; 
Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach, 
Whose logic is from Single-speecli; 
Who scorns the meanest thought to vent, 
Save in the phrase of parliament; 
Wlio, in a tale of cat and mouse. 
Calls " order," and " divides the house," 
Who " craves permission to reply," 
Whose " noble friend is in his eye;" 
Whose loving tender some have I'eckon'd 
A motion, you should gladly second? 

V. 

What, neither? Can there be a third. 
To such resistless swains preferr'd? — 
O why, my Lucy, turn aside. 
With that quick glance of injured pride? 



• " The trammels of the palfraye pleased liis sight, 
And the horsc-millanerenis head with roses dight." 

Jiowley's Ballads ofCliaritie, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



357 



Forgive me, love, 1 cannot bear 
That alter'd and resenlt'ul air. 
Were all tiie wealtii orRussel'mine, 
And all the ranii of Howai'd's line. 
All would 1 give for leave to dry 
That dew-dro]) trembling in thine eye. 
Think, not I fear sucli fops can wile 
From Lucy more than careless smile; 
Uut yet if wealth and high degree 
Give gilded counters currency. 
Must 1 not fear, when rank and birth 
Stamp tlie pure ore of genuine worth? 
Nobles tiiere are, whose martial fires 
Rival the fame tliat raised their sires. 
And patriots, skill'd tiirough storms of fate 
To guide and guard the reeling state. 
Such, such tiiere are — if such should come, 
Artiiur must tremble and be dumb. 
Self-exiled seek some distant shore, 
And mourn till life and grief are o'er. 

VL 

What sight, what signal of alarm, 
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm! 
Or is it that the rugged way 
Makes beautj' lean 6\\ lover's stay? 
Oh, no ! for on the vale and brake. 
Nor siglit nor sounds of danger wake, 
And this trim sward of velvet green 
Were carpet for the fairy queen. 
That pressure slight was but to tell 
That Lucy loves lier Arthur well. 
And fain would banish from his mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 

VII. 

But would'st thou bid the demons fly 

Like mist before the dawning sky, 

There is but one resistless spell — 

Saj', wilt thou guess, or must I tell? 

'Twere hard to name in minstrel phrase, 

A landaulet and four blood-bays. 

But bards agree this wizard band 

Can but be Ijound in Northern Land. 

'Tis there — nay, draw not back thy hand! — 

'Tis there this slender finger round 

Must golden amulet be bound. 

Which, bless'd witli many a holy prayei', 

Can change to rapture lovers' care, 

And doubt and jealousy shall die, 

And fears give place to ecstasy. 

VIII. 

Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 

O why so silent, love, I pray? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day ? 
And will not Lucy deign to say 
• One word her friend to bless? 
I ask but one — a simple sound, 
Within three little letters bound, 

O let the word be yes! 



IXTKODUCTIOJT TO CANTO III. 
I. 

-LoifG loved, long woo'd, and lately won. 
My life's best hope, and now mine own! 
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 
Recal our favourite haunts agen? 
A wild resemblance we can trace. 
Though reft of every softer grace, 
As the rough warrior's brow may bear 
A likeness to a sister fair. 



Full well advised our highland host, 

That this wild pass on foot be cross'd, 

While round Ben-Cruach's miglity base 

Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise. 

The keen old carle, M'itli Scottish pride. 

He praised his glen and mountains wide; 

An eye lie bears for nature's face. 

Ay, and for woman's lov(;ly grace. 

Even in sucii mean degree we find 

The subtle Scot's observing mind; 

For, not the chariot nor tlie train 

Could gape of vulgar wonder gain, 

But when old Allan would expound 

Of Beal-na-paish* the Celtic sound. 

His bonnet dofi"'d, and bow, applied 

His legend to my bonny bride; 

While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye, 

Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. 

II. 

Enough of him. — Now, ere we lose, 
Plunged in tlie vale, the distant views. 
Turn thee, my love! look back once moi'e 
To the blue lake's retiring shore. 
On its smooth breast the shadows seem 
Like objects in a morning dream, 
VVhat time the slumberer is aware 
He sleeps, and all the vision's air: 
Even so, on yonder liquid lawn, 
In hues of bright i-eflection drawn, 
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, 
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky; 
Tlie summei- clouds so plain we note. 
That we might count each dappled spot: 
We gaze and we admire, yet know 
The scene is all delusive sliow. 
Such dreams of bliss would Arthur draw. 
When first his Lucy's form he saw; 
Yet sigh'd and sicken'd as he drew, 
Despairing they could e'er prove true! 

lU. 
But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view 

Up the fair glen our destined way! 
The fairy path that we pursue, 
Distinguish'd but by greener hue, 

Winds round the purple brae, 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
For carpet serve or tapestiy. 
See how the little runnels leap, 
In threads of silver, down the steep, 

To swell the brooklet's moan! 
Seems that the highland Naiad grieves, 
Fantastic while her crown she weaves, 
Of rowan, birch, and alder-leaves, 

So lovely, and so lone. 
There's no illusion there, these flowers. 
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers. 

Are, Lucy, all our own; 
And, since thine Arthur call'd thee wife, 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path, on-winding still. 
By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 
'Tis true that mortals cannot tell 
What waits them in the distant dell; 
But be it hap, or be it harm, 
We tread the path-way arm in arm. 

IV. 

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why 
I could thy bidding twice deny, 

• Beal-na-paish, the Vale of the Bridal. 



358 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When twice you pray'J I would again 
Eesume the legendary strain 
Of the bold knight of Triermain? 
At length yon peevish vow you swore, 
That you would sue to me no more. 
Until the minstrel fit drew near. 
And made me prize a listening ear. 
But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray 
Continuance of the knightly lay, 
Was it not on the happy day 

That made thy hand mine own? 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy. 
Nought past, or present, or to be, 
Could I or think on, hear, or see. 

Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 
A giddy draught my rapture was. 
As ever chemist's magic gas. 

V. 

Again the summons I denied 
In yon fair capital of Clyde; 
My harp — or let me rather choose 
The good old classic form — my muse, 
(For harp 's an over-scutched phrase. 
Worn out by bards of modern days,) 
My muse, then — seldom will she wake 
Save by dim wood and silent lake. 
She is the wild and rustic maid. 
Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread 
Where the soft green-sward is inlaid 

With varied moss and thyme; 
And, lest the simple lily-braid. 
That coronets her temples, fade, 
She hides her still in greenwood shade. 

To meditate her rhyme. 

VI. 

And now she comes ! The murmur dear 
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear. 

The glade hath won her eye; 
She longs to join with each blith rill 
That dances down the highland hill, 

Her blither melody. 
And now, my Lucy's way to cheer. 
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear 
How closed the tale, my love whilere 

Loved for its chivalry. 
List how she tells, in notes of flame, 
" Child Roland to the dark tower came!"- 



CANTO III. 

I. 

Bewcastie now must keep the hold, 

Speir-Adam's steeds must bide in stall. 
Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from baUled wall; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur, 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir, 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted field and plundered flocks 

The borderers bootless may complain; 
They lack the sword of brave De Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Triermain. 
That lord, on high adventure bound. 

Hath wandered forth alone. 
And day and night keeps watcliful round 

In the valley of St. John. 

II. 

When first began his vigil bold. 
The moon twelve summer nights was old, 
And shone both fair and full; 



High in the vault of cloudless blue, 
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw 

Her light composed and cool. 
Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast, 

Sir Roland eyed the vale; 
Chief, where, distinguished from the rest,- 
Those clustering rocks upreared their crest, 
The dwelling of the fair distress'd, 

As told gray Lyulph's tale. 
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on his armour bright. 

In beams that rose and fell, 
And danced upon his buckler's boss. 
That lay beside him on the moss. 

As on a crystal well. 

HI. 

Ever he watched, and oft he deemed. 
While on the mound the moonlight streamed, 

It altered to his eyes; 
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change 
To buttressed walls their shapeless range. 
Fain think, by transmutation strange. 

He saw gray turrets rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high, 
Before the wild illusions fly. 

Which fancy had cqnceived, 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That longed to be deceived. 
It was a fond deception all. 
Such as, in solitary hall. 

Beguiles the musing eye. 
When, gazing on the sinking fire. 
Bulwark and battlement and spire 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night. 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright. 
Or by the dawn of morning light. 

Or evening's western flame. 
In every tide, at every hour, 
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower. 

The rocks remained the same. 
IV. 
Oft has he traced the charmed mound. 
Oft climbed its crest, or paced it round, 

Yet nothing might explore, 
Save that the crags so rudely piled, 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet still his watch the warrior keeps. 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps. 

And drinks but of the well; 
Ever by day he walks the hill. 
And when the evening gale is chill. 

He seeks a rocky cell. 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead. 
And tell his ave and his creed. 
Invoking every saint at need. 
For aid to burst the spell. 

V. 

And now the moon her orb has hid, 
And dwindled to a silver thread. 

Dim seen in middle heaven. 
While o'er its curve careering fast. 
Before the fury of the blast. 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
The upland showers had swoll'n the rills. 

And down the torrents came; 
Muttered the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of lightning flame. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



359 



He Vaiix, within his mountain cave, 
( \o human step tlie storm durst brave, ) 
To moody meditation gave 

Each tacult}' of soul, 
Till, lulled by distant torrent sound. 
And the sad wind that whistled round. 
Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'ti, 

A broken slumber stole. 
VI. 
'Twas then was heard a heavy sound, 

(Sound strange and fearful there to hear, 
'Mongst desert hills, wliere, leagues around, 

Dwelt but the gor-cock and the deer;) 
As starting from his couch of fern, 
Again he heard, in clangour stern, 

That deep and solemn swell; 
Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke 
Like some proud minster's pealing clock, 

Or city's larum-bell. 
What thought was Roland's first when fell, 
In that deep wilderness, the knell 

Upon his startled ear! — 
To slander warrior were I loth, 
Yet must I hold ray minstrel troth, — 

It was a thought of fear. 
VII. 
But lively was the mingled thrill 
That chased that momentary chill; 

For Love's keen wish was there. 
And eager hope, and valour high, 
And the proud glow of chivalry, 

That burned to do and dare. 
Forth from the cave the warrior rush'd. 
Long ere the mountain-voice was hush'd, 

That answered to the knell; 
For long and far the unwonted sound, 
Eddying in echoes round and round. 

Was tossed from fell to fell; 
And Glaramara answer flung. 
And Grisdale-pike responsive rung, 
And Legbert heights their echoes swung. 

As far as Derwent's dell. 
Vlll. 
Forth upon trackless darkness gazed 
The knight, bedeafened and amazed, 

Till all was hushed and still. 
Save the swollen torrent's sullen roar, 
And the knight-blast that wildly bore 

Its course along the hill. 
Then on the northern sky there came 
A light, as of reflected flame, 

And over Legbert-head, 
As if by magic art controU'd, 
A mighty meteor slowly roll'd 

Its orb of fiery red; 
Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire 
Came mounted on that car of fire, 

To do his errand dread. 
Far on the sloping valley's course. 
On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse. 
Shingle and scrae,* and fell and force,t 

A dusk)' light arose: 
Displayed, yet altered was the scene; 
Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen. 
Even the gay thicket's summer green. 

In bloody tincture glows. 
IX. 
De Vaux had marked the sunbeams set, 
At eve, upon the coronet 

Of that enchanted mound. 



Bank of loose stones. 

25 



t Water-fall. 



And seen but crags at random flung, 
That, o'er the brawling torrent hung. 

In desolation frown'd. 
What sees he by that meteor's lour? — 
A bannered castle, keep, and tower, 

Return the lurid gleam, 
With battled walls and buttress fast. 
And barbican* and balliumt vast. 
And airy flanking towers, that cast 

Their shadows on the stream. 
'Tis not deceit; distinctly clear 
Crenell:): and parapet appear. 
While o'er the pile that meteor drear 

Makes momentary pause; 
Then forth its solemn path it drew. 
And fainter yet and fainter grew 
Those gloomy towers upon the view, 

As its wild lieht withdraws. 
X. 
Forth from the cave did Roland rush, 
O'er crag and stream, through briar and bush; 

Yet far he had not sped, 
Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills, and utter night 

Was on the valley spread. 
He paused perforce, — and blew his horn; 
And on the mountain echoes borne 

Was heai'd an answering sound, 
A wild and lonely trumpet note. 
In middle air it seem'd to float 

High o'er the battled mound: 
And sounds were heard, as when a guard 
Of some proud castle holding ward. 
Pace forth their nightly round. 
The valiant knight of Triermain 
Rung forth his challenge-blast again. 

But answer came there none; 
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain. 
Darkling he sought the vale in vain. 

Until the dawning shone; 
And when it dawned, that wond'rous sight. 
Distinctly seen by meteor-light, 

It all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted mound once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore, 

As at the close of day. 
XI. 
Steeled for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
Scorned from his venturous quest to part. 

He walks the vale once more; 
But only sees, l)y night or day, 
That shattered pile of rocks so gray, 

Hears but the torrent's roar. 
Till when, through hills of azure borne, 
The moon renewed her silver horn, 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A summer mist arose; 
Adown the vale the vapours float. 
And cloudy undulations moat 
That tufted mound of mystic note, 
■ As round^ts base they close. 
And highe^p)w the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side. 
Until the airy billows hide 

The rock's majestic isle; 
It seemed a veil of filmy lawn. 
By some fantastic fairy drawn 

Around enchanted pile. 



* The outer defence of the castle-gatc. 

t Fortified court. 

i Apertures for shooting arrows. 



360 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XII. 

The breeze came softly down the brook. 

And, sighing as it blew, 
The veil of silver mist it shook, 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renewed that wond'rous view. 
For, thougli the loitering vapour braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dewy fold; 
And, still, when shook that filmy screen, 
Where towers and bastions dimly seen, 
And Gothic battlements between 

Their gloomy length unroll'd. 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye 
Once more the fleeting vision die!— 

The gallant kniglit can speed 
As prompt and light as, when the hound 
Is opening, and the horn is wound. 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his com-se amain 

Hath rivall'd archer's shaft; 
But ere the mound he could attain, 
The rocks their shapeless form regain, 
And mocking loud his labour vain, 

The mountain spirits laugh'd. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 

Xlll. 

Wroth waxed the warrior. — " Am I then 

Fool'd by the enemies of men, 

Like a poor hind, whose homeward way 

Is haunted by malicious fay? 

Is Triermain become 3fOur taunt, 

De Vaux your scorn? False fiends, avaunt!" 

A weighty curtail-axe he bare; 

The baleful blade so bright and square, 

Anil the tough sliaft of heben wood. 

Were oft in Scottish gore embrued. 

Backward his stately form he drew. 

And at the rocks the weapon threw, 

Just where one crag's projected crest 

Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. 

Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock 

Rent a huge fragment of the rock: 

If by mere strength 'twere hard to tell. 

Or if the blow dissolved some spell. 

But down the headlong ruin came. 

With cloud of dust and flash of flame. 

Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, 

Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn. 

Till, staid at length, the ruin dread 

Cumber'd the torrent's rocky bed, 

And bade the waters' high-swoU'n tide 

Seek other passage for its pride. 

XIV. 

When ceased that thunder, Triermain 
Survey 'd the mound's rude front again; 
And lo! the ruin had laid bare. 
Hewn in the stone a winding stair. 
Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend 
The means the summit to ascend^^ 
And by whose aid the brave De ^Ix 
Began to scale these magic rocks'. 

And soon a platform won. 
Where, the wild witchery to close, 
Within three lances' length arose 

The castle of saint John ! 
No misty phantom of the air. 
No meteor-blazon'd show was there; 
Jn morning splendour, full and fair, 

The massive fortress shone. 



XV. 

Embattled high and proudly tower'd, 
Shaded by ponderous flankers, lower'd 

Tne portal's gloomy way. 
Though for six iunidred years and more, 
Its stiength had bi-ooked the tempest's roar. 
The scutcheon'd emblems that it bore 

Had suftered no decay; 
But from the eastern battlement 
A turret had made sheer descent. 
And down in recent ruin rent, 

In the mid torrent lay. 
Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime, 
Insults of violence or of time 

Unfelt had passed away. 
In shapeless characters of yore, 
The gate this stern inscription bore: 

XVI. 

INSCRIPTION. 

Patience waits the destined day, 
Strength can clear the cumber'd way. 
Warrior, wlio hast waited long. 
Firm of soul, of sinew strong, 
It is given to thee to gaze 
On the pile of ancient days. 
Never mortal builder's hand 
This endui'ing fabric plann'd; 
Sign and sigil, word of power. 
From the earth raised keep and tower. 
View it o'er, and pace it round. 
Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
Dare no more! to cross the gate 
Were to tamper with thy fate; 
Strength and fortitude were vain! 
View it o'er — and turn again. 

XVII. 

" That would I," said the warrior bold, 
" If that my frame were bent and old. 
And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold 

As icicle in thaw; 
But while my heart can feel it dance, 
Blith as the sparkling wine of France, 
And this good arm wields sword or lance, 

I mock these words of awe!" — 
He said; the wicket felt the sway 
Of his strong hand, and straight gave way. 
And with rude crash and jarring bray. 

The rusty bolts withdraw; 
But o'er the threshold as he strode. 
And forward took tlie vaulted road. 
An unseen arm with force amain 
The ponderous gate flung close again. 

And rusted bolt and bar 
Spontaneous took their place once more. 
While the deep arch with sullen roar 

Return'd their surly jar. 
" Now closed is the gin and the prey within. 

By the rood of Lanercost! 
But he that would win the war-wolf's skin, 

May rue him of his boast." — 
Thus muttering, on the warrior went. 
By dubious light down steep descent. 

XVIII. 
Unbarr'd, unlock 'd, unwatch'd, a port 
Led to the castle's outer court; 
There the main fortress, broad and tall. 
Spread its long range of bower and hall, 

And towers of varied size. 
Wrought with each ornament extreme. 
That Gothic art, in wildest dream 

Of fancy, could devise. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



361 



But full between the warrior's way 
And the main portal-arch, there lay 

An inner moat; 

Nor bridge nor boat 
Affords Ue Vaux the means to cross 
The clear, profound, and silent fosse. 
His arms aside in haste he flings, 
Cuirass of steel and hauberk, rings. 
And down falls helm, and down the shield. 
Rough with the dints of many a field. 
Fair was his manly form, and fair 
His keen dark eye, and close-curl'd hair. 
When, — all unarmed, save that the brand 
Of well-proved metal graced his hand, 
AVith nought to fence his dauntless breast 
But the close gipon's* under vest. 
Whose sullied butt" the sable stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
Roland De Vaux upon llie brim 
Of the broad*moat stood prompt to swim. 

XIX. 

Accouter'd thus he dared the tide. 
And soon he reached the fartlier side. 

And entered soon the hold, 
And paced a hall, whose walls so wide 
Were blazon'd all with feats of pride, 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they counter'd here. 

While trumpets seemed to blow; 
And there, in den or desert drear. 
They quelled gigantic foe, 
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire. 
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
Strange in their arms, and strange in face. 
Heroes they seemed of ancient race. 
Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name. 
Forgotten long by latter fame. 

Were here depicted, to appal 
Those of an age degenerate. 
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate, 

In this enchanted hall. 
For some siiort space the venturous knight 
With these high marvels fed his sight; 
Then sought the chamber's upper end. 
Where three broad easy steps ascend 

To an arched portal door. 
In whose broad folding leaves of state 
Was framed a wicket window-grate; 

And, ere he ventured more. 
The gallant knight took earnest view 
The grated wicket-window through. 

XX. 

Oh for his arms! Of martial weed 
Had never mortal knight such need! — 
He spied a stately gallerj'; all 
Of snow-white marble was the wall. 

The vaulting, and the floor; 
And, contrast strange ! on either hand 
There stood array'd in sable band 

Four maids whom Afric bore; 
And each a Lybian tiger led. 
Held by as bright and frail a thread 

As Lucy's golden hair; 
l"or the leasli tliat bound these monsters dread 

Was but of gossamer. 
Each maiden's short barbaric vest 
Left all unclosed the knee and breast. 

And limbs of shapely jet; 



• A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour. 



White was their vest and turban's fold. 
On arms and ancles rings of gold 

In savage pomp were set; 
'A quiver on their shoulders lay, 
And in their hand an assagay. 
Such and so silent stood they there, 

That Roland well nigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare, 
Station'd the gazer's soul to scare; 

But, when the wicket oped. 
Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, 
Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw. 
Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw! 
While these weird maids, in Moorish tongue, 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 

XXI. 

" Rash adventurer, bear thee back! 

Dread the spell of Dahomay! 
Fear the race of Zaharak, 

Daughters of the burning day ! 

" Wher^ the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, 

Our's it is the dance to braid; 
Zarah's sands, in pillars reeling. 

Join the measure that we tread. 
When the moon hath don'd her cloak, 

And the stars are red to see. 
Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such as we. 

" Where the shatter'd columns lie. 

Showing Carthage once had been, 
If the wandering santon's eye 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death, 

To the nations preaches doom, 
' Azrael's brand hath left the sheath! 

Moslems think upon the tomb!' 

*• Our's the scorpion, our's the snake, 

Our's the hydra of the fen, 
Our's the tiger of the brake. 

All that plagues the sons of men. 
Our's the tempest's midnight wrack. 

Pestilence that wastes by day — 
Dread the race of Zaharak ! 

Fear the spell of Dahomay!" — 

XXII. 

Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Rung those vaulted roofs among; 
Long it was ere, faint and still. 

Died the far resounding song. 
While yet tlie distant echoes roll, 
Tlie warrior communed with his soul. 
" When first I took this venturous quest, 

1 swore upon the rood. 
Neither to slop, nor turn, nor rest, 

For evil or for good. 
My forward path, too well I ween. 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between; 
For man unarm'd, 'tis bootless hope 
With tigers and with fiends to cope — 
Yet, if 1 turn, what w.iits me there. 
Save famine dire and fell despair? — 
Oilier conclusion let me try. 
Since, choose howe'er 1 list, I die. 
Forward, lies faith and knightly fame; 
Behind, are peijui-y and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word." 
With that he drew his trusty sword, 
Caught down a banner from the wall, 
And entered thus the fearful hall. 



362 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXllI. 

On high, each wayward maiden threw 

Her swarthy arm, with wild halloo! 

On either side a tiger sprung— 

Against the leftward foe he tlung 

The ready banner, to engage 

With tangling folds the brutal rage;' 

The right-hand monster in mid air 

He struck so fiercely and so fair. 

Through gullet and through spinal bone 

The trenchant blade hath sligerly gone. 

His grisly brethren ramp'd and yell'd, ' 

But the slight leash their rage withheld, 

Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 

Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. 

Safe to thegallery's bound he drew, 

Safe past an open portal through; 

And when 'gainst followers he flung 

The gate, judge if the echoes rung! 

Onwai'd his darvng course he bore, 

VVhiie, mixed with dying growl and roar. 

Wild jubilee and loud hurra 

Pursued him on his venturous way. 

XXFV. 
♦' Hurra, hurra! Our watch is done! 
We hail once more the tropic sun. 
Pallid beams of northern day. 
Farewell, farewell! hurra, hurra! 
" Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round agen; 
Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 
"Warrior! thou, whose dauntless heart 
Gives us from our ward to part. 
Be as strong in future trial, 
\Where resistance is denial. 
•"^ Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 

Zaiiarak and Dahomay ! 

Mount the winds! Hui-ra, hurra!" — 

XXV. 
The wizard song at. distance died 

As if in ether borne astray. 
While through waste halls and chambers wide 

The knight pursued his steady way, 
Till to a lofty dome he came, 
That flash 'd with such a brilliant flame, 
As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion hurl'd. 
For here the gold, in sandy heaps, 
With duller e.irth incorporate sleeps; 
Was there in ingots piled, and there 
Coined badge of empery it bare; 
Yonder huge bans of silver lay, 
Dimm'd by the diamond's neighbouring ray, 
Like the pale moot* in morning day; ■ 
And in the midst four maidens stand. 
The daughters of soriAe distant land. 
Their hue was of the elark-red dye. 
That fringes oft a thunc'er-sky. 
Their hands palmetto ba.skets bare, 
And cotton fillets bound tiieir hair; 
Slim was their form, their ra'\en was shy. 
To earth they bent the humuled eye. 
Folded their arms, and suppl.'.tnt kneel'd. 
And thus their proft'ered gifts i-eveal'd. 

XXVI. 

CHOUUS. 

" See the treasures Merlin piled. 
Portion meet for Arthur's child. 



Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream. 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream!" 

FIHST MAIDEN. 

" See these clots of virgin gold! 
Severed from the sparry mould. 
Nature's mystic alchemy 
In the mine thus bade them lie; 
And their orient smile can win 
Kings to stoop, and saints to sin." — 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

" See these pearls that long have slept; 
These were tears by naiads wept 
For tlie loss of Marinel. 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Treasured them, till hard and white 
As the teeth of Amphitrite. " — . 

THIRD MAIDEN. 

" Does a livelier hue delight? 
Here are rubies blazing bright, , 
Here the emerald's fairy green, 
And the topaz glows between; 
Here their varied hues unite 
In the changeful chrysolite." — 

FOURTH MAIDEN. 

" Leave these gems of poorer shine, 
Leave them all, and look on mine! 
While their glories I expand, 
Shade thine eye-brows with thy hand. 
Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze 
Blind the rash beholder's gaze." 

CHORUS. 

"Warrior, seize the splendid store; 
Would 'twere all our mountains bore! 
We should ne'er, in future story. 
Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory!" — 

xxvu. 

Calmly and unconccrn'd the knight 
Waved aside the treasures bright: 
" Gentle maidens, rise, I pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the hair of girls and boys! 
Bid your streams of gold expand ■ 
O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
De Vaux of wealth saw never need. 
Save to purvey him arms and steed. 
And all the ore he deigned to hoard 
Inlays his helm, and hills his sword." 
Thus gently parting from their hold. 
He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 

XXVIU. 
And now the morning sun was high, 
De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry; 
When lo ! a plashing sound he hears, 
A gladsome signal that he nears 

Some frolic water run; 
And soon he reached a court-yard square. 
Where, dancing in the sultry air. 
Tossed high aloft, a fountain fair. 

Was sparkling in the sun. 
On right and left a fair arcade 
In long perspective view displayed 
Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade; 

But full in front, a door, 
Low browed and dark, seem'd as it led 
To the loJie dwelling of the dead. 

Whose memory was no more. 
XXIX. 
Here stopped De Vaux an instant's space. 
To bathe his parched lips and face, 

And mark'd, with well-pleased eye, 



THE BUIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



363 



Refracted on the fountain stream, 
In rainbow hues, the dazzling beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
His senses felt a mild control, 
Like that which lulls the weary soul, 

From contemplation high 
Relaxing, when the ear receives 
The nmsic that the gi-een-wood leaves 

Make to the breeze's sigh. 

XXX. 

And oft in such a dreamy mood, 

The half-shut eye can frame 
Fair apparitions in the wood, 
As if tlie nymphs of field antl flood 

In g;\y procession came. 
Are these of such fantastic mould. 

Seen distant down the fair arcade, 
These maids enlinked in sister-fold. 

Who, late at bashful distance staid. 

Now tripping from the greenwood shade. 
Nearer the musing champion draw, 
And, in a pause of seeming awe, 

Again stand doubtful now? — 
Ah, that sly pause of witching powers! 
That seems to say, " To please be ours, 

Be yours to tell us how." — 
Their hue was of the golden glow 
That suns ofCandahar bestow, 
O'er which in slight suffusion flows 
A frequent tinge of paly rose; 
Their limbs were fashioned fair and free. 
In Nature's justest symmetiy. 
And wreathed with flowers, with odours graced. 
Their raven ringlets reached the waist; 
In eastern pomp, its gilding pale 
'l"he hennah lent each shapely nail. 
And the dark sumah gave the eye 
More liquid and more lustrous dye. 
The spotless veil of misty lawn. 
In studied disarrangement, drawn 

The form and bosom o'er. 
To win the eye, or tempt the touch. 
For modesty showed all too much — 

Too much — yet promised more. 

XXXI. 

" Gentle knight, awhile delay," 

Tlius they sung, " thy toilsome way. 

While we pay the duty due 

To our master and to you. 

Over Avarice, over Fear, 

Love triumphant led thee here; 

Warrior, list to us, for we 

Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 

" Though no treasured gems have we, 
To proffer on the bended knee, 
Though we boast nor arm nor heart. 
For the assagay or dart. 
Swains have given each simple girl 
Ruby lip and teeth of peai-l; 
Or, if dangers more you prize. 
Flatterers find them in our eyes. 

"Stay, then, gentle warrior, stay, 
Rest till evening steal on day; 
Slay, O stay! — in yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flowers, 
Spread the feast and fill the wine. 
Charm thy ear with sounds divine, 
Weave our dances till delight 
Yield to languor, day to nitjht. 



"Then shall she you most approve. 
Sing the lays that best you love, 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread. 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head. 
Till the weary nigtit be o'ei- — 
Gentle warrior, would'st thou more? — 
Would'st thou more, fair warrior, — she 
Is slave to Love, and slave to tliee. " — 

XXXII. 
O do not hold it for a criiiie 
In the bold hero of my rhyme. 

For stoic look. 

And meet rebuke, 
He lacked the heart or time; 
As round the band of syrens trip. 
He kissed one damsel's laughing lip. 
And "pressed another's proffered hand. 
Spoke to them all in accents bland, 
But broke their magic circle through; 
" Kind maids," he said, " adieu, adieu! ^ 
My fate, my fortune, forward lies." 
He said, and vanished from their eyes; 
But, as lie dared that darksome way. 
Still heard behind their lovely lay; 
" Fair flower of courtesy, depart! 
Go, where the feelings of tlie heart 
With the warm pulse in concord move; 
Go, where virtue sanctions love!" — 

XXXIII. 
Downward De Vaux through darksome ways 

And ruined vaults has gone. 
Till issue from their wilder'd maze, 

Or safe retreat, seem'd none; 
And e'en the dismal path he strays 

Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for living air. 
Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare. 
Whose fearful light the dangers show'd . 
That dogg'd him on that dreadful road. 
Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun. 
They show'd, but show'd not how to shun. 
These scenes of desolate despair. 
These smothering clouds of poison'd air. 
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged. 
Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged ! 

Nay, soothful bards liave said. 
So perilous his state seem'd now. 
He wished him under arbour bough 

With Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear, 
And, at it ceased, a lofty lay 
Seem'd thus tp chide his lagging way. 

XXXIV. 
" Son of honour, theme of story. 
Think on the reward before ye ! 
Danger, darkness, toil despise; 
'Tis Ambition bids thee rise. 
" He that would her heights ascend. 
Many a weary step must wend; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries: 
Thus Ambition's minions rise. 

" Lag not now, though rough tlie way. 
Fortune's mood brooks no delay; 
Grasp the boon iliat's spread before ye. 
Monarch's power, and conqueror's glory!" 

XXXV. 
It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the wanderer found, 
And then a turret stair; 



364 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■ Nor climb'd he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air, 
And next a welcome glimpse was given, 
That cheer'dhim with the light of heaven. 

At length his toil had won 
A lofty hall with trophies dress'd, 
Where, as to greet imperial guest, 
Four maidens stood, whose crimson vest 
Was bound with golden zone. 
XXXVI. 
Of Europe seem'd the damsels all; 
The first a nymph of lively Gaul, 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrow'd air of awe belie; 

The next a maid of Spain, 
Dark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate, yet bold; 
While ivory skin and tress of gold, 
Her shy and bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
These maidens bore a royal robe. 
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe. 

Emblems of empery: 
The fourth a space behind them stood. 
And leant upon a harp, in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient British druidess: 
Her hair an azure fillet bound, 
Her graceful vesture swept the ground. 

And, in her hand display'd, 
A crown did that fourth maiden hold. 
But unadorn'd with gems and gold, 

Of glossy laurel made. 

XXXVII. 
At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 

These foremost maidens three. 
And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown, 

Liegedom and seignorie 
O'er many a region wide and fair. 
Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir; 

But homage would he none: — 
«' Rather," he said, " De Vaux would ride, 
A warder of the border side. 
In plate and mail, than, robed in pride, 

A monarch's empire own; 
Rather, far rather, would he be 
A free-born knight of England free. 

Than sit on despot's throne." 
So pass'd he on, when that fourth maid. 

As starting from a trance. 
Upon a harp her finger laid; 
Her magic touch the chords obey'd. 

Their soul awaked at once ! 

SONG OF THE FOURTH MAITIEIT. 

*' Quake to your foundations deep. 
Stately tower, and banner'd keep, 
Bid your vaulted echoes moan, 
As the dreaded step they own. 
" Fiends that wait on Merlin's spell, 
Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well ! 
Spread your dusky wings abroad, 
Boune ye for your homeward road. 
" It is HIS, the first who e'er 
Dared the dismal hall of Fear; 
His, who hath the snares defied. 
Spread by pleasure, wealth, and pride. 
" Quake to your foundations deep, 
Bastion huge, and turret steep ! 
Tremble keep, and totter tower! 
This is Gyneth's waking hour." — 



XXXVIII. 

Thus while she sung, the venturous knight 
Has reach'd a bower, where milder light 

Through crimson curtains fell; 
Such soften'd shade the hill receives. 
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 

Upon its western swell. 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch, 
Had wond'rous store of rare and rich 

As ere was seen with eye; 
For there by magic skill, I wis. 
Form of each thing that living is 

Was limn'd in proper dye. 
All seem'd to sleep — the timid hare 
On form, the stag upon his lair. 
The eagle in her eyrie fair 

Between the earth and sky. 
But what of pictured rich and rare 
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where, 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair. 

He saw king Arthur's child ! 
Doubt, and anger, and dismay. 
From her brow had pass'd away. 
Forgot was that fell tourney-day, 

P'or, as she slept, she smiled. 
It seemed that the repentant seer 
Her sleep of many a hundred year 

With gentle dreams beguiled. 
XXXIX. 
That form of maiden loveliness, 

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, 
That ivory chair, that sylvan dress. 
The arms and ancles bare, express 

Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 
Still upon her garment's hem 
Vanoc's blood made purple gem. 
And the warder of command 
Cumber'd still her sleeping hand; 
Still her dark locks dishevell'd flow 
From net of pearl o'er breast of snow; 
And so fair the slumberer seems. 
That De Vaux impeached his dreams. 
Vapid all and void of miglit. 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
Motionless awhile he stands. 
Folds his ai-ms and clasps his hands. 
Trembling in his fitful joy. 
Doubtful how he shall destroy 

Long-enduring spell; 
Doubtful too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes, 

What these eyes shall tell. 
" St. George! St. Mary! can it be. 
That they will kindly look on me!" — 

XL. 
Gently, lo ! the warrior kneels. 
Soft that lovely hand he steals, 
Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp — 
But the warder leaves her grasp; 

Lightning flashes, I'olls the thunder! 
Gyneth startles from her sleep, 
Totters tower, and trembles keep. 

Burst the castle walls asunder! 
Fierce and frequent were the shocks. 

Melt the magic halls away 

But beneath their mystic rocks. 

In the arms of bold De Vaux, 

Safe the princess lay ! 
Safe and free from magic power. 
Blushing like the rose's flower 
Opening to the day; 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



365 



And x'ound the champion's brows was bound 
The crown that druidess had wound, 

Of the green laurel-bay. 
And this was what remain'd of all 
The wealth of each enchanted hall, 

The garland and the dame: — 
But where should warrior seek the meed, 
Due to high woi'th for daring deed, 

Except from Love and Fame ! 

CONCLUSION. 

1. 

My Lucy, when the maid is won. 

The minstrel's task, thou Jinow'st, is done; 

And to require of bard 
That to the dregs his tale should run. 

Were ordinance too hard. 
Our lovers, briefly be it said. 
Wedded as lovers wont to wed. 

When tale or play is o'er; 
Lived long and blest, loved fond and true. 
And saw a numerous race renew 

The honours that they bore. 
Know, to'o, that when a pilgrim strays, 
In morning mist, or evening maze, 

Along the mountain lone. 
That fairy fortress often mocks 
His gaze upon the castle rocks 

Of the valley of saint John; 
But never man since brave De Vaux 

The charmed portal won. 
'Tis now a vain illusive show, 
That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow. 

Or the fresh breeze hath blown. 
JI. 
But see, my love, where far below 
Our lingering wheels are moving slow, 

The whiles up-gazing still, 
Our menials eye our steepy way. 
Marvelling, perchance, what whim can stay 
Our steps when eve is sinking gray 

On this gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar — Life and time 
Ring all their joys in one dull chime 

Of luxury and ease; 
And O! beside these simple knaves. 
How many better born are slaves 

To such coarse joys as these. 
Dead to the nobler sense that glows 
When Nature's gi-ander scenes unclose! 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet. 
The mountain's misty coronet. 

The green-wood and the wold; 
And love the more, that of their maze 
Adventure high of other days 

By ancient bards is told. 
Bringing, perchance, like my poor tale. 
Some moral truth in fiction's veil: 
Nor love them less, that o'er the hill 
The evening breeze, as now, comes chill; — 

My love shall wrap her warm, 
And, fearless of the slippery way. 
While safe she trips the heathy brae, 

Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 

NOTES TO CANTO 1. 
1. Like Collins, ill-starr'd namel— P. 348. 
Collins, according to Johnson, " by indulging 
some peculiar habits of thought, was eminently 
delighted with those flights of imagination which 
pass the bounds of nature, and to which the mind 
is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence in 



popular traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, 
and monsters; he delighted to rove through the 
meanders of enchantment, to gaze on tlie magnifi- 
cence of golden palaces, to repose by the water- 
falls of elysian gardens." 

2. the baron of Triermain. — P. 348. 

Triermain was a fief of the barony of Gilsland, 
in Cumberland; it was possessed by a Saxon family 
at the time of the Conquest, but, "after the death 
of Gilmore, lord of Tryermaine and Torcrossock, 
Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and Torcrossock 
to his second son, Ranulph Vaux, which Ranulph 
afterwards became heir to his elder brother Ro- 
bert, the founder of Lanercost, who died without 
issue. Raimlph, being lord of all Gilsland, gave 
Gilmore's lands to his own younger son, named 
Roland, and let the barony descend to his eldest 
son Robert, son of Ranulph. Roland had issue 
Alexander, and he Ranulph, after whom succeeded 
Robert, and they were named Rolands successive- 
ly, that were loj-ds thereof, until the reign of Ed- 
ward the fourth. That house gave for arms, Vert, 
abend dexter, chequey, or and gules." — Buni'a 
Jlntiqitities of Westmoreland and Cumberland, vol. 
ii, p. 482. 

This branch of Vaux, with its collateral alli- 
ances, is now represented by the family of Brad- 
dyl of Conishead priory, in the county palatine 
of Lancaster; for it appears that, about the time 
above-mentioned, the house of Triermaine was 
united to its kindred family Vaux of Caterlen, 
and, by marriage with the heiress of Delamore 
and Ley bourne, became the representative of those 
ancient and noble families. The male line failing 
in Jolwi de Vaux, about the year 1665, his daiigli- 
ter ai^* heiress, Mabel, married Christopher Rich- 
mond, esq. of Highhead castle, in the countj' of 
Cumberland, descended from an ancient family of 
that name, lords of Corby castle, in the same 
county, soon after the Conquest, and which they 
alienated about the 15th of Edward the second, to 
Andrea de Harcla, ;arl of Carlisle. Of this family 
was sir Thomas de Raigemont, (miles auratus,) in 
the reign of king Edward the first, who appears to 
have greatly distinguished himseH' at the siege of 
Kaerlaveroc, with William baron of Ley bourne. 
In an ancient heraldic poem now extant, and pre- 
served in the British Museum, describing that 
siege, his arms are stated to be. Or, 2 Bars Ge- 
melles Gules, and a Chief Or, the same bnrne by 
his descendants at the present day. The Rich- 
monds removed to their castle of Highhead in the 
reign of Henry the eighth, when the then repre- 
sentative of the family married Margaret, daugh- 
ter of sir Hugh Lowther, by the lady Dorotliy de 
Cliftbrd, only child by a second marriage of Hen- 
ry l(»d Clifford, great grandson of John lord Clif- 
ford, by Elizabeth Percy, daughter of Henrv (sur- 
named Hotspur) by Elizabeth Mortimer,"whicli 
said Elizabeth was daughter of Edward Mortimer, 
third earl of Marche, by Phillippa, sole daughtei 
and heiress of Lionel, duke of Clarence. 

The third in descent from the above-mentioned 
John Richmond, became the representative ol the 
families of Vaux, of Triermaine, Caterlen, and 
Torcrossock, by his marriage with Mabel de 
Vaux, the heiress of them. His grandson Henry 
Richmond died without issue, leaving five sisters 
co-heiresses, four of whom mamed; but Margaret, 
who married William Gale, esq. of Whitehaven,' 
was the only one who had male issue surviving. 
She had a son, and a daughter married to Henry 



366 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Curwen of Workington, esq., who represented the 
county of Cumberland for matiy years in parlia- 
ment, and by her had a daughter, married to John 
Christian, esq., (now Curwen.) John, son and 
heir of William Gale, married Sarah, daughter 
and heiress of Christopher Wilson of Bardsea 
hall, in the county of Lancaster, by Margaret, aunt 
and co-heiress of Thomas Braddyl, esq. of Brad- 
dyl, and Conishead priory, in the same countj', 
and had issue four sons and two daughters: — 1st, 
William Wilson, died an infant; 2d, Wilson, who, 
upon the death of his cousin, Thomas Braddyl, 
without issue, succeeded to his estates, and took 
the name of Braddyl, in pursuance of his will, by 
the kind's sign manual; 3d, William, died young; 
and 4th, Henry Richmond, a lieutenant-general 
of the army, married Sarah, dau^iter of the Rev. 
K. Baldwin; Margaret married Richard Greaves 
Townley, esq. of Fulbourne, in the county of Cam- 
bridge, and of Bellfield, in the county of Lancas- 
ter; Sarah married to George Bigland, of Bigland 
hall, in the same county. 

Wilson Braddyl, eldest son of John Gale, and 
grandson of Margaret Richmond, married Jane, 
daughter and heiress of Matthias Gale, esq. of 
Catgill hall, in the county of Cumberland, by Jane, 
daughter and heiress of the Rev. S. Bennet, D. D. ; 
and, as the eldest surviving male branch of the 
families above-mentioned, he quarters, in addition 
to his own, their paternal coats in the following 
order, as appears by the records in the college of 
ai'ms. 

1st, Argent, a fess azure, between 3 saltiers of 
the same, charged with an anchor between 5i. lions 
heads erazed, or, — Gale. 

2d, Or, 2 bars gemelles gules, and a chit or, — 
Richmond. 

3d, Or, a fess chequey, or and gales between 9 
gerbes gules, — Vaux of Caterlen. 

4th, Gules, a fess chequey, or and gules between 
6 gerbes or, — Vaux of Torcrossock. 

5th, *Argent, a bend chequey, or and gules, for 
Vaux of Triermain. 

6th, Gules, a cross patonce, or, — Delamore. 

7th, Gules, 6*lions rampant argent, 3, 2, and 1, 
— Leybourne.t 

3. And his who Sleeps at Duumailraise.— P. 349. 

Dunmailraise is one of the grand passes from 
Cumberland into Westmoreland. It takes its name 
from a cairn, or pile of stones, erected, it is said, 
to the memory of Dunmail, the last king of Cum- 
berland. 

4. Penritli's Table Round.— P. 349. 

A circular entrenchment, about half a mile from 
Penrith, is thus popularly termed. The circle 
within the ditch is about one hundred and sixty 
paces in circumference, with openings, aH ap- 
proaches, directly opposite to each other. As the 
ditch is on the inner side, it could not be intended 
for the purpose of defence, and it has reasonably 
been conjectured, that the inclosure was designed 
for the solemn exercise of feats of chivalry; and 
the embankment around for the convenience of the 
spectators. 

i, — Mayburgh'g mound and stones of power.— P. 349. 

Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's Round 
Table, is a prodigious inclosure of great antiquity, 
formed by a collection of stones upon the top of a 



• Not vert, as stated by Burn. 

t This more detailed genealogy of the family of Trier- 
main was obligingly sent to tile author, by major Brad- 
dyl of Conishead Priory. 



gently sloping hill, called Mayburgh. In the plain 
which it incloses there stands erect an unhewn 
stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses 
are said to have been destroyed during the memo- 
ry of man. The whole appears to be a monument 
of druidical times. 

6. Though never sunbeam could discern 
The surface of that sable tara.— P. 349. 
The small lake called Scales-tarn lies so deeply 
embosomed in the recesses of the huge mountain 
called Saddleback, more poelicayy Glaramara, is 
of such great depth, and so completely hidden 
from the sun, that it is said its beams never reach 
it, and that the reflection of the stars may be seen 
at mid-day. 

7. Tiutadgel's spear.— P. 350. 

Tintadgel castle, in Cornwall, is reported to 
have been the birth-place of king Arthur. 

8. Caliburn in cumbrous length.— P. 35]. 

This was the name of king Arthur's well-known 
sword, sometimes also called Excalibar. 

NOTES TO CAISTO II. 
1. From Arthur's hand the goblet flew.— P. 3S3» 
The author has an indistinct recollection of an 
adventure somewhat similar to that which is here 
ascribed to king Arthur, having befallen one of 
the ancient kings of Denmark, i'he horn in which 
the burning liquor was presented to that monarch, 
is said still to be preserved in the Royal Museum 
at Copenhagen. 

2. Nor tower nor donjon could Jie spy. 

Darkening against the morning sky.— P. 353. 
" We now gained a view of the vale of St. 
John's, a very narrow dell, hemmed in by moun- 
tains, through which a small brook makes many 
meanderings, washing little inclosures of grass- 
ground, which stretch up the ris.ng of the hills, 
in the widest part of the dale you are struck witli 
the appearance of an ancient ruined castle, which 
seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount, 
the mountains around forming an amphitheatre. 
This massive bulwark shows a front of various 
towers, and makes an awful, rude, ai)d Gothic 
appearance, with its lofty turrets and ragged bat- 
tlements; we traced the galleries, the bending 
arches, the buttresses. The greatest antiquity 
stands characterized in its architecture; the inha- 
bitants near it assert it is an antediluvian structure. 
" The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he 
prepares to make a nearer approach, when that 
curiosity is put upon the rack by his being as- 
sured, that, if he advances, certain genii who go- 
vern the place, by virtue of their supernatural art 
and necromancy, will strip it of all its beauties, 
and, by enchantment, transform the magic walls. 
The vale seems adapted for the habitation of such 
beings; its gloomy recesses and retirements look 
like haunts of evil spirits. There was no delusion 
in the report; we were soon convinced of its truth; 
for this piece of anticjuity, so venerable and noble 
in its asj)ect, as we drew near, changed its figure, 
and proved no other than a shaken massive pile 
of rocks, which stand in the midst of this little 
vale, disuiuted from the adjoining mountains, and 
have so much the real form and resemblance of a 
castle, that they bear the name of the Castle Rocks 
of St. John." — Hutchinson's Ermrsion to the 
Lakes, p. 121. 

3. The Saxons to subjection brought.— P. 353. 
Arttiur is said to have defeated the Saxons in 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



367 



twelve pitched battles, and to have achieved the 
other feats alluded to in the text. 

4. There Morolt of the iron mace, &c.— P. 353. 
The characters named in the following stanza 
are ill of them, more or less, disUiiguished in the 
romances which treat of king Arthur and his Round 
Table, and Iheir names are strung together ac- 
cording to the established custom of minstrels 
upon such occasions; for example, in the ballad of 
the marriage of sir Gawaine: 

Sii- Lancelot, sir Stephen bolde. 

They rode with them that daye. 
And, foremost of the corapanye, 
. There rode the stewarde Kaye: 
Soe did sir Banier, and sir Bore, 

And eke sir Garratte keen. 
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight. 
To the forest fresh and grf^ii. 
5. And Lancelot, that evermore 

Look'd stol'n-wise on the queen. — P. 353. 
Upon this delicate subject liear Richard Robin- 
son, citizen of London, in his assertion of king 
Arthur: 

" But as it is a thing sufficiently apparent that 
she (Guenever, wife of king Arthur) was beauti- 
ful, so it is a thing doubted whether she was chaste, 
yea or no. Truly, so far as I can with honestie, 1 
would spare the irapayred honour and fame of no- 
ble women. But yet the truth of the historie 
pluckes me by the eere, and willeth me not onely, 
but commandeth me to declare what the ancients 
have deemed of her. To wrestle or contend with 
so great authoritie were indeed unto me a contro- 



versie, and that greate." — Assertion of king Ar- 
thure. Imprinted by John Wolfe, London, 1582. 

6. There were two who loved their neighbours' wives, 
And one who loved his own. — P. 354. 

" In our forefathers' tyme, when papistrie, as a 
standyng poole, covered and overflowed all En- 
gland, fewe books were read in our tongue, savyng 
certain bookes of chevalrie, as they said, for pas- 
time and pleasure; which, as some say, were made 
in the monasteries, by idle monks or wonton cha- 
nons. As one for example,' La morte d'Arthure; 
the whole pleasure of which book standeth in two 
speciall poynts, in open manslaughter and bold 
bawdrye; in which booke they be counted the no- 
blest knightes that do kill most men without any 
quarrell, and commit fowlest adoulteries by sutlest 
shiftes; as sir Launcelot, with the wife of king Ar- 
thur, his master; sir Tristram, with the wife of 
king Marke, his uncle; sir Lamerocke, with the 
wife of king Lote, that was his own aunt. Tiiisis 
good stufte for wise men to laugh at, or honest 
men to take pleasure at, yet I know when God's 
Bible was banished the court, and La Morte d'Ar- 
thure received into the prince's, chamber." — As- 
cuam's Schoolmaster. 

7. valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold. — P. 354. 

See the comic tale of the Boy and the Mantle, 
in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient 
Poetry, from the Breton or Norman original ot 
which Ariosto is supposed to have taken his tale 
of the Enchanted Cup. • 



ffi^fie Wi^ion ot Mon Motittit^. 



Quid dig^um memorare tuis, Hispaaia, terris. 
Vox humana valet! CLAtTDIAN. 



TO JOHN WHITMORE, Esa. 

AND TO THE COJCMITTEE OF SUBSCHIBEHS FOH BELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 
IN WHICH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUST) UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT, 
IS BESPECTFU1I.T INSCRIBED, BT WALTER SCOTT. 



PREFACE. 

The following poem is founded upon a Spanish 
tradition, particularly detailed in the Notes; but 
bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last 
Gothic king of Spain, when the invasion of the 
Moors was impending, had the temerity to descend 
into an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of 
which had been denounced as fatal to the Spanish 
monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash curiosi- 
ty was mortified by an emblematical representa- 
tion of those Saracens, who, in the year 714, de- 
feaisd him in battle, and reduced Spain under 
their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the 
Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the 
present eventful crisis of the Peninsula; and to 
divide it, by a supposed change of scene, into 
Three Periods. The First of these represents 
the invasion of the Moors, the defeat and death of 
Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation 
of the country by the victors. The Second Period 
embraces thfe state of the Peninsula, when the 
conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the 



East and West Indies had raised to the highest 
pitch the j-enown of their arms; sullied, however, 
by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the in- 
humanities of the inquisition terminates this pic- 
ture. The Last Part of the poem opens with tlic 
state of Spain previous to the unparalleled treach- 
ery of Bonaparte; gives a sketch of the usurpa- 
tion attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendlj- 
kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the 
British succours. It maj' be farther proper to men- 
tion, that the object of the poem is less to com- 
memorate or detail particular incidents, than to 
exhibit a general and impressive picture of the 
several periods brought upon the stage. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the pub- 
lic, especially by one who has already experienced 
more than ordinary indulgence, to offer any apo- 
logy for the inferiority of the poetry to the subject 
it is chiefly designed to commemorate. Yet 1 think 
it proper to mention, that while I was hastily exe- 
cuting a work, written for a temporary purpose, 
and on passing events, the task was cruelly in- 



368 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



terruptedby the successive deaths of lord presi- 
dent Blair, and lord viscount Melville. In those 
distinguished characters, I had not only to regret 
persons whose lives were most important to Scot- 
land, but also whose notice and patronage honoured 
my entrance upon active life; and I may add, with 
melancholy pride, who permitted my more ad- 
vanced age to claim no common share in their 
friendship. Under such interruptions, the fol- 
lowing verses, which my best and happiest efforts 
must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, 
1 am myself sensible, an appearance of negligence 
and incoherence, which, in other circumstances, I 
might have been able to remove. 
E(Unburgh, June 24, 1811. 

INTRODUCTION. 
1. 

Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mountain 
fire 

May rise distinguished o'er the din of war. 
Or died it with yon master of the lyre. 

Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star? 
Such, WellingToiv, might reach thee from afar. 

Wafting its descant wide o'er ocean's range; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar. 

All as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet- 
change, 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge ! 

II. 
Yes! such a strain,witli all o'erpowering measure. 

Might melodize with each tumultuous sound. 
Each voice of fear or triumph, wo or pleasure. 

That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around; 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crown'd, 

The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan. 
The shout of captives from their chains unbound. 

The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erlhrown. 

III. 
But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day, 

Skilled but to imitate an elder page, 
Timid and raptureless, can we repay 

The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage 

Those that could send thy name o'er sea and 
land, 
While sea and land shall last; for Homer's rage 

A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand- 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band ! 

IV. 
Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged breast 

The friends of Scottish freedom found repose; 
Ye torrents! whose hoarse sounds have soothed 
their rest. 

Returning from the field of vanquished foes; 
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close. 

That ers't the choir of bards or druids flung; 
Wliat time their hymn of victory arose, 

And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph 
rung. 
And mystic Merlin harped, and gray-haired Lly- 
warch sung.' 

V. 
O! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain. 

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, 

Like trumpet jubilee, or harp's wild sway; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 

'riien lend the note to him has loved you long! 
Who pious gathered each tradition gray, 



That floats your solitary wastes along. 
And with affection vain gave them new voice in 
song. 

VI. 
For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath lightened graver care, 
From muse or sylvan was he wont to ask, 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, — 

The)' came unsought for, if applauses came; 
Nor for himself prefers he now the pi-ayer; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Immortal be the verse! — forgot the poet^s name. 

VII. 
Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost; 

" Minstrel! the fame of whose romantic lyre, 
Capricious swelling now, may soon be lost, 

Like tiie light flickering of a cottage fire; 
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire. 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due: 
Age after age has gathered son to sire, 

Since our gray clift's the din of conflict knew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles 
blew. 

yiii. 

"Decayed our old traditionary lore. 

Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, 
15y milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar, 

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted 
spring;2 
Save where their legends gray-haired shepherds 
sing, 

That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, 
Offends obscure, and border ravaging. 

And rugged deeds recount in rugged line. 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or 
Tyne. 

IX. 
" No! search romantic lands, where the near sun 

Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 
Where the rude villager, his labour done, 

In verse spontaneous" chants some favoured name; 
Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim. 

Her ej'e of diamond, and her locks of jet; 
Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Grseme,< 

He sing, to wild Morisco measure set. 
Old Albyn's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet! 

X. 
" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows. 
Where in tlie proud Alhambra's ruined breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose: 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. 

XI. 
" There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 

Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye; 
The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 

Still mark enduring pride and constancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side. 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune 
fought and died. 

XII. 
" And cherished still by that unchaBgin;; race. 

Are themes for minstrelsy more hiy;ii tiiun thine; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



369 



Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign; 

* Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade, 

Forming a model meet for minstrel line. 

Go, seek such theme!" — The mountain spirit 
said: 
With filial awe I heardr-I heard, and I obeyed 



VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
I. 

Reahiitg their crests amid the cloudless skies. 

And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, 

As from a trembling lake of silver white. 
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 

Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below, 
And nought disturlis the silence of the night; 

All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, , 
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. 

II. 

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 

Or distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp. 
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, 

To guard the limits of king Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's niglit-fog rolling damp, 

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 
Which glinamer'd back, against the moon's fair 
lamp. 
Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, 
And standards proudly pitched, and warders armed 
between. 

III. 
But of their monarch's person keeping ward. 

Since last the deep-mouth 'd bell of vespers toll 'd. 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

Their post beneath the proud Cathedral hold: 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace. 
Bear slender darts, and casques bedeck 'd with gold, 
While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's 
place. 

IV. 
In the light language of an idle court, 

They murmured at their master's long delay. 
And held his lengthened orisons in sport: — 
"What! will Don Roderick here till morning 
stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past, 
For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay? "5 

Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 
And wished the lingering dawn would glimmer 
forth at last. 

V. 
But, far within, Toledo's prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the king; 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing: 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing. 

Such as are lothly uttered to the air, 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom 
wring. 
And Guilt his secret burthen cannot bear, 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from 
Despair. 

VI. 
Full on the prelate's face, and silver hair, 
The stream of failing light was feebly rolled; 



Uut Roderick's visage, though his head was bare. 

Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, 
That mortal man his bearing should behold, 

Or boast that he had seen, when conscience shook, 
Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a warrior's 
look. 

VII. 
The old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale, 

As many a secret sad the king bewrayed; 
And sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale, 

When in the midst his faltering whisper staid. 
"Thus royal Witiza* was slain," — he said; 

" Yet, holy father, deem not it was I." — 
Thus still Ambition strives her crime to shade — 

" O rather deem 'twas stern necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. 

Vlll. 
" And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air. 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain, 
And on her knees implored that I would spare. 

Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! 
All is not as it seems — the female train 

Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:" 
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain. 

Sent to the monarch's cheek the burning blood — 
He stayed his speech abrupt — and up the prelate 
stood. 

IX. 
" O hardened offspring of an iron race! 

Whatof thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall 1 say? 
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away! 
'For the foul ravisher how shall I pray, 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his 
boast? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay. 

Unless, in mercy to yon christian host, 
He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be 

Incf ?" 



lost? 



X. 



Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, 

And to his brow returned its dauntless gloom; 
" And welcome then," he cried, "be btood for 
blood, 

For treason treacheiy, for dishonour doom! 
Yet will 1 know whence come they, or by whom. 

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key. 
And guide me, priest, to that mysterious room, 

Where, if aught true in old tradition be. 
His nation's future fate a Spanish king shall 
see." — 6 

XI. 
Ill-fated prince! recal the desperate word. 

Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
Bethink yon spell-bound portal would afford 

Never to former monarch entrance-way; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say. 

Save to a king, the last of all his line, 
What time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine. 

XII. 
— " Prelate! a monarch's fate brooks no delay; 

Lead on ! " The ponderous key the old man 
took. 
And held the winking lamp, and led the way. 

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 



* The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, 
and slain by his connivance, .as is affirmed by Rodriguez 
of Toledo, the father of Spanish history. 



370 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then on an ancient gate-way bent his look; 

And, as the key the desperate king essayed, 
Low-muttered thunders the cathedral shook, 

Audtwice he stopped, and twice new effort made, 
Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges 
brayed. 

XUI. 
Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall; 

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone, 
Of polished marble, black as funei-al pall. 

Carved o'er with signs and chai-acters unknown. 
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could 
not spy; 
For window to the upper air "was none; 

Yet by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal 

'''■ . XIV. 

Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, 

Of molten bronze, two statues held their place; 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall. 

Their frowning ibi-eheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race. 

That lived and sinned before the avenging flood; 
This grasped a sithe, that rested on a mace: 

This spreads his wings for flight, that pondering 
stood, 
Each stubborn seemed and stei-n, immutable of 
mood. 

XV. 
Fixed was the right-hand giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book. 

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand; . * 
In which was wrote of many a falling land, 

Of empii'es lost, and kings to exile driven. 
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time! to whom by heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season given." 

XVI. 

Even while Ihey read, the sand glass wastes away; 

And, as the last and lagging grains did creep. 
That right-hand giant .'gan his club upsway. 

As one that startles from a heavy sleep. 
Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At onee descended with the force of thunder. 
And hurling down at once, in crumbled heap, 

The marble boundary was rent asunder. 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear 
and wonder. 

XVII. 
For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, 

Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid. 
Castles and towers, in due propoi'tion each, 

As by some skilful artist's hand portrayed: 
Here, crossed by many a wild sierra's shade. 

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye; 
There, rich with vineyard and with olive-glade. 

Or deep embrowned by forests huge and higli. 
Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly mur- 
mured by. 

xvm. 

And here, as erst upon the antique stage. 

Passed forth the bands of masquers trimly led, 

In various forms, and various equipage. 
While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed; 

So to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 
Successive pageants filled that mystic scene. 

Showing the hite of battles ere they bled, 



And issue of events that had not been; 
And ever and anon strange sounds were heard be- 
tween. 

XIX. 
First shrilled an unrepeated female shriek ! 

It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek.— 

Then answered kettle-drum and atabal. 
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal. 

The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelies' yell,' 
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 

Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell — 
"The Moor!" he cried, "the Moor! — ring out 
the tocsin bell! 

XX. 
' ' They come ! they come ! I see the ^roaning lands, 

Wliite with the turbans of each Arab horde, 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands. 

Alia and Mahomet their battle-word. 
The choice they yield, the koran or the sword. — 
*ee how the christians rush to arms amain! — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared! 

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain — 
Now, God and saint lago strike, for the good cause 
of Spain ! " 

XXI. 
" By heaven, the Moors prevail! the christians 
yield !— 
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign! 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes, 'tis mine!* 
But never was she turned from battle-line: — 
Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and 
stone ! 
Curses pursue the slave and wi-ath divine! — 
Rivers ingulf him!" — " Hush!" in shuddering 
tone, 
The prelate said; " rash prince, yon visioned 
form's thine own." — 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course; 

The dangerous ford the kingly likeness tried; 
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse, 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide; 
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide. 

As numerous as their native locust band; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide. 

With naked scimitars mete out the land, 
And for their bondsmen base the freeborn natives 
brand. 

XXIII. 
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the christian line; 
Then, menials to their misbelieving foes, 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine; 
Then, too, the holy cross, salvation's sign. 

By impious hands was from the altar thrown. 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echoed, for holy hymn and organ-tone, 
The santon's frantic dance, the fakir's gibbering 
moan. 

XXIV. 
How fares Don Roderick? — E'en as one who spies 

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable 
woof. 
And hears around his children's piercing cries, 

And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
While cruel conscience brings him bitter proof, 

His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief, 
And, while above him nods the crumbling roof, 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



371 



He curses earth and heaven — himself in chief — 
Desperate of earthly aid, desparing heaven's re- 
lief! 

XXV. 
That sithe-armed giant turned his fatal glass, 

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings; 
And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs, 

Bazars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings. 

And on the land, as evening seemed to set, 
The imaum's chant was heard from mosque or 
minaret. 

XXVI. 
So passed that pageant. Ere another came. 

The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke, 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were crossed by sheets 
of flame; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke, 
Till Rod.erick deemed the fiends had burst their 
yoke, 
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone ! 
For war a new and dreadful language spoke, 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was 
her tone. 

XXVIl. 
From the dim landscape roll the clouds away — 

The christians have regained their heritage; 
Before the cross has waned the crescent's ray, 

And many a monastery decks the stage. 
And lofty church, and low browed hermitage. 

The land obeys a hermit and a knight, — 
The genii these of Spain for many an age; 

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, 
And that was VALOtra named, this Bigotky was 
hight. 

XXVIll. 
Valour was harnessed like a chief of old. 
Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly 
gest; 
His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, 
Morena's eagle-plume adorned his crest. 
The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. 
Fierce he stepped forward, and flung down his 

As if ot mortal kind to brave the best. 

Him followed his companion, dark and sage. 
As he, my master, sung, the dangerous archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the warrior came. 

In look and language proud as proud might be. 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame, 

Yet was that bare-foot monk more proud than he. 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree. 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 

Till ermined age, and youth in arms renowned. 
Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly 
kissed the ground. 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced that Valovh, peerless knight. 

Who ne'er to king or kaisar veiled his crest, 
Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight, 

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stooped ever to that anchoret's behest; 

Nor reasoned of the right, nor of the wrong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest. 

And wro't fell deeds the troubled world along, 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 



XXXI. 

Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found 
world. 
That latest sees the sun, or first the morn; 
Still at that wizard's feet their spoils he hurled, — 

Ingots of ore, from rich Potosi borne. 
Crowns by caciques, aigrettes by omrahs worn. 
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and 
foul; 
Idols, of gold, from heathen temples torn. 

Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl. 
The hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath 
his cowl. 

XXXII. 
Then did he bless the offering, and bade make 

Tribute to heaven of gratitude and praise; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake, 

And many a hand the silver censer sways. 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 

Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire; 
The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays. 

And shrieks of agony confound the quire. 
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darkened 
scenes expre. 

XXXIII. 
Preluding light, wens strains of music heard. 
As once again revolved that measured sand. 
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared, 

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band; 
When for the light bolero ready stand 

The Mozo blith, with gay Muchacha met,^ 
He conscious bf his broidered cap and band. 
She of her netted locks and light corsette. 
Each tiptoe pei-ched to spring, and shake the Cas- 
tanet. 

XXXIV, 
And well such strains the opening scene became; ' 

For Valour had relaxed his ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, 

Lay stretched, full loth the weight of arms to 
brook; 
And softened Bigotry, upon his book. 

Pattered a task of little good or ill: 
But the blith peasant plied bis pruning hook, 

Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill. 
And rung from village-green the merry seguidille. 

XXXV. 

Gray royalty, grown impotent of toil, 

Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold. 
And careless saw his rule become the spoil 

Of a loose ^k^e and her minion bold. 
But peace wasonfthe cottage and the fold. 

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far; 
Beneath the chestnut tree Love's tale was told. 

And to the tinkling of the light guitar. 
Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the 
evening star. 

XXXVI. 
As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land. 

Awhile, perchance, bedeck 'd with colours sheen, 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been. 

Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene. 

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud, 
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds 
howled aloud: — 

XXXVII. 
i Even so upon that peaceful scene was poured, 
I Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band. 



372 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And he, their leader, wore in sheath his sword, 

And offered peaceful front and open hand; 
V^eiling the perjured treachery he planned, 

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, 
Until he won the passes of the land; 
Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's 
ties! 
He clutched his vulture-grasp, and called fair 
Spain his prize. 

XXXVIII. 
An iron crown his anxious forehead bore; 

And well such diadem his heart became. 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er. 

Or checked his course for piety or shame; 
Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame 

Might flourish in tlie wreath of battles won, 
Though neither truth nor honour decked his name: 
Who, placed by fortune on a monarch's throne, 
Recked not of monarch's faith, or mercy's kingly 
tone. 

XXXIX. 
From a rude isle his ruder lineage came: 

The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth 
Ascending, wraps some capital i|i flame. 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth — 
The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure, 
That poisons the glad husband-field witli dearth, 

And by destruction bids its fame endure, 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and im- 
pure. 

XL. 
Before that leader strode a shadowy form: 

Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show 'd. 
With which she beckoned him through fight and 

storm, 
. And all he crushed that crossed his desperate 

road. 
Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he 
trode; 
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not 
slake. 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad— 

It was Ambition bade her terrors wake, 
Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 

XLI. 
No longer now she spurned at mean I'evenge, 

Or staid her hand for conquered foeman's moan, 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change. 
By Cassar's side she crossed the Rubicon; 
Nor joyed she to bestow the spoiH^^ won. 
As when the banded powers%^ireece were 
tasked 
To war beneath the youth of Macedon: 

No seemly veil her modern minion asked. 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend un- 
masked. 

XLll. 
That prelatemarked his march — Onbannersblaz'd 

With battles won in many a distant land. 
On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed: 

" And hopest thou, then," he said, " tliy power 
shall stand? 
O thou hast builded on the shifting sand. 

And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood; 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand! 
Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud, 
. And by a bloody death sliall dietiie man of blood!" 

XLUL 
The ruthless leader beckoned from his ti-ain, 
A wan fraternal shade, and bade him kneel, 



And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, 
While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, " Cas- 
tile!"io 

Not that he loved him — No I — in no man's weal, 
Scarce in his own, e'er 'joyed that sullen heart; 

Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, 
That the poor puppet might perform his part, 

And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start, 

XLIV. 

But on the natives of that land misused, 

Not long the silence of amazement hung. 
Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abusedj 

For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaimed, "To arms!" and fast to arms they 
sprung. 

And Valour woke, that genius of the land! 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung. 

As burst the awakening Nazarite his band. 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his 
di'eadful hand. 

XLV. 
That mimic monarch nOw cast anxious eye 

Upon the satraps that begirt him round. 
Now dofted his royal robe in act to fly, 

And from liis brow the diadem unbound. 
So oft, so near, the patriot bugle wound, 

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown, 
These martial satellites hard labour found. 

To guard awhile his substituted throne — 
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their 
own. 

XLVI. 
From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, 

And it was echoed from Corunna's wall; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung, 

Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall; 
Galicia bade her children fight or fall. 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call, 

And foremost still where Valour's sons are met, 
Fast started to his gun each fiery miquelet. 

XLVll. 
But unappalled, and burning for the fight. 

The invaders march, of victory secure; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite. 

And trained alike to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure. 

Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure; 

While nought against them bring the unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and, hands for 
Freedom's blow. 

XLVIIl. 
Proudly they march — but O ! they marched not 
forth. 

By one liot field to crown a brief campaign. 
As when tlieir eagles, sweeping through the north, 

Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign! 
Far other fate had heaven decreed for Spain; 

In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, 
New patriot armies started from the slain. 

High blazed the war, and long,and far,and wide,** 
And oft the god of battles blest the righteous side. 

XLIX. 
Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 

Remained tlieir savage waste. With blade and 
brand, 
By day the invaders ravaged hill and dale, 

But, with the darkness, th# Guerilla band 
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



373 



And claimed for blood the retribution due, 
Probed the hard heart, and lopped the murderous 
hand. 

And dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she 
threw, 

f Midst ruii^s they had made, the spoilers' corpses 
knew. 

L. 
What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, 

Amid the visioned strife from sea to sea. 
How oft tlie patriot banners rose or fell. 

Still honoured in defeat as victory ! 
For tliat sad pageant of events to be, 

Showed every form of fight b)' field and flood; 
Slaughter and ruin, shouting forth their glee, 
Beheld, wliile riding on the tempest-scud. 
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedreneh- 
ed with blood! 

LI. 
Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without ttie honour due! 
For never hath the har[> of minstrel I'ung, 

Of faith so fiilly proved, so firmly true! • 
Mine, sap, and bomb, tliy sliattered ruins knew, 

Eacli art of war's extremity had room. 
Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe with- 
drew. 
And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom. 
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody 
tomb.'- 

LII. 
Yet raise thy head, sad city! Though in chains. 
Enthralled thou canst not be! Arise and claim 
Reverence from every heart where freedom reigns, 
For what thou worshippesti — thy sainted dame. 
She of the column, honoured be her name. 

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love! 
And like the sacred relics of tlie flame, 

That gave some martyr to the blessed above. 
To every loyal heart maj' thy sad embers prove ! 

LIU. 
Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair! 

Faithful to death thy heroes sliould be sung. 
Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air 

Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung; 
Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung 

Now briefly lightened by the cannon's flare. 

Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung 

And i-eddening now with conflagration's glare. 

While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare, 

LIV. 



LVI. 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stimng sight! 

The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite. 

Legions on legions brightening all the shores. 
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars. 

Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum. 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet flourish pours, 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb. 
For, bold in freedom's cause, the bands of ocean 
come! 

Lvn. 

A various host they came — whose ranks display 

Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight. 
The deep battalion locks its firm array. 

And meditates his aim the marksman light; 
Far glance the beams of sabres flashing bright. 

Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing 
mead. 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night. 

Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 



While all around was danger, strife, and fear, 

Whilethe earth shook, and darkened was me sky. 
And wide destruction stunned the listening ear. 

Appalled the heart, and stupified the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite,' 
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, 

Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be 
light. 

LV. 
Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud — 

A varied scene the changeful vision showed, 
For, where the ocean mingleil with the cloud, 

A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd. 

Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; 
Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed. 

And Hashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear. 
And the wild beach returned the seaman's jovial 
cheer. 



LVIIL 
A various host — from kindred realms they came, 

Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, 

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers tlieir martial frown. 

And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause. 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause. 
And freeborn thoughts, which league the soldier 
•with the laws. 

LIX. 

And O! loved -warriors of the minstrel's land! 

Yonder )'our bonnets nod, your tartans wave! 

The rugged form may mark the mountain band. 

And harsher features, and a mien more grave; 

But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart so brave 

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, 

And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 

And level for the charge your arms are laid. 
Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset 
staid! 

LX. 
Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, 
.Mingling wild mirth with wars stern minstrels)', 
His jest while each blith comrade round him flings. 

And moves to death with military glee: 
Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free. 
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 
Rough Nature's children, humorous as she: 

And he, yon cliieftain — strike the proudest tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle! — the hero is thine 
own. 

LXI. 
Now on the scene Vineira should he shown, 
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, 
And hear Corunna wail her battle won, 

And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze: — 
But shall fond fable mix with hero's praise? 
Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs 
room ? 
And dare her flowers mingle with the bays. 

That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the vfarrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's 
tomb? 

LXII. 
Or may I give adventurous fancy scope. 
And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 



574 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



That hides futurity from anxious hope, 
. Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting Europe rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurled, 
While kindling nations buckle on their mail, 

And fame, witii clarion-blast and wings unfurl'd. 
To freedom and revenge awakes an injured world ! 

LXIII. 

O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, 

Since fate has marked futurity her own: — 
Yet fate resigns to worth the glorious past. 

The deeds recorded, and the laurels won, 
Tlien, though the vault of destiny'^ be gone. 

King, prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun. 

Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a patriot's parting strain) 

cosrciusioN'. 
I. 

'* Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide 

Back to the source, when tempest-chafed to hie? 
Who, when Gascogne's vex'd gulf is raging wide, 

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try. 

And when the torrent shall his voice obey. 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby. 

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way. 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding 
stay. 

" Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 

They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, 
And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross 
powers!" 

Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock, 
To marshal, duke, and peer, Gaul's leader spoke. 

While downward on the land his legions press, 
Before them it was ricli with vine and flock. 

And smiled live Eden in her summer dress; 
Behind their wasteful march a i-eeking wilder- 
ness.'-* 

in. 

And shall the boastful chief maintain his word. 
Though heaven hath heard the wailings of the 
land. 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword. 
Though Britons arm, and Wellington com- 
mand ! 
No! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force! 
And from its base shall wheel his shattered band. 

As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious 
course. 

IV. 
Yet not because Alcoba's mountain hawk, 

Hath on his best and bravest made her food. 
In numbers confident, yon chief shall baulk 

His lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood: 
For full in view the promised conquest stood, 
And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might 
sum 
The myriads that had half the world subdued, • 

And "hear the distant thunders of the drum, 
I'tiat bids the band of France to storm and havoc 



Four mooi\s have heard these thunders idly rolled. 
Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey, 



As famished wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path a lion lay! 
At length they move — but not to battle-fray, 

Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight; 
Beacons of infamy they light the way, 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite. 
To damn with double shame their ignominious 
flight! 

VI. 

Oh triumph for the fiends of lyst and wrath! 
Ne''er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot. 

What wanton horrors marked their wrackful 
path ! 
Tlie peasant butchered in his ruined cot, 

The hoary priest even at the altar shot. 
Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame. 

Woman to infamy; no crime forgot. 
By which inventive demons might proclaim 

Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great 
name! 

Vll. 
The rudest sentinel, in Britain born. 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, '5 

VViped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun. 
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son. 

Exult the debt of sympathy to pay; 
Riches nor poverty the task shall shun. 

Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay. 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more 
worthless lay. 

VIII. 

But thou — unfonghten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain? 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain? 
Vain-glorious fugitive! '6 yet turn again ! 

Behold, where, named by some prophetic seer, 
Flows Honour's fountain* as fore-doomed the stain 

From thy dishonoured name and arms to clear — 
Fallen child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour 
here ! 

IX. 
Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid; 

Those chief that never heard the lion roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole; 
Rank tipon rank, squadron on squadron pour, 

Legiou on legion on thy foeman roll. 
And wem-yout his arm — thou canst not quell his 
soul. 

X. 
O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore. 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
And front the flying thunders as they roar. 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, iji vain!'' 
And what avails thee that, for Cameroa^lain,'8 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given — 
Vengeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein. 

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, 
Tliy despot's giant guards fled like the rack of 
heaven. 

XI. 
Go, baflled boaster! teach thy haughty mood 

To plead at tliine imperious master's throne; 
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood. 

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own: 



■ The literal translation ofFuentea (PHonoro. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



375 



Say, that thine utmost skill ami valour shown 

By British skill and valour were outvied; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington! 

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture we'll 
abide. 

XII. 
But ye, tlie heroes of that well-fought day, 

How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, 
His mead to cacli victorious leader pay, 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won? 
Yet fain my Iiarp would wake its boldest tone, 

O'er the wide sea to hail CAiioGAJf brave; 
Atid he, perchance, the minstrel note might own. 

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune g.ave 
'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic 
rave. 

XII 1. 
Yes ! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, 

To give each chief and every field its fame: 
Hark! Albuera thunders Behesforb, 

And red Barrosa shouts for dauntless Gb^me ! 
O for a verse of tumult and of flame. 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, 
To bid tlie world re-echo to their fame! 

For never, upon gory battle-ground. 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver 
victors crowned ! 

XIV. 
O who shall grudge liim Albuera's bays, 

Who brought a race regenerate to the field. 
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise. 
Tempered their headlong rage, their coui'age 
steeled, 19 
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, 

And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 
And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield — 
Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorious Bebesfokd ! 

XV. 
Not on that bloody field of battle won, 

Tho' Gaul's proud legions rolled like mist away, 
Was half his self-devoted valour shown, — 
He gaged but life on that illustrious day; 
But when he toiled those squadrons to array. 

Who fought like Britons in the bloody game. 
Sharper than Polish pike, or assagay. 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 
Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 

Beneath the wah'ior's vest affection's wound, 
Whose wisli heaven for his country's weal denied, 

Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to clime, where'er wai-'s trumpets 
sound. 
The wanderer went; yet, Caledonia! still 
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground: 
He dreamed 'mid Alpine cliffs of Alhole's hill. 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. 

XVII. 
O hero of a race renowned of old, 

Whose war-cr)' oft has waked the battle swell,20 
Since first distinguished in the onset bold. 

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell! 
By Wallace' side it rung the southron's knell, 

Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame, 
Tummel's rude pass can of its terrors tell; 

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name. 
Than when wild lionda learned the conquering 
shout of GnjSAiE ! 
26 



XVUL 

But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, 

(With Spenser's parable 1 close my tale,) 
By slioal and rock hath steered my venturous bark, 

And landward now I drive before the gale. 
And now the blue and distant shore 1 hail, 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now I gladly furl my weary sail. 

And, as the prow light touches on the strand, 
I Sti-ike my red-cross flag, and bind ray skiff to land. 



1, And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumpli rung. 
And mystic Merliu harp'd, and gray-hair'd Llywarch 
sung.— P. 368. 

This locality may startle those readers who do 
not recollect, that much of the ancient poetry, 
preserved in Wales, refers less to the history of 
the principality to which that name is now limit- 
ed, than to events which happened in the north- 
west of England and south-west of Scotland, where 
tlie Britons for a long time made a stand against 
the Saxons. The battle of Cattraeth, lamented 
by the celebrated Aneurin, is supposed by the 
learned Dr. Leyden to have been fought on the 
skirts of Ettrick forest. It is known to tlie English 
reader by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning. 
Had I but the torrent's iiiii^ht, 
With lieadlong rage and wild affriglit, &c. 

But it is not so generally known thatthe champions, 
mourned in this beautiful dirge, were the British 
inhabitants of Edinburgh, who were cut off by the 
Saxons of Deiria, or Nortliumberland, about the 
latter part of the sixth century. — Tjtrner's Histoi^y 
of the Anglo-Saxons, edition 1799, vol. i, p. 222. 
—Llywarch, the celebrated bard and monarch^ 
was prince of Argood, in Cumberland; and his 
youthful exploits were performed upon the border, 
although in his age he was driven into Powys by 
the successes of the Anglo-Saxons. As for Merlin 
Wyllt, or the Savage, his name of Caledonian, and 
his retreat into the Caledonian wood, appropriate 
him to Scotland. Fordun dedicates the thirty-first 
chapter of the third book of his Scoto-Chronicon, 
to a narration of the death of this celebrated bard 
and prophet near Drummelziar, a village upon 
Tweed, which is supposed to have derived its name 
[quasi Tuimdics Mcrlini,) from the event. The 
particular spot in which he is buried is still shown, 
and appears, from the following quotation, to have 
partaken of his prophetic qualities: — *' There is 
one thing remarkable here, which is, that the burn, 
called Pausayl, runs by the east side of the church- 
yard into the Tweed; at the side of which burn, a 
little below the church-yard, the famous prophet 
Merlin is said to be buried. The particular place 
of his grave, at the root of a thorn-tree, was shown 
me many years ago, by the old and reverend mi- 
nister of the place, Mr. Richard Brown; and here 
was the old prophecy fulfilled, delivered in Scots 
rhyme, to this purpose: 

When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's grave, 
Scotland aud England shall one monarch have. 

" For the same day that our king James the 
Sixth was crowned king of England, the river 
Tweed, by an extraordinary flood, so far overflow- 
ed its banks, that it met and joined with Pausayl 
at the said gi'ave, which was never before observed 
to fall out." — Peimycnick-''s Description ofT-uieed- 
(/afe,Edinb.l715, 4. p. 26. 



376 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



2. ——•where the liiiffering fays renew tlieir ring, 
By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoai-. 
Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring.— 
P. 368. 

A belief in the existence and noctm-nal revels of 
the fairies still lingers among the vulgar in Sel- 
kirkshire. A copious fountain upon the ridge of 
Minchmore, called the Cheese well, is supposed 
to be sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was 
customary to propitiate them by throwing in some- 
thing upon passing it. A pin was the usual obla- 
tion, and the ceremony is still sometimes practis- 
ed, though rather in jest than earnest. 

3. verse spontaneous. — P. 368. 

The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish lan- 
guages, and perhaps the liveliness of their genius, 
renders these countries distinguished tor the talent 
of improvisation, which is found even among the 
lowest of the people. It is inentioned by Baretti 
and other travellers. 

4. the deeds of Grsme.- P. 368. 

Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a 
poet may be allowed to exercise some power. I 
have used the freedom, here and elsewhere, to al- 
ter the orthography of the name of my gallant 
countryman, in order to apprize the southern rea- 
der of its legitimate sound; — Graham being, on 
the other side of the Tweed, usually pronounced 
as a dissyllable. 

B. For fair Florinda's plunder'd charms to pay. — P. 359. 
Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the 
voice of tradition, ascribe the invasion of tlie Moors 
to the forcil)le violation committed by Roderick 
upon Florinda, called by the Moors Caba or Cava. 
She was the daughter of count Julian, one of the 
Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, wlien 
the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the de- 
fence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indigna- 
tion at the ingratitude of his sovereign, and the 
dishonour of his daughter, count Julian forgot the 
duties of a christian and a patriot, and, forming 
an alliance with Musa, then the caliph's lieutenant 
in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain 
by a body of Saracens and Africans, commanded 
by the celebrated Tarik; tlie issue of which was 
the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupa- 
tion of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. 
Voltaire, in his General History, expresses his 
doubts of this popular story, and Gibbon gives him 
some countenance. But the universal tradition is 
quite sufficient for the purposes of poetry. The 
Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda's memory, 
are said, by Cervantes, never to bestow that name 
upon any human female, reserving it for their dogs. 
Nor is the tradition less inveterate among tlie 
Moors, since the same author mentions a promon- 
tory on.the coast of Barbary, called "The Cape 
of Caba Ruraia, which, in our tongue, is the Cape 
of the Wicked Christain Woman; and it is atraili- 
tion among tlie Moors, that Caba, the daughter of 
count Julian, who was the cause of the loss of 
Spain, lies buried there, and they think it ominous 
to be forced into that bay; for they never go in 
otherwise than by necessity." 

6. And guide me, priest, to that mysterious room, 
Where, if aught true in old tradition be. 
His nation's futui-p fate a Spanish king shall see. — 
P. 369. 

The transition of an incident from history to 
tradition, and from tradition to fable and romance, 
becoming more marvellous at each step from its 
original simplicity, is not ill exemplified in the 



account of the " Fated Chamber", of Don Rode- 
rick, as given by his namesake, the historian of 
Toledo, contrasted with subsequent and more ro- 
mantic accounts of the same subterranean discove- 
ry. 1 give the archbishop of Toledo's tale in the 
words of Nonius, who seems to intimate (though 
very modestly,) that i\\e fatale palatium, of which 
so much had been said, was only the ruins of a 
Roman amphitheatre. 

"Extra muros, septentrionem versus, vestigia 
magni olini theatri sparsa visuntur. Auctor est 
Rodericus Toletanus Archiepiscopus ante Arabum 
in Hispanias irruptionem, hie fatale palatmm 
fuisse; quod invicti vectes, jeterna ferri robora 
claudebant, ne reseratum Hispania; excidium ad- 
ferret; quod in fatis non vulgus solum, sed et pru- 
dentissimi quique credebant. Sed Roderici ultimi 
Gothorum Regis animum infelix curiositas subiit, 
sciendi quid sub tot vetitis claustris observaretur; 
ingentes ibi superiorum regum opes et arcanos 
thesauros servari ratus. Seias et pessulos perfringi 
curat, invitis omnibus, nihil prajter arculam re- 
pertam, et in ea linteum, quo explicato novae et 
insolentes hominum facies liabitusque apparuere, 
cum inscriptione Latina, Hispaniz excidhim ab 
ilia gente innninere; vultus habitusque Maurorum 
erant. Quamobrem ex Africa tantam cladem in- 
stare regi cjeterisque persuasum; nee falso ut His- 
panice annales etiamuum queruntur. " — Hispania 
Ludovic. JVonij, cap. lix. 

But about the term of the expulsion of the Moors 
from Grenada, we find, in the " Historia Verdadera 
del Roy Don Roderigo," a (pretended) translation 
from the Arabic of the sage Alcayde Albucacim 
Tarif Abentarique, a legend which puts to shame 
the modesty of the historian Roderick, with his 
chest and prophetic picture. The custom of as- 
cribing a pretended Moorish original to theSe 
legendary histories, is ridiculed by Cervantes, who 
affects to translate the history of the Knight of the 
Woful Figure, from the Arabic of the sage Cid 
Hamet Benengeli. As I have been indebted to the 
Historia Verdadera for some of the imager^' em- 
ployed in the text, the following literal translation 
from the work itself may gratify the inquisitive 
reader: — 

" One mile on the east side of the cHj' of Tole- 
do, among some rocks, was situated an ancient 
tower, of a magnificent structure, though much 
dilapidated by time, which consumes all: four es- 
tadoes (i. e. four times a man's height,) below it, 
there was a cave with a very narrow entrance, and 
a g-ate cut out of the solid rock, lined with a strong 
covering of iron, and fastened**vith many locks; 
above the gate some Greek letters are engraved, 
M hich, although abbreviated, and of doubtful mean- 
ing, were thus interpreted, according to the ex- 
position of learned men: — 'The king who opens 
this cave, and can discover the wonders, will dis- 
cover both good and evil things.' — Many kings 
desired to know the mystery of this tower, and 
sought to find out the manner with much care: but 
when they opened the gate, such a tremendous 
noise arose in the cave, tliat it appeared as if the 
earth was bursting; many of those present sickened 
with fear, and others lost their lives. In order to 
prevent such great perils, (as they supposed a dan- 
gerous enchantment was contained within,) they 
secured the gate with new locks, concluding, th.it 
though a king was destined to open it, the fated 
time was not yet arrived. At last king Don Ro- 
drigo, led on by his evil fortune and unlucky des- 



THE VISION OF BON RODERICK. 



srr 



tiny, opened the tower; and some bold attendants 
■whom he had brought with him entered, although 
agitated with fear. Having proceeded a good way, 
they fled back to the entrance, terrified with a 
frightful vision whicli they had beheld. The king 
was greatly moved, and ordered many torches, so 
contrived that the tempest in tiie cave could not 
extinguish them, to be lighted. Then the king 
entered, not witliout fear, before all the others. 
They discovered, by degrees, a splendid hail, ap- 
parently built in a ver)' sumptuous manner; in the 
middle stood a bronze statue of very ferocious ap- 
pearance, which held a battle-axe in its hands. 
With this he struck the floor violently, giving it 
such heavy blows, that the noise in the cave was 
occasioned by the motion of the air. Tiie king, 
greatly affrighted and astonished, began to conjure 
this terrible vision, promising that he would re- 
turn without doing any injury in the cave, after he 
had obtained sight of what was contained in it. 
The statue ceased to strike the floor, and the king, 
■with his followers, somewhat assured, and reco- 
vering their courage, proceeded into the hall; and 
on the left of the statue they found this inscription 
on the wall; ' Unfortunate king, thou hast entered 
here in evil hour.' On the i-ight side of the wall 
these words were inscribed, ' By strange nations 
thou shalt be dispossessed, and thy subjects foully 
degraded.' On the shoulders of the statue other 
words were written, which said, 'I call upon the 
Arabs.' And upon his breast was written, ' 1 do 
my office.' At the entrance of the hall there was 
placed a round bowl, from which a great noise, 
like the fall of waters, proceeded. They found no 
Other thing in the hall; and when the king, sor- 
rowful and greatly aft'ected, had scarcely turned 
about to leave the cavern, the statue again com- 
menced its accustomed blows upon the floor. Af- 
ter tiiey had mutually promised to conceal what 
they had seen, they again closed the tower, and 
blocked up the gate of the cavern with eartli, that 
no memory might remain in the world of sucli a 
portentous and evil-boding prodigy. Tlie ensuing 
midnight they heard great cries an<i clamour from 
the cave, resounding like the noise of a battle, and 
the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; the 
whole edifice of the old tower fell to the ground, 
by which they were greatly affrighted; the vision 
which they had beheld appearing to tliem as a 
dream. ■- , 

" The king, having left the tower, ordered wise 
men to explain what the inscription signified; and 
having consulted upon and studied their meaning, 
they declared that the statue of bronze, with the 
motion which it made with its battle-axe, signified 
Time; and that its ofilce, alluded to in the inscrip- 
tion on his breast, was, that he never rests a single 
moment. The words on the shoulders, ' 1 call 
upon the Arabs,' they expounded that in time 
Spain would be conquered by the Arabs. Tlie 
words upon the left wall signified the destruction 
of king Rodrigo; those on the right, the dreadful 
calamities which were to fall upon the Spaniards 
and Goths, and that the unfortunate king would 
be dispossessed of all his states. Finally, the let- 
ters on the portal indicated, that good would be- 
tide to the comiuerors, and evil to the conquered, 
of which experience proved the truth." — Historia 
Verdadeyra del Rey Don Rodrigo. Quinta im- 
pression. Madrid, 1654, 4. p. 23. 

7. The tecbir war-ci-y, and the lelies' yell. — P. 370. 

The tecbir (derived from the words Alia acbar. 



God is most mighty) was the original war-cry 
of the Saracens. It" is celebrated by Hughes, in 
the siege of Damascus. 

AVe heard the tecbir; so these Arabs call 
Their shout of onset, when with loud appeal 
They challenge heaven, as if demanding conquest. 
The Lelie, well known to the christians during 
the crusades, is the shout of Alia ilia Alia, the 
Mahommedan confession of faith. It is twice used 
in poetry by ray friend Mr. W. Stuart Rose, in 
tlie Romance of Partenopax, and in the Crusade 
of St. Lewis. 
8. By heaven, the Moors prevail! — the christians yield! 
Their coward leader gives for llight the sign! 
The scepter'd craven mounts to quit the field — 
Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes, 'tis mine! — P. 370. 
Count Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, 
with the connivance and assistance of Oppas, arch- 
bishop of Toledo, invited, in 713, the Saracens 
into Spain. A considerable army arrived under 
the command of Tarik, or Tarif, who bequeathed 
the well-known name of Gibraltar ( Gibel al Ta- 
rik, or the mountain of Tarik) to the place of his 
landing. He was joined by count Julian, ravaged 
Andalusia, and took Seville. In 714 they returned 
with a still greater force, and Roderick marched 
into Andalusia at the head of a great army to give 
them battle. The field was chosen near Xeres, 
and Mariana gives the following account of the ac- 
tion: 

" Both armies being drawn up, the king, ac- 
cording to tlie custom of the Gothic kings when 
they went to battle, appeared in an ivory chariot, 
clothed in cloth of gold, encouraging his men; Ta- 
rif, on the other side, did the same. The armies, 
thus prepared, waited only for the signal to fall 
on; the Goths gave the charge, their drums and 
trumpets sounding, and the Moors received it with 
tlie noise of kettle-drums. Such were the shouts 
and cries on both sides, that tlie mountains and 
vallies seemed to meet. First they began with 
slings, darts, javelins, and lances, then came to 
the swords; a long time the battle was dubious, 
but the Moors seemed to have the worst, till D.^ 
Oppas, the archbishop, having to that time con- 
cealed his treachery, in the heat of the fight, with 
a great body of his followers, went over to the in- 
fidels. He joined count Julian, with whom was a 
great number of Goths, and both together fell upon 
the flank of our army. Our men, ten-ified with 
that unparalleled treachery, and tired with fight- 
ing, could no longer sustain that charge, but were 
easily put to flight. The king performed the part 
not only of a wise general but of a resolute soldier, 
relieving the weakest, bringing on fresh men in 
the place of those that were tired, and stopping 
those that turned their backs. At length, seeing 
no hope left, he alighted out of his chariot for feai- 
of being taken, and, mounting on a horse, called 
Orelia, he withdrew out of the battle. The Goths, 
who still stood, missing him, were most part put 
to the sword, the rest betook themselves to flight. 
The camp was immediately entered, and the bag- 
gage taken. What number was killed is not known: 
1 suppose they were so many it was hard to count 
them; for this single battle robbed Spain of all its 
glory, and in it perished the renowned name of 
the Goths. The king's horse, upper garment, and 
buskins, covered with pearls and precious stones, 
were found on the bank of the river Guadelite, and 
there being no news of him afterwards, it was sup- 
posed he was drowned passing the river." — Ma« 
biana's History of Spain, book vi, ch.ip. 9. 



3T8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, mentioned 
in the text, and in the above quotation, was cele- 
brated for her speed and form. She is mentioned 
repeatedly in Spanish romance, and also by Cer- 
vantes. 

9. When for the li^ht bolero ready stand 

The Mozo blith, with gay Muchaeha met.— P. 371. 
The bolero is a very light and active dance, 
much practised by the Spaniards, in which casta- 
nets are always used. J\lo:o and Jitucftaclia are 
equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 

10. While tiTunpcts rang, and heralds cried, " Castile." — 

P. 372. 

The heralds at the coronation of a Spanish mo- 
narch proclaim his name three times, and repeat 
three times the word Castilla, Castilla, CastiUa; 
■which, with all other ceremonies, was carefully 
copied in the mock inauguration of Joseph Buo- 
naparte. 

11. High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide.— 

P. 372. 
Those who were disposed to believe that mere 
virtue and energy are able of themselves to work 
forth the salvation of an oppressed people, sur- 
prised in a moment of confidence, deprived of their 
officers, armies, and fortresses, who had every 
means of resistance to seek in the very moment 
when they were to be made use of, and whom the 
numerous treasons among the higher orders de- 
prived of confidence in their natural leaders, — 
those who entertained this enthusiastic but delu- 
sive opinion, may be pardoned for expressing their 
disappointment at the protracted warfare in the 
peninsula. There are, however, another class of 
persons, who, having themselves the highest dread 
or veneration, or something allied to both, for the 
power of the modern Attila, will nevertheless give 
the heroical Spaniards little or no credit for the 
long, stubborn, and unsubdued resistance of three 
years to a power before whom their former well- 
prepared, well-armed, and numerous adversaries 
fell in the course of as many months. While these 
gentlemen plead for deference to Buonaparte, and 
crave 

Respect for his great place — and bid the devil 
Be duly honoui-'d for his burning throne, 

it may not be altogether unreasonable to claim 
some modification of censure upon those who have 
been long and to a great extent successfully re- 
sisting this great enemy of mankind. That the 
energy of Spain has not uniformly been directed 
by conduct equal to its vigour, has been too ob- 
vious; that her armies, under their complicated 
disadvantages, have shared the fate of such as were 
defeated after taking the field with every possible 
advantage of arms and discipline, is surely not to 
be wondered at. But that a nation, under the cir- 
cumstances of repeated discomfiture, internal trea^ 
son, and the mismanagement incident to a tempo 
rary and hastily adopted government, should have 
wasted, by its stubborn, uniform, and "prolonged 
resistance, myriads after myriads of those soldiers 
who had overrun the world — that some of its pro- 
vinces should, like Galicia, after being abandoned 
by their allies, and overrun by their enemies, have 
recovered their freedom by their own unassisted 
exertions; t+iat others, like Catalonia, undismayed 
by the treason wliich betrayed some fortresses, and 
the force which subdued others, should not only 
have continued their resistance, but have attained 
over their victorious enemy a superiority, which 



is even now enabling them to besiege and retake 
the places of strength which had been wrested 
from them, — is a tale hitherto untold in the revo- 
lutionary war. To say that such a people cannot 
be subdued, would be presumption similar to that 
of those who protested that Spain could not defend 
herself for a year, or Portugal for a month; but 
that a resistance which has been continued for so 
long a space, when the usurper, except during the 
short-lived Austrian campaign, had no other ene- 
mies on the continent, should be now less success- 
ful, when repeated defeats have broken the repu- 
tation of the French armies, and when they are 
likely (it would seem almost in desperation) to 
seek occupation elsewhere, is a prophecy as im- 
probable as ungracious. And while we are in the 
humour of severely censuring oiu' allies, gallant 
and devoted as they have shown themselves in the 
cause of national liberty, because they may not 
instantly adopt those measures which we in our 
wisdom may deem essential to success, it might 
be well, if we endeavoured first to resolve the 
previous questions, — 1st, Whether we do not at 
this moment know much less of the Spanish ar- 
mies than of those of Portugal, which were so 
promptly condenaned as totally inadequate to as- 
sist in the preservation of their country ? 2d, Whe- 
ther, independently of any right we have to offer 
more than advice and assistance to our independ- 
ent allies, we can expect that they should renounce 
entirely the national pride, which is inseparable 
fr(mi patriotism, and at once condescend not only 
to be saved ' by our assistance, but to be saveil iji 
our own way? ;3d. Whether, if it be an object (as 
undoubtedlj' it is a main one,) that the Spanish 
troops should be trained under British discipline, 
to the flexibility of movement, and power of i-apid 
concert and combination, which is essential to 
modern war, such a consummation is likely to be 
produceil by abusing them in newspapers and pe- 
riodical publications i" Lastly, Since the undoubted 
authority of Britisli officers makes us now ac- 
quainted with part of the horrors that attend in- 
vasion, and which the Providence of God, the 
valour of our navy, and perhaps the very efforts of 
these Spaniards, have hitherto diverted from us, 
it may be modestly questioned whether we ought 
to be too forward to estimate and condemn the 
feeling of temporary stupefaction which they cre- 
ate; lest, in so doing, we should^resemble the wor- 
thy clergyman, who, while he had himself never 
snuft'ed a candle with his fingers, was disposed se- 
verely to criticise the conduct of u martyr who 
winced a little among his flames. 

12. They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody 
tomb.— P. 373. 

The interesting account of Mr. Vaughan has 
made most readers acquainted with the first siege 
of Zaragoza. The last and fatal siege of that gallant 
and devoted city is detailed with great eloquence 
and precision in the "Edinburgh Annual Regis- 
ter'l for 1809, — a work in which the affairs of 
Spain have been treated of witli attention corres- 
ponding to their deep interest, and to the peculiar 
sources of information open to the historian. The 
following are a few brief extracts from this splen- 
did historical narrative: — 

" A breach was soon made in the mud walls, 
and then, as in the former siege, the war was car- 
ried on in the streets and houses; but the French 
had been taught, by experience, that in this species 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



379 



of warfare the Zaragozans derived a superiority 
from the feeling and principle which inspired 
them, and the cause for which they fought. The 
only means of conquering Zaragoza was to destroy 
it house by house, and street by street, and upon 
this system of destruction they proceeded. Three 
companies of miners and eight companies of sap- 
pers carried on this subterraneous war; the Spa- 
niards, it is said, attempted to oppose them by 
countermines: these were operations to which they 
■were wholly unused, and, according to the French 
statement, their miners were every day discovered 
and suffocated. Meantime the bombardment was 
incessantly kept up. « Within the last forty-eight 
hours,' said Palafox, in a letter to his friend ge- 
neral Doyle, ' 6000 shells have been thrown in. 
Two-thii'ds of the town are in iiiins; but we shall 
perish under the ruins of the remaining third 
rather than surrender.' In the course of the siege 
above 17,000 bombs were thrown at the town; the 
stock of powder with which Zaragoza had been 
stored was exhausted; they had none at last but 
what they manufactured day by day; and no other 
cannon-balls than those which were shot into the 
town, and which they collected and fired back 

upon the enemy. " 

In the midst of these hon-ors and pi-ivations, the 
pestilence broke out in Zaragoza. To various 
causes, enumerated by the annalist, he adds, " scan- 
tiness of food, crowded quarters, unusual exertion 
of body, anxiety of mind, and the impossibility of 
recruiting their exhausted strength by needful rest 
in a city which was almost incessantly bombarded, 
and where every hour their sleep was broken by 
the tremendous explosion of mines. There was 
now no respite, either by day or night, for this 
devoted city; even the natural order of light and 
darkness was destroyed in Zaragoza; by day it 
was involved in a red sulphureous atmosphere of 
smoke, which hid the face of heaven; by night the 
fire of cannons and mortars, and the flames of burn- 
ing houses, kept it in a st.ate of terrific illumina- 
tion. 

" When once the pestilence had begun, it was 
impossible to check its progress, or confine it to 
one quai'ter of the city. Hospitals were imme- 
«liately established, — there were above thirty of 
them; as soon as one was destroyed by the bom- 
bardment, the patients were removed to another, 
and thus the infection was carried to every part of 
Zaragoza. Famine aggravated the evil; the city 
had probably not been sufficiently provided at the 
commencement of the siege, and of the provisions 
which it contained, much was destroyed in the 
daily ruin which the mines and bombs effected. 
Had the Zaragozans and their garrison proceeded 
according to military rules, they would have sur- 
j-endered before the end of January; their batte- 
ries had then been demolished, there were open 
breaches in many parts of their weak walls, and 
the enemy were already within- the city. On the 
30th above sixty houses were blown up, and the 
French obtained possession of the monasteries of 
the Augustines and Les Monicas, which adjoined 
each other, two of the last defensible places left. 
The enemy forced their way into the church; eve- 
ry column, every chapel, every altar, became a 
point of defence, which was repeatedly attacked, 
i.aken, and retaken; the pavement was covered 
with blood, the aisles and body of the church 
strewed with the dead, who were trampled under 
foot by tlie combatants. In the midst of tiiis con- 



flict, tlie roof, shattered by repej^ted bombs, fell 
in; the few who were not crushed, after a sliort 
pause, which this tremendous shock and their 
own unexpected escape occasioned, renewed the 
fight with rekindling fury: fresh parties of the 
enemy pou^ed in; monks, and citizens, and sol- 
diers came to tlie defence, and tlie contest was 
continued upon the ruins, and the bodies of the 
dead and the dying." 

Yet, seventeen days after sustaining these ex- 
tremities, did the fieroic inhabitants of Zaragoza 
continue their defence; nor did they tlien suri-ender 
until their despair had extracted from tlie French 
generals a capitulation, more honourable than has 
been granted to fortresses of the first order. 

Who shall venture to refuse the Zaragozans the 
eulogium confen-ed upon them hy the eloquence of 
Wordsworth? — "Most gloriously have the citi- 
zens of Zaragoza proved that the true army of 
Spain, in a contest of this nature, is the whole 
people. The same city has also exemplified a 
melancholy, yea, a dismal truth, — yet consolatory 
and full of joy, — tliat when a people are called 
suddenly to fight for their liberty, and are sorely 
pressed upon, their best field of battle is the floors 
upon which their cliildren have played; the cham- 
bers where the family of each man has slept, (his 
own or his neighbour's;) upon or under the roofs 
by which they have been sheltered; in the gardens 
of their recreation; in the street, or in tlie market 
place; before the altars of their temples, and among 
their congregated dwellings, blazing or uprooted. 

" The government of Spain must never forget 
Zaragoza, for a moment. Nothing is wanting to 
produce the same eftects every where, but a lead- 
ing mind, sucii as that city was blessed with. In 
the latter contest this has been proved; for Zara- 
goza contained, at that time, bodies of men from 
almost all parts of Spain. The narrative of those 
two sieges should be the manual of every Spaniard. 
He may add to it the ancient stories of Numantia 
and Saguntum; let him sleep upon the book as a 
pillow, and, if he be a devout adherent to the re- 
ligion of his country, let him wear it in his bosom 
for his crucifix to rest upon." 

13. —^ the vault of destiny. — P. 374. 
Before finally dismissing the enchanted cavern 
of Don Roderick, it may be noticed, that the le- 
gend occurs in one of Calderon's plays, entitled. 
La Virgin del Sagrario. The scene opens with 
the noise of the chase, and Recisundo, a prede- 
cessor of Roderick upon the Gothic throne, enters 
pursuing a Stag. The animal assumes the form of 
a man, and defies the king to enter the cave, which 
forms the bottom of the scene, and engage with 
him in single combat. Tlie king accepts the chal- 
lenge, and they engage accordingly, but without 
advantage on either side, which induces the genie 
to inform Recisundo, that he is not the monarch 
for whom the adventure of the enchanted cavern 
is reserved, and he proceeds to predict the down- 
fall of the Gothic monarchy, and of the christian 
religion, which shall attend the discovery of its 
mysteries. Recisundo, appalled by these prophe- 
cies, orders tiie cavern to be secured by a gate and 
bolts of iron. In tiie second part of the same play 
we are informed, that Don Roderick had removed 
the' barrier and transgressed the prohibition of his 
ancestor, and liad been apprized by the prodigies 
which he discovei'ed of the approaching ruinonUs 
kingdom." 



380 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



14. While downward on the land his legions press. 

Before them it was rich with vine and flock, 
And smiled like Eden in her summer dress: — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.' 
P. 374. 
I have venlured to apply to the movements of 
the French army that sublime passage in the pro- 
phecies of Joel, which seems applicable to them 
in more respects than that I have adopted in the 
text. One would think their ravages, their mili- 
tary appointments, the terror which they spread 
among invaded nations, their military discipline, 
their arts of political intrigue and deceit, were 
distinctly pointed out in the following verses of 
Scripture: — 

2. " A day of darknesse and of gloominesse, a 
day of clouds and of thick darknesse, as the morn- 
ing spread upon the mountains: a great people 
and a strong, there hath not been ever the like, 
neither shall be any more after it, even to the 
years of many generations. 

3. " A fire devoureth before them, and behind 
them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden 
of Eden before them, and behindethem a desolate 
wildernesse, yea, and nothing shall escape them. 

4. " The appearance of them is as the appear- 
ance of horses and as horsemen, so shall they runne. 

5. " Like the noise of chariots on the tops of 
mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a 
flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong 
people set in battle array. 

6. " Before their face shall the people be much 
pained: all foces shall gather blacknesse. 

7. " They shall run like mighty men, they 
shall climbe the wall like men of warre, and they 
shall march every one in his wayes, and they shall 
not break their ranks. 

8. " Neither shall one trust another, they shall 
walk everyone in his path: and when they fall 
upon the sword tliey shall not be wounded. 

9. " They shall run to and fro in thecitie: they 
shall run upon the wall, tliey shall climbe up upon 
the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like 
a thief. 

!0. " The earth shall quake before them, the hea- 
vens shall tremble, the sunne and tlie moon shall 
be dark, and the staiTes shall withdraw their shin- 
ing." 

In verse 20th also, which announces the retreat 
of the northern army, described in such dreadful 
colours, into a " land barren and desolate," and 
the dishonour with which God afflicted them 
for having " magnified themselves to do great 
things," there are particulars not inapplicable to 
the retreat of Massena; Divine Providence having, 
in all ages, attached disgrace as the natural pun- 
ishment of cruelty and presumption. 

15. The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom. 

Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. — P. 374. 

Even the unexampled gallantry of the British 
army in the campaign of 1810-11, although they 
never fonglit but to conquer, will do tliem less 
honour in history than their humanity, attentive 
to soften to the utmost of their power the liorrors 
which war, in its mildest aspect, must always in- 
flict upon the defenceless inhabitants of the coun- 
try in whicli it is waged, and which, on this oc- 
casion, were tenfold augmented by the barbarous 
cruelties of the French. Soup-kitchens were esta- 
blished by subscription among the ofiicers, wher- 
ever the troops were quartered for any length of 
time. Tiie commissaries contributed the heads. 



feet, &c. of the cattle slaughtered for the soldiery; 
rice, vegetables, and bread, wlicre it could be had, 
were piu'chased by the oflicers. Fifty or sixty starv- 
ing peasants were daily fed at one of these regi- 
mental establishinents, and carried home the re- 
lics to their famished households. The emaciateil 
wretches, who could not crawl from weakness, 
were speedily employed in pruning their vines. 
While pursuing JMassena, the soldiers evinced the 
same spirit of humanity; and, in many instances, 
when reduced themselves to short allowance, from 
having out-marched their supplies, they shared 
their pittance with the starving inliabitanls who 
had ventured backto view the ruins of tlieir habita- 
tions, burne<l by the retreating enemy, and to bury 
the bodies oflbeir relations whom they liad butch- 
ered. Is it possible to know such facts without feel- 
ing a sort of confidence, tbat those who so well de- 
serve victory arc most likely to attain it? — It is not 
the least of lord Wellington's military merits, that 
the slightest disposition towards marauding meets 
immediate punishment. Independently of all mo- 
ral obligation, the army which is most orderly in 
a friendly country, has always proved most formi- 
dable to an armed enemy. 

16, Vainglori.jus fugitive' — P. 374. 

The French conducted this memorable retreat 
with much of the favfavronade proper to their 
country, by which they attempt to impose upon 
others, and perhaps upon themselves, a belief that 
they ai'e triumphing in the very moment of their 
discomfiture. On the 30th March, 1 811, their rear- 
guard was overtaken near Pega by the British ca- 
vahy. Being well posted, and conceiving them- 
selves safe from infantry, (who were indeed many 
miles in the rear,) and from artillery, they in- 
dulged themselves in parading their bands of mu- 
sic, and actually performed " God save the king," 
Their minstrels)' was however deranged by the 
undesired accompaniment of the British horse- 
artillery, on whose part in the concert they had 
not calculated. The surprise was sudden, and the 
rout complete; for the artillery and cavalry did 
execution upon them for about tour miles, pursu- 
ing at the gallop as often as they got beyond the 
range of the guns, 

17. Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
And front the flying thunders as they roar, 

With frantic charge and ten-fold odds, in vam! — P. 374. 

In the severe action of Fuentes d'Honoro, upon 
5th May, 1811, the grand mass of the French caval- 
ry attacked the right of the British position, co- 
vered by two guns of the horse-artillery, and two 
squadrons of cavalry. After suftering considerably 
from the fire of the guns, which aimoyed them in 
every attempt at formation, the enemy turned 
their wrath entirely towards them, distributed 
brandy among their troopers, and advanced to car- 
ry the field-pieces with the desperation of drunken 
fury. They were in no ways checked by the heavy 
loss which they sustained in this daring attempt, 
but closed, and fairly mingled with the British 
cavalry, to whom they bore the proportion of ten 
to one. Captain Ramsey, (let me be permitted to 
name a gallant countryman,) who commanded the 
two guns, dismissed them at the gallop, and, put- 
ting himself at the head of the mounted artillery- 
men, ordered them to fall upon the French, sabre- 
in-hand. This very unexpected conversion of ar- 
tillerymen into dragoons contributed greatly to 
the defeat of the enemy, already disconcerted by 
the reception they had met from the two British 
squadrons; and the appearance of some small rein- 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



381 



forcements, notwithstanding the immense dispro- 
portion of force, put them to absolute rout. A co- 
lonel or major of their cavalry, and many prisoners, 
(almost all intoxicated,) remained in our posses- 
sion. Those ^vho consider for a moment the dif- 
ference of the services, and how much an artille- 
ryman is necessarily and naturally led to identify 
his own safety and utility with abiding by the tre- 
mendous implement of war, to the exercise of 
which he is chiefly, if not exclusively, trained, will 
know how to estimate the presence of mind which 
commanded so bold a manoeuvre, and the steadi- 
ness and confidence with which it was executed. 

18. And what avails thee that, for Cameron slain, • 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given. — 
P. 374. 

The gallant colonel Cameron was wounded mor- 
tally during the desperate contest in the streets of 
the village called Fuentes d'Honoro. He fell at 
the head of his native highl.inders, the 71st and 79th, 
■who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. 
They charged, with irresistible iury, tlie finest 
body of French grenadiers ever seen, being a part 
of Bonaparte's selected guard. Tlie officer who led 
the French, a man remarkable for stature and 
symmetry, was killed on the spot. The French- 
man who stepped out of his rank to take aim at 
colonel Cameron, was also bayoneted, pierced with 
a thousand wounds, and almost torn to pieces by 
the furious highlanders, who, under the command 
of colonel Cadogan, bore the enemy out of the 
contested ground at the point of the bayonet. Mas- 
sena pays my countrymen a singular compliment 
in his accoimt of the attack and defence of this vil- 
lage, in which, he says, the British lost many of- 
ficers, and Scotch. 

19. O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays. 

Who brought a race regenerate to tlie field. 
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise. 
Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steel 'd. 
P. 375. 

Nothing during the war of Portugal seems, to a 
distinct observer, more deserving of praise, than 
the self-devotion of field-marshal Beresford, who 
•was contented to undertake all the hazal-d of oblo- 
quy w hich might have been founded upon any mis- 
carriage in the highly important experiment of 
training the Portuguese troops to an improved 



state of discipline. In exposing his military repu- 
tation to the censure of imprudence from the most 
moderate, and all manner of unutterable calumnies 
from the ignorant and malignant, he placed at stake 
the dearest pledge which a military man had to 
offer, and nothing but the dee])est conviction of the 
high and essential importance attached to success 
can be supposed an adequate motive. How great 
the chance of miscarriage was supposed, may be 
estimated from the general opinion of officers of 
unquestioned talents and experience, possessed of 
every opportunity of information; how completely 
the experiment has succeeded, and how much the 
spirit and patriotism of our ancient allies had been 
underrated, is evident, not only from those victo- 
ries in which they have borne a distinguished 
share, but from the liberal and highly honourable 
manner in which these opinions have been retract- 
ed. The success of this plan, with all its impor- 
tant conse(|uences, we owe to the indefatigable ex- 
ertions of field-marshal Beresford, 

20. a racerenown'd of old. 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell.— P. 375. 

This stanza alludes to the various achievements 
ofthe warlike family of Graeme, or Graham. They 
are said, by tradition, to have descended from the 
Scottish chief,' under whose command his country- 
men stormed the wall built by the emperor Seve- 
rus between the firths of Forth and Clyde, the 
fragments of which are still popularly called 
Grime's dyke. Sir John the Grajme, " the hardy, 
wight, and wise," is well known as the friend of 
sir William Wallace. Alderne, Kilsyth, and Tib- 
bermuir, were scenes of the victories of the heroic 
marquis of Montrose. The pass of Killv-cvankie 
is famous for the action between king William's 
forces and the highlanders in 1689, 

" Where glad Dundee iii faint huzzas expired." 

It is seldom that one line can number so many 
heroes, and yet more rare when it can appeal to 
the glory of a living descendant in support of its 
ancient renown. 

The allusions to the private history and charac- 
ter of general Graham may be illustrated by re- 
ferring to the eloquent and affecting speech of Mr. 
Sheridan, upon the vote of thanks to the victor ot 
Barosa. 



®J6t ffitltf ot WnttvUo: 

A POEM. 



Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand. 
And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, 
With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd. 
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd. 

Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd 

They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound. — AKENSIDE. 

TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO, &c., &e., &r. 
THE FOLLOWING VEHSES ARE MOST RESPEClTtrLLT INSCBIBED, BY THE AUTHOH. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 
I. 

Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, 
Though, lingering on the morning wind. 
We yet may hear the hour 



Pealed over orchard and canal, 

With voice prolonged and measured fall, 

From prpud saint Michael's tower. 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now. 
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough 

For many a league around. 



382 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With birch and darksome oak between, 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Steras planted close by stems defy 
Th' adventurous foot — the curious eye 

For access seeks in vain! 
And the brown tapestry of leaves. 
Strewed on the blighted gi-ound, receives 

Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. 
No opening glade dawns on our way. 
No streamlet, glancing tp the ray, 

Our woodland path has crossed; 
And the straight causeway which we tread 
Prolongs a line of dull arcade. 
Unvarying through the unvaried shade, 

Until in distance lost. 

II. 

A brighter, livelier scene succeeds; 
In groups the scattering wood recedes, 
Hedge-rows, and huts," and sunny meads, 

And corn-fields glance between; 
The peasant, at his labour blith. 
Plies the hooked staff and' shortened sithe:i— 

But when these ears were green. 
Placed close within destruction's scope, 
Full little was that rustic's hope 

Their ripening to have seen ! 
And, lo! a hamlet and its fane: — 
Let not the gazer with disdain 

Their architecture view; 
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine. 
And disproportioned spire, are thine, 

Immortal Waterloo ! 

111. 

Fear not the heat, though full and high 
The sun has scorched the autumn sky, 
And scarce a forest straggler now 
To shade us spreads a greenwood bough. 
These fields have seen a hotter day 
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray. 
Vet one mile on— yon shattered hedge 
Crests the soft liill whose long smooth ridge 

Looks on the field below. 
And sinks so gently on the dale, 
That not the folds of Beauty's veil 

In easier curves can flow. 
Brief space from thence, the ground again, 
Ascending slowly from the plain. 

Forms an opposing screen. 
Which, with its crest of upland ground. 
Shuts the horizon all around. 

The softened vale between 
Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread; 
Not the most timid maid need dread 
To give her snow-white palfrey head 

On that wide stubble-ground. 
Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush are there. 
Her course to intercept or scare, 

Nor fosse nor fence are found. 
Save where, from out her shattered bowers, 
Rise Hougoumout's dismantled towers. 

IV. 

Now, seest thou aught in this lone scene 
Can tell of that which late hath been? — 

A stranger might reply, 
" The bare extent of stubble-plain 
Seems lately lightened of its grain; 
And yonder sable tracks remain, 
Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain, 

When harvest-home was nigh. 



On these broad spots of trampled ground, 
Perchance the rustics danced such round 

As Teniers loved to draw; 
And where the eartli seems scorched by flame. 
To dress the homely feast they came, 
And toiled the kerchiefed village dame 
Around her fire of straw." — 
V. 
So deem'stthou — so each mortal deems. 
Of that whicli is from that which seems: — 

But other harvest here 
Than that which peasant's sithe demands. 
Was gathered in by sterner hands. 
With bayonet, blade, and spear. 
No vulgar crop was theirs to reap. 
No stinted harvest thin and cheap! 
Heroes before each fatal sweep 

Fell thick as ripened grain; 
And ere the darkening of the day. 
Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay 
The ghastly harvest of the fray, 
The corpses of the slain. 
Yl. 
Ay, look again — that line so black 
And trampled, marks the bivouack. 
Yon deep-graved ruts, the artillery's track, 

So often lost and won; 
And close beside, the hardened mud 
Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood. 
The fierce dragoon, through battle's flood. 

Dashed the hot wai'-horse on. 
These spots of excavation tell 
The ravage of the bursting shell — 
And feel'st thou not the tainted steam, 
That reeks against the sultry beam, 

From yonder trenched mound? 
The pestilential fumes declare 
That carnage has replenished there 
Her garner-house profound. 

vn. 

Fai- other harvest-home and feast. 

Than claims the boor from sithe released. 

On those scorched fields were known! 
Death hovered o'er the maddening rout. 
And, in the thrilling battle shout. 
Sent for the bloody banquet out 

A summons of his own. 
Through rolling smoke the demon's eye 
Could well each destined guest espy. 
Well could his ear in ecstasy 

Distinguish every tone 
That filled the chorus of the fray — 
From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 
From charging squadrons' wild hiura, 
From the wild clang tliat marked their way, — 

Down to the dying groan. 
And the last sob of life's decay 

When breath was all but flown. 

yiii. 

Feast on, stern foe of mortal life. 
Feast on! — but think not that a strife. 
With such promiscuous carnage rife, 

Protracted space ray last; 
The deadly tug of war at length 
Must limits find in human strength, 

And cease when these are passed. 
Vain hope! — that morn's o'erclouded sun 
Heard the wild shout of fight begun 

Ere he attained his height. 
And through the war-smoke volumed high, 
Still peals^that unremitted cry, 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



383 



Though now he stoops to niglit. 
For ten long hours of doubt aud dread, 
Fresh succours from the extended head 
Of either hill the contest fed; 

Still down the slope they drew. 
The chars;e of columns paused not. 
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot; 

For all that war could do, 
Of skill and force, was proveil that day, 
And turned not yet the doubtful fray 
On bloodv Waterloo. 
IX. 
Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were thine,^ 
When ceaseless from the distant line 

Continued thunders came! 
Each burgher held his breath to hear 
These forenmners of havoc near. 

Of rapine and of ilame. 
What ghastly sights were thine to meet. 
When rolling throvigh thy stately street. 
The wounded sliowcd their mangled plight 
In token of the unfinished fight, 
And from each anguish-laden wain 
The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain! 
How often in the distant drum 
Heard 'st thou the fell iuvader come. 
While ruin, shouting to his band. 
Shook high her torch and gory brand! — 
Cheer thee, fair city ! from yon stand, 
Impatient, still his outstretched hand 

Points to his prey in vain, 
While maddening in his eager mood, 
And all unwont to be withstood, 
He fires the fight again. 
X, 
" On! On!" was still his stern exdaim, 
" Confront the battery's jaws of flame! 

Rush on the levelled gun l^ 
My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance! 
Each Hulau forward with his lance, 
My guard — ray chosen — charge for France, 

France and Napoleon ! " 
Loud answered their acclaiming shout. 
Greeting the mandate which sent out 
Their bravest and their best to dare 
The fate their leader shunned to share.4 
IJut he, his country's sword and shield, 
Still in the battle-front revealed. 
Where danger fiercest swept the field. 

Came like a beam of light, 
In action prompt, in sentence brief — 
" Soldiers, stand firm!" exclaimed the chief, 
"England shall tell the fight! "5 
XI. _ 
On came the whirlwind — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of tempest blast — 
On came the whirlwind — steel gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke. 

The war was waked anew; 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roai'ed loud. 
And from their throats, with flash and cloud, 

Tlieir showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in full career. 
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier. 
The lancer couched his ruthless spear. 
And hurrying as to havoc near. 
The cohorts' eagles flew. 
In one dark torrent, broad and strong, 
The .advancing onset rolled along, 
Forth harbingercd by fierce acclaim, 
That from the shroud of smoke and flame, 
Pealiil wildly the imperial name. 



XII. 

But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host; 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude. 
Nor was one forward footstep staid. 
As dropped the dying and the dead. 
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, 
^ Fast tiiey renewed each serried square; 
' And on the wounded and the slain 
Closed their diminished files again. 
Till from their line scarce spears' length three,. 
Emerging from the smoke they see 
Helmet, and plume, and panoply — 

Then waked their fire at once I 
Each musketeer's revolving knell, 
As fast, as regularly fell. 
As when they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down were the eagle banners sent, 
Down reeling steeds and riders went. 
Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; 

And to augment tlie fray, 
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks. 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the rausket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds-= 
As plies the smith his clanging trade. 
Against the cuirass rang the biade;^ ^ 

And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way. 
And while amid their scattered band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Redofled in common rout and "fear, 
Lancer, and guard, and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot — a mingled host, 
Their leaders fall'n, their standards lost. 

XUI. 
Then, Weliington! thy piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destiny. 

The British host had stood 
That morn 'gainst charge of sword and lance. 
As their own ocean-rocks hold stance. 
But when thy voice had said, " Advance!" 

They were their ocean's flood. — 
O thou, whose inauspicious aim 
Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide 
The terrors of yon rushing tide? 
Or will thy choseii brook to feel 
The British shock of levelled steel?'' 

Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrons gleam afar. 
And fresher thunders wake the war. 

And other standards fly? — 
Think not that in yon columns file 
Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle — 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Ot dwells not in thy memory still, 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,) 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

In Prussia's trumpet tone? 
What yet remains' — shall it be thine 
To head the relics of thy line 

In one dread effort more? — 
The Koman lore thy leisure loved. 
And thou can'st tell what fortune proved 

That chieftain, who, of yore. 
Ambition's dizzy paths essayed, 
And with the gladiator's aid 



384 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



1 



For empire enterprised — 
He stood the cast bis rashness played, 
Left not the victims he had made, 
Dug his red grave with his own blade, 
And on the field he lost was laid. 

Abhorred — but not despised. 
XIV. 
But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety — howsoever bought, , 

Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, 
Though tv/ice ten thousand men have died 

On this eventful day. 
To gild the military fame, 
Which thou, for life, in traffick tame 

Wilt barter thus away. 
Shall future ages tell this tale 
Of inconsistence faint and frail? 
And art thou he of Lodi's bridge, 
Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge! 

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide. 
That, swelled by winter storm and shower, 
Rolls down in turbulence of power 

A torrent fierce and wide; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean, and poor, 

Whose channel shows displayed 
The wrecks of its impetuous course, 
But not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made. 
XV. 
Spur on thy way ! — since now thine ear 
Has brooked thy veterans' wish to hear, 

Who, as thy flight they eyed. 
Exclaimed — while tears of anguish camq. 
Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame— 

" Oh that he had but died !'"' 
But yet, to sum this liour of ill, 
Look, ere thou Icav'st the fatal hill, 

Back on yon broken ranks — 
Upon whose wild confusion gleams 
The moon, as on the troubled streams 

When rivers break their banks, 
And, to the ruined peasant's eye, 
Objects half seen roll swiftl)' by, 

Down the dread current hurled — 
So mingle banner, wain, and gun. 
Where the tumultuous flight rolls on 
Of warriors, who, when morn begun. 

Defied a banded world. 
XVI. 
List — frequent to the hurrying rout, 
The stern pursuers' vengeful shout 
Tells, that upon their broken rear 
Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 

So fell a shriek was none, 
When Beresina's icy flood 
Reddened and thawed with flame and blood, 
And, pressing on tliy desperate way, 
Raised oft and long their wild hurra, 

The children of the Don. 
Thine ear no yell of liorror cleft 
So ominous, when, all bereft 
Of aid, the valiant Polack left — 
Ay, left by thee — found soldier's grave 
In Leipsic's corse-encumbered wave. 
Fate, in these various perils past. 
Reserved thee still some future cast; — 
On the dread die thou now hast thrown 
Hangs not a single field alone. 
Nor one campaign — thy martial fame. 
Thy emjjire, dynasty, and name. 

Have felt the final stroke; 



And now, o'er thy devoted head 
The last stern vial's wrath is shed, 

The last dread seal is broke. 
XVII. 
Since live thou wilt — refuse not now 
Before these demagogues to bow. 
Late objects of tliy scorn and hate, 
Who shall thy once imperial fate 
Make wordy theme of vain debate. — 
Or shall we say, thou stoop 'st less low 
In seeking refuge from the foe, 
Against whose heart, in prosperous life. 
Thine hand hath ever held the knife? 

Such homage hath been paid 
By Roman and by Grecian voice. 
And tliei'e were honour in the choice, 

If it were freely made. 
Then safely come — in one so low. 
So lost — we cannot own a foe; 
Though dear experience bid us end, 
In thee we ne'er can hail a friend. 
Come, howsoe'ei- — but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of pride, 
Erewhile by gifted bard espied, 

That " yet imperial hope;" 
Think not that for a fresh rebound, 
I'o raise ambition from the ground, 

We yield thee means or scope. 
In safety come — but ne'er again 
Hold type of independent reign; 

No islet calls thee lord, 
We leave thee no confederate band. 
No symbol of thy lost command. 
To be a dagger in the hand 

From which we wrenched the sword. 
XVlII. 
Yet, e'en in yon sequestered spot. 
May worthier conquest be thy lot 

Than yet thy life has known; 
Conquest, unbought by blood or Iiarm, 
That needs not foreign aid nor arm, 

A triumph all thine own. 
Such waits thee when thou shall control 
Those passions wild, that stubborn soul. 

That marred thy prosperous scene: 
Hear this — from no unmoved heart. 
Which sighs, comparing what thou art 

With what thou might'st have been! 
XIX. 
Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed 
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude. 
To thine own noble heart must owe 
More than the meed she can bestow. 
For not a people's just acclaim, 
Not the full hail of Europe's fame. 
Thy prince's smiles, thy state's decree. 
The ducal rank, the gartered knee. 
Not these such pure delight afford, 
As that, when, hanging up thy sword. 
Well may'st thou think, " This honest steel 
Was ever drawn for public weal; 
And, such was rightful heaven's decree, 
Ne'er sheathed unless with victory!" 

XX. 
Look forth, once more, with softened heart, 
Ere from the field of fame we parl^ 
Triumph and Sorrow border near. 
And Joy oft melts into a tear. 
Alas! what links of love that mom 
Has War's rude Iiand asunder torn ! 
For ne'er was field so sternly fought, 
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought- 



1 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



385 



Here, piled in common slaughter, sleep 
Those whom aiVection long shall weep; 
Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain 
His orphans to his heart again; 
The son, whom, on his native shore. 
The parent's voice shall bless no more; 
The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed 
His blushing consort to iiis breast; 
The husband, whom, through many a year. 
Long love and mutual faith endear. 
Thou canst not name one tender tie 
But here, dissolved, its relics lie ! 
O, when thou seest some mourner's veil 
Shroud her thin form and visage pale, 
Or mark'st the matron's bursting tears 
Stream when the stricken drum she hears; 
Or seest how manlier grief, suppressed, 
Is labouring in a father's breast, — 
With no inquiry vain pursue 
The cause, but think on Waterloo! 

XXI. 
Period of honour as of woes. 
What bright careers 'twas thine to close!— 
Marked on thy roll of blood what names 
To Britain's memory, and to Fame's, 
Laid there their last immortal claims! 
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire 
Viedoubted Picton's soul of fire— 
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie 
All that of Ponsonby could die — 
De Lancy change Love's bridal wreath 
For laurels from the hand of death — 
Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners fly, 
And Cameron, in the shock of steel, 
Die like the oifspring of Lochiel; 
And genei-ous Gordon, 'mid the strife. 
Fall while he watched his leader's life. — 
Ah ! though her guardian angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the field, 
Fate not the less her power made known 
Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own! 

XXII. 
Forgive, brave dead, th' imperfect lay; 
Who may your names, your number, say, 
What high-strung harp, what lofty line, 
To each the dear-earned praise assign, 
From high-born chiefs of martial fame 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day. 
From your cold couch of swamp and clay, 
To fill, before the sun was low. 
The bed that morning cannot know. 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep, 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep, 

Till time shall cease to run; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave 
.May Briton pass, and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave. 

Who fought with Wellington ! 

XXlll. 

Farewell, sad field! whose blighted face 
Wears desolation's withering trace; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shattered huts and trampled grain, 
With every mark of martial wrong, 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hotigoumont! 
Yet though thy gardens green arcade 
The marksman's fatal post was made, 
I'hoagh on thy shattered beeches fell 
riic blended rage of shot and shell. 



Though from thy blackened portals torn, 
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, 
Has not such havoc bought a name 
Immortal in the rolls of fame ! 
Yes — Agincourt may be forgot. 
And Cressy be an unknown spotj. 

And Blenheim's name be newj 
But still in story and in song. 
For many an age remembered long. 
Shall live the towers of Hougoumont, 

And field of Waterloo. 



CONCI.XJSION. 

Stem tide of human Time! that know'st not rest, 

But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast 

Successive generations to their doom; 
While thy capacious stream has equal room 

For the gaybark where jileasure's streamers sport. 
And for the" prison-ship of guilt and gloom. 

The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court. 
Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port. 

Stern tide of time ! through what mysterious change 

Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven ? 
For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange 

Was to one race of Adam's oifspring given. 
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven. 

Such unexpected bursts of joy and wo. 
Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, 

Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know. 
Until the awful term when thou shalt cease to flow. 

Well hast thou stood, my country ! — the brave fight 

Hast well maintain'd through good report and ill; 
In thy just cadse and in thy native might. 

And in heaven's gi-ace and justice constant still. 
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill 

Of half the world against thee, stood array 'd, 
Or when, with better views and freer will, 

Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade. 
Each emulous in arms the ocean queen to aid. 

Well thou art now repaid — though slowly rose, 

And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, 
While like the dawn that in the orient glows 

On the broad wave its earlier lustre came; 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame. 

And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ra}', 
Where first the soldier, stung with gen'rous shame, 

Rivall'd the heroes of the watery way. 
And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach away. 

Now, Island empress, wave thy crest on high, 

And bid the banner of thy patron flow. 
Gallant saint George, the flower of chivalry ! 

For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe. 
And rescued innocence from overthrow. 

And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might. 
And to the gazing world mayst proudly show 

The chosen emblem of thy sainted knight, 
Who quell'd devouring pride, and vindicated right. 

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown. 

Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired 
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down; 

'Tis not alone the heai-t with valour fired. 
The discipline so dreaded and admired. 

In many a field of bloody conquest known; 
— Such may by fame be lured — by gold be hired — 

'Tis constancy in the good cause alone. 
Best justifies the meed tiiy valiant sons have won. 



386 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



NOTES. 

1. The peasant, at his labour blith, 

Plies the hook'tl staff aiitl shortened sithe. — P. 382. 
The reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand 
a stick with an iron liook, with which he collects 
as much grain as he can cut at one sweep with a 
short sithe, which he holds in his right hand. They 
carry on this double process with great spirit and 
dexterity. 

2. Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine.— P. 383. 
It was affirmed by the prisoners of war,that Bo- 
naparte had promised his arm)', in case of victory, 
twenty -four hours' plunder of the city of Brussels. 
3. " Confront the battery's jaws of flame! 

Rush on the levell'd gun." — P. 383. 
The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was 
never more fully displayed than in what we may 
be permitted to hope will prove the last of his 
fields. He would listen to no advice, and allow 
of no obstacles. An eye-witness has given the fol- 
lowing account of his demeanour towards the end 
of the action: — 

" It was near seven o'clock; Bonaparte, who, 
till then, had remained upon the ridge of the hill 
•whence he could best behold what passed, con- 
templated, with a stern countenance, the scene of 
this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles 
seemed to multiply, the moreliis obstinacy seemed 
to increase. He became indignant at these unfor- 
seen difiiculties; and, far from fearing to push to 
extremities an army whose confidence in him was 
boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, 
and to give orders to march forward — to charge 
■with the b.'iyonet — to carry by storm. He was re- 
peatedly informed, from different points, that the 
day went against him, and that the troops seemed 
to be disordered; to which he only replied, — ' En 
avant! en avantP 

" One general sent to inform the emperor that 
he was in a position which he could not maintain, 
because it was commanded by a battery, and re- 
quested to know, at the same time, in what way he 
should protect his division from the murderous 
fire ofthe English artillery. ' Let him storm the 
battery,' replied Bonaparte, and turned his back 
on the aid-de-camp who brought the message." — 
Relation de la bataille du Mont saint-Jean, par 
un T^moin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 8vo. p. 51. 
4. The fate theiv leader shunn'd to share. — P. 383. 
It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at 
the head of his guards at the last period of this 
dreadful conflict. This, however, is not accurate. 
He came down, indeed, to a hollow part of the 
high-road leading to Charleroi, within less than a 
quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, 
one ofthe points most fiercely disputed. Here he 
harangued the guards, and informed them that his 
preceding operation's had destroyed the British in- 
fantry and cavalry, and that they had only to sup- 
port the fire of the artillery, which they were to 
attack witli the bayonet. This exhortation was re- 
ceived willi shouts of Vive VF.mpereur, which were 
heard over all our line, and led to an idea that 
Napoleon was cliarging in person. But the guards 
were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach 



nearer the scene of action than the spot already 
mentioned, which the rising banks on each side 
rendered secure from all such balls as did not come 
in a straight line. He witnessed the earlier part 
of the bi^ttle from places yet more remote, parti- 
cularly from an observatory which had been placed 
there by the king ofthe Netherlands, some weeks 
before, for the purpose of surveying the country,* 
It is not meant to infer from these particulars that 
Napoleon showed on that memorable occasion, the 
least deficiency in personal courage; on the con- 
trary, he evinced the greatest composure and pre- 
sence of mind during the whole action. But it is 
no less true that report has erred in ascribing to 
him any desperate eftbrts of valour for recovery of 
the battle; and it is remarkable, that during the 
whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed 
or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the duke of 
Wellington's personal attend.ints escaped unhurt. 

5. " England shall tell the fight.— P. 383." 

In riding up to a regiment which was hard press- 
ed, the duke called to the men, " Soldiers, we 
must never be beat, — what will they say In Eng- 
land?" It is needless to say how this appeal was 
answered. 

6. As jilies the smith his clanging trade. 
Against the cuirass rang the blade.— P. 383. 

A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared 
the sound which took place immediately upon the 
British cavalry mingling with those ofthe enemy, 
to " a thousand tinkers at -work mending pots and 
kettles." 

7. Or will thy chosen brook to feel 

The iBritish shock of levclfd steel.— P. 383. 
No persuasion or authority could prevail upon 
the French troops to stand the shock of the bayo- 
net. The imperial guards, in particular, hardly 
stood still till the British were within thirty yardsot 
them, although the French author, already quoted, 
has put into their mouths the magnanimous senti- 
ment, " The guards never yield — they die." The 
same^author has covered the plateau, or eminence 
of St. Jean, which formed the British position, 
with redoubts and entrenchments which never had 
an existence. As the narrative, which is in many 
respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, 
he was probably deceived by the appearance of a 
road and ditch which runs along part of the hill. 
It may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, 
that the writer states the chateau of Hougoumont 
to have been carried by the French, although it 
was resolutely and successfully defended during 
the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed 
themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, 
and at length set fire to the house itself; but the 
British (a detachment of the guards, under the 
command of colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards 
of colonel Home,) made good the garden, and thus 
preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post 
wliich covered the return of the duke of Welling- 
ton's right flank. 



* The mistakes concerning this observatory have been 
mutual. The English supposed it was erected for the use 
of Bonaparte; and a French writer aftrjns it was con- 
structed by the duke of Wellington. , 



mnmon mm; 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY. 



Knights, squires, and steeds, shall enter on the stage. 
> Essay on Criticism, 



TO JOANNA BAILUE, 

AT WHOSE INSTANCE THE TASK WAS UNDERTAKEN, 

THESE SCENES ABE IITSCRIBEI), AS A SlIGHT TESTOIONY OF THE Af THOR's HIGU RESPECT FOR HER 
TALENTS, AS WELL AS OF HIS SINCERE AOT) FilTHFUL FRIENDSHIP. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

Though the public seldom takes much interest 
in such comm\u\ications, (nor is there any reason 
why they slioulii,) the author takes the liberty of 
stating, that these scenes were commenced with 
the purpose of contributing to a miscellany pre- 
lected by a much esteemed friend. But instead of 
being confined to a scene or two as intended, the 
work gradually swelled to the size of an independ- 
ent publication. It is designed to illusti-ate mili- 
tary antiquities, and the manners of chivaliy. The 
drama (if it can be termed one) is in no particular 
either uesignedor calculated for the stage; so that 
in case any attempt shall be made to produce it in 
action (as has happened in similar cases,) the au- 
thor takes the present opportunity to intimate, 
that it shall be solely at the peril of those who 
make such an experiment. 

The subject is to be found in Scottish history; 
but not to overload so slight a publication with 
antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure 
chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the 
following passage from Pmkerlmi's Jtistori/ of 
Scotland, vol. i, p. 71. 

" The governor (aimo 1402) dispatched a con- 
siderable force under Murdac, his eldest son; the 
earls of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, 
■who entered England with an army of ten thousand 
men, carrymg terror and devastation to the walls 
of Newcastle. 

" Henry lY was now engaged in the Welch war 
against Owen (ilendour; but the earl of Northum- 
berland, and ills son, the Hotspur Perc)% with the 
earl of Marcli, collected a numerous array, and 
awaited the return of the Scots, impeded with 
spoil, near Milfield, in the north part of North- 
umberland. Douglas had reached Wooler on liis 
return; and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong 
post between the two armies, called Homildon- 
liill. In this method he rivalled his predecessor 
at the battle of Otterburn, but not with like suc- 
cess. The English advanced to the assault, and 
Henry Percy was about to lead them up the hill, 
when March caught his bridle, and advised him 
to advance no farther, but to pour the dreadful 
shower of English arrows into the enemy. This 
advice was followed with the usual fortune; for in 
all ages the bow was the English weapon of vic- 
tory, and though the Scots, and perhaps the French, 
were superior in the use of the spear, yet this wea- 
pon was useless after the distant bow had decided 
the combat. Robert the Great, sensible of this at 
the battle of Bannockburn, ordered a prepared 
detachment of cavalry to rush among the English 



archers at the commencement, totally to disperse 
them, and stop the deadly effusion. But Douglas 
now used no such precaution; and the conscciuence 
was, that his people, drawn up on the face of the 
hill, presented one general mark to tlie enemy, 
none of whose arrows descended in vain. Tlie 
Scots fell without fight, and unrevenged, till a 
spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, ' O 
my brave countrymen! M'hat fascination has seized 
you to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, 
instead of indulging your ancient courage, and 
meeting your enemies hand to hand? Let those 
who will, descend with me, that we may gain 
victoiy, or life, or fall like men.' This being heard 
by Adam Gordon, between whom and Swinton 
there existed an ancient deadly feud, attended 
with the mutual slaughter of many followers, he 
instantly fell on his knees before Swinton, begged 
his pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by 
him whom he must now regard as the wisest and 
the boldest of that order in Britain. The ceremony 
performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the 
hill, accompanied only by one hundred men; and 
a desperate valour led the whole body to death. 
Had a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish 
army, it is probable that the event of tlie day would 
have been different. Douglas, who was certainly 
deficient in the most important qualities of a ge- 
neral, seeing his army begin to disperse, at length 
attempted to descend the hill; but the English 
archers, retiring a little, sent a flight of arrows so 
sharp and strong, that no armour could withstand; 
and the Scottish leader himself, whose panoply 
was of remarkable temper, fell under five wounds, 
though not mortal. The English men-of-arms, 
knights, or squires, did not strike one blow, but 
remained spectators of the rout, which was now 
complete. Great numbers of Scots were slain, and 
near five hundred perished in the river Tweed 
upon their flight. Among the illustrious wounded 
were Douglas, whose chief wound deprived him 
of an eye; Murdac, son of Albany; the earls of 
Moray and Angus; and about four gentlemen of 
eminent rank and pow er. The chief slain, were, 
Swinton, Gordon, Livingstonof Calender, Ramsay 
of Dalhousie, Walter Sincjair, Roger Gordon, 
Walter Scott, and others. Slich was the issue of 
the unfortunate battle of Homildon." 

It may be proper to observe, that the scene of 
action has, in the following pages, been transferred 
from Homildon to Halidon Hill. For tliis there 
was an obvious reason, for who would again ven- 
ture to introduce upon tiie scene the celebrated 
Hotspur, who commanded the English at the for- 



388 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



mer battle i" There are, however, several coinci- 
dences which may reconcile e>en the severer an- 
tiquary to the substitution of Halidon Hill for 
Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by the 
English on both occasions, and under nearlj' the 
same circumstances of address on the part of the 
victors, and mismanagement on that of the van- 
quished, for the English long-bow decided the 
day in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon 
was left on tiie field of battle; and at Halidon, as 
at Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an 
ill-fated re|)resentative of the great house of Dou- 
glas. He of Homildon was surnamed Tine-man, 
i. e. Loseman, from his repeated, defeats and mis- 
carriages, and with all the personal valour of his 
race, seems to have enjoj'ed so small a portion of 
their sagacity, as to be unable to learn military 
experience from reiterated calamjtj'. I am tar, 
however, from intimating, that the traits of im- 
becility and envy, attributed to the regent m the 
following sketch, are to be historically ascribed 
either to the elder Douglas of Halidon Hill, or to 
him called Tine-man, who seems to have enjoyed 
the respect of his countrymen, notwithstanding 
that, like the celebrated Anne de Montmorency, 
he was either defeated, or wounded, or made pri- 
soner in every battle which he fought. The regent 
of the sketch is a character purely imaginary. 

The tradition of the Swinton famil)', which still 
survives in a lineal descent, and to which the au- 
thor has the honour to be related, avers, that the 
Swinton who fell at Homildon, in the manner nar- 
rated in the preceding extract, had slain Gordon's 
father; which seems sufficient ground for adopting 
that circumstance into the following Dramatic 
Sketch, tliough it is rendered improbable by other 
authorities. 

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at 
Froissart, Fordun, or other historians of the pe- 
riod, he will find, that the character of the lord of 
Swinton, for strength, courage, and conduct, is by 
no means exaggerated. 

DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
SCOTTISH. 
The Regent of Scotland. 

GOKDON, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

sutrerlanb, 

Ross, 

Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

LiNDESAT. 

Adam de Vipont, a Kmght Templar. 

The Prior of Maison-Dieu. 

Retnald, S-ivinton''s Squire. 

HoB Hattelt, a Jiorder J\loss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King Edward HI. 
Chandos, -^ 

Percy, t English and JVorman JVobles. 

Ribaumont. 3 . • 
The Abbot of Walthamstow. 



y Scottish chiefs andnobles. 



HALIDON HILL. 

ACT L 

SCENE I. 

The northern side of the eminence of Halidon. The 
back scene represents tlic summit of the ascent. 



occupied by the rear guard oj the Scottish aiiny. 
Bodies of armed men appear as advancing from 
different points to join t/ie main body. 

Enter De Vipont and the Prior of Maison-Dieu. 
Vip. No farther, fathei- — here 1 need no guid- 
ance — 
I have already brought your peaceful step 
Too near the verge of battle. 

Pri, Fain would I see you join some baron's 
banner. 
Before I say farewell. The hoOour'd sword 
That fouglit so well in Syria should not wave 
Amid the ignoble crowd. 

Vip. Each spot is noble in a pitched field, 
So that a man has room to fight and fall on't: 
But I shall find out friends. 'Tis scarce twelve 

years 
Since 1 left Scotland for the wars of Palestine, 
And then the flower of all the Scottish nobles 
Were known to me; and I, in my degree, 
Not all unknown to them. 

Pri. Alas ! there have been changes since that 
time; 
The royal Bruce, with Randolph, Douglas, Gra- 

hame. 
Then shook in field the banners which now moul- 
der 
Over their graves i' the chancel. 

Vip. And thence comds it, 

That while I look'd on many a well-known crest 
And blazon'd shield, as hitherward \ve came, 
The faces of the barons who display'd them 
Were all unknown to me. Brave youths they 

seem'd; 
Yet, surely fitter to adorn the tilt-yard, 
Than to be leaders of a war. Their followers, 
Young like themselves, seem like themselves un- 
practised — 
Look at their battle rank. 

Pri. I cannot gaze on't with undazzled eye. 
So thick the rays dart back from shield and helmet. 
And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennon. 
Sure 'tis a gallant show ! the Bruce himself 
Hath often conquered at the head of fewer 
And worse appointed followers. 

Vip. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. Rever- 
end father, 
'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat; 
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it. 
Ill fate, that we should lack the noble king. 
And all his champions now.' Time call'd them not, 
.For when I parted hence for Palestine, 
The brows of most were free from grizzled hair. 
Pri. Too true, alas! But well you know, in 
Scotland, 
Few hairs are silver'd underneath the helmet; 
'Tis cowls like mine which hide them. 'Mongst 

the laity. 
War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his sickle 
Before the grain is white. In threescore years 
And ten, which I have seen, I liave outlived 
Well nigh two generations of our nobles. 
The race which holds yon summit is the third. 
Vip. Thou may'st outlive them also. 
Pri. Heaven forefend ! 

My prayer shall be, that heaven will close my eyes. 
Before they look upon the wrath to come. 

Vip. Retire, retire, good father .'—Pray for Scot- 
land — 
Think not on me. Here comes an ancient friend, 
Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me. 
Back to your choir, assemble all your brotherhood. 



I 



HALIDON HILL. 



589 



And weary heaven with prayers for victory. 

PH. Heaven's blessing; rest with thee. 
Champion of heaven, and of thy sufiering country ! 
\_Ej:it Pmou. Vipont draws a little aside, 
arid lets down the beaver of his helmet. 
Enter Swintox, followed by Reystald a7id others, 
to whom he speaks as he enters. 
S\i-in. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till the 
regent 
Assign our band its station in the host. 

Rey. That must be by the standard. We have had 
That right since good saint David's reign at least. 
Fain would 1 see the Marcher would dispute it. 
Swin. Peace, Reynald! Where, the general 
plants the soldier, 
There is his place of honour, and there only 
His valour can win worship. Thou'rt of those. 
Who would have war's dee^ art bear the wild 

semblance 
Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell. 
Each trusting to the swiftness of his horse. 
Gallants press on to see the quarry fall. 
Yon steel-clad Southrons, Reynald, are no deer; 
And England's Edward is no stag at bay. 

Vip. {advancing.) There needed not, to blazen 
forth the Swinton, 
His ancient bui'gonet, the sable boar 
Chain'd to the gnarled oak, — nor his proud step. 
Nor giant stature, nor the ponderous mace, 
Which only he of Scotland's realm can wield: 
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader, 
As doth his frame the champion. Hail, brave 
Swinton! 
Swin. Brave templar, thanks ! Such your cross'd 
shoulder speaks you; 
But the closed visor, which conceals your features. 
Forbids more knowledge. Urafraville, perhaps — 
Vip. [unclosing his helmet.) No; one less worthy 
of our sacred order. 



In twelve years' space ! — And thy brave sons, sir 

Alan, 
Alas ! I fear to ask. 

Swin. All slain, de Vipont. In my empty home 
A puny babe lisps to a widow'd mother, 
" Where is my grandsire ? wherefore do you weep ?" 
But for that prattler, Lyulph's house is heirless. 
I'm an old oak, from wjiich the foresters 
Havehew'd four goodly boughs, and left beside me 
Only a sapling, which the fawn may crush 
As he springs oyer it. 

Vip. All slain— alas ! 

Swin. Ay, all, De Vipont. Aiid their attributes, 
John with the Long Spear — Archibald with the 

Axe — 
Richard the Ready — and my youngest darling. 
My Fair-haired \V'illiam — do but now survive 
In measures which the gray-hair'd minstrels sing, 
When they make maidens weep. 

Vip. These wars with England, they have rooted 
out 
The flowers of Christendom. Knights, who might 

win 
The sepulchre of Christ from the rude heathen, 
Fall in unholy wariare! 

Swin. Unholy warfare? av, well hast thou named 
it; 
But not with England — would her cloth-yard shafts 
Had bored their cuirasses! Their lives had been 
Lost like their grandsires', in the bold defence 
Of their dear country — but in private feud 
With the proud Gordon, fell ray Long-spear'd Jolm, 
He with the Axe, and he men call'd the Ready, 
Ay, and my Fair-hair'd Will — the Gordon's wrath 
Devour'd my gallant issue. 

Vip. Since thou dost weep, their death is una- 
venged? 

Swin. Templar, what think'st thou me? See 
yonder rock. 



Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch'd my features From which the fountain gushes — is it less 



Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton 
Will welcome Symon Vipont. 

SwiJi. [embracing him. ) As the blith reaper 
Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest 
Lies deep before him, and the sun is high. 
Thou 'It follow yon old pennon, wilt thou not? 
'Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the hoarheads 
Look as if brought from off some christmas board. 
Where knives had notch'd them deeply. 

Vip. Have with them ne'ertheless. The Stuart's 
cliequer. 
The bloody heart of Douglas, Ross's lymphads, 
Sutherland's wild-cats, nor the royal lion. 
Rampant in golden tressure, wins me from them. 
We'll back the hoar-heads bravely. 1 see round 

them 
A chosen band of lances — some well known to me. 
Where's the main body of thy followers? 

Swi7i. Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all 
That Swinton's bugle-horn can call to battle, 
However loud it rings. There's not a boy 
Left in my halls, wliose arm has strength enough 
To bear a sword — there's not a man behind, 
However old, who moves without a staff. 
Striplings and graybeards, every one is here, 
And here all should be — Scotland needs them all: 
And more and better men, were each a Hercules, 
And yonder handful centuplied. 

Vip. A thousand followers — such, with friends 
and kinsmen. 
Allies and vassals, thou wert wont to lead— 
A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances 



Compact of adamant, tliough waters flow from it? 
Firm hearts havomoister eyes. Theyareavenged; 
I wept not till they were — till the proud Gordon 
Had with his life-blood dyed my father's sword. 
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's lineage, 
And then I wept my sons; and, as the Gordon 
Lay at ray feet, there was a tear for hira. 
Which mingled with the i-est. — We had been 

friends. 
Had shared the banquet and the chase together, 
Fought side by side, — and our first cause of strife. 
Wo to the pride of both, was hut a light one. 
Vip. You are at feud, then, with the mighty 

Gordon? 
Swin. At deadly feud. Here in this border-land 
Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the son. 
As due a part of his inheritance, 
As the strong castle, and the ancient blazon. 
Where private vengeance holds the scales of justice. 
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously 
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence. 
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and saint Abb's, 
Rages a bitterer feud th.-m mine and their's. 
The Swinton and the Gordon. 

Vip. You, with some threescore lances — and the 
Gordon 
Leading a thousand followers. 

Swin. You rate him far too low. Since you 
sought Palestine, 
He hath had grants of baronies and lordships 
I In the far-distant north. A thousand horse 
I His southern friends and vassals ;dways numbcr'd. 



390 



SeOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Add Badenoch kerne, and horse from Dee and 

Spey, 
He'll count a thousand more. — And now, De Vi- 

pont, 
If the boar-hc.'ids seem in your eyes less worthj^. 
For lack of followers — seek yonder standard — 
The bounding stag, with a brave host around it: 
There the yoimg Gordon makes bis earliest field, 
And pants to win bis spurs. His father's friend. 
As well as mine, thou wert — go, join his pennon, 
And grace him with thy presence. 

Vip. When you were friends, I was the friend 
of both. 
And now I can be enemy to neither; 
But my poor person, though but slight the aid, 
Joins on this field the banner of the two 
Which hath the smallest following. 

Stvin. Spoke like tlie generous knight, who 
gave up all. 
Leading and lordsldp, in a heathen land 
To figlit a christian soldier — yet, in earnest, 
1 pray, De Yipont, you would join the Gordon 
In this high battle. 'Tis a noble youth, 
So fame doth vouch him, — amorous, quick, and 

valiant; 
Takes knighthood, too, tliis day, and well may use 
His spurs too rashly in the wish to win tliem, 
A friend like tliee beside him in tlie figlit. 
Were worth a hundred spears, to rein his valour 
And temper it with prudence; — 'tis the aged eagle 
Teaches his brood to gaze upon the sun, 
With eye undazzled. 

Vip. Alas, brave Swinton, wouldst thou train 
the hunter 
That soon must bring thee to the bay? your cus- 
tom, 
Your most unchristian, savage, fiend-like custom, 
Binds Gordon to avenge his father's deatli. 

SwLn. Why, be it so! I look for nothing else: 
My part was acted when I slew his father. 
Avenging my four sons— Young Gordon's sword, 
If it sliould find my heart, can ne'er inflict there 
A pang so poignant as his fatlier's did. 
But I would perish by a noble hand. 
And such will his be if he bear him nobly, 
Nobly and wisely on this field of Halidon. 
Enter a pursuivant. 

Pursjiivant. Sir knights, to council! — 'tis the 
regent's order, 
That knights and menofleadingmeet him instantly 
Before the royal standard. Edward's army 
Is seen from the hill summit. 

Sv>m. Say to the regent, we obey his orders. 

[Exit i'unsuiVANT. 
[To Retnalb.] Hold thou my casque, and furl my 

pennon up 
Close to the staff. I will not show my crest. 
Nor standard, till the common foe shall challenge 

them. 
I'll wake no civil strife, nor tempt the Gordon 
With aught that's like defiance. 

Vip. Will he not know your features? 

Swill. He never saw rac. In the distant north. 
Against his will 'tis said, his friends detain'd him 
During his nurture — caring not, belike. 
To trust a pledge so precious near the boar-tusks. 
It was a natural but needless caution: 
I wage no war with children, for I tliink 
Too deeply on mine own. 

Vip. I have thought on it, and will see the Gor- 
don 
As we go hence to council. I do be<ir 



I A cross, which binds me to be christian priest. 
As well as christian champion. God may grant, 
That I, at once his father's friend and yours, 
May make some peace betwixt you. 

(Swm. When that your priestly zeal, and knight- 
ly valour. 
Shall force the grave to render up the dead. 

[Exfiimt severally. 

SCENF, II. 

The summit of Halidon Hill, before the re§'eiit''s 
tent. The royal standard of Scotland is seen in 
the back ground, -witii tlie pennons and banners 
of the principal nobles around it. 
Council of -Scottish nobles and cMefs. Sutheh- 
XAND, Ross, Lennox, Maxweli, and other no- 
bles of the highest rank, are close to the Rehent's 
person, and in the act fif keen debate. Vipont, 
ivilh Gordon and others, remain grouped at some 
distance on the nglit hand of tlie stage. On the 
I ft, standing also apart, is Swinton, alone and 
bare-headed. Tlie nobles are dressed in liighland 
orlo-wland habits, as Idstoricalcostwnereqidres. 
Trumpets, Heralds, &c. are in attendance. 
Len. Nay, lordings, put no shame upon my 
counsels; 
I did but say, if we retired a little, 
We should have fairer field and better vantage. 
I've seen king Robert, — ay, the Bruce himself — 
Retreat six leagues in length, and think no shame 
on't. 
Reg. Ay, but king Edward sent a haughty mes- 
sage, 
Defying us to battle on this field. 
This very hill of Halidon; if we leave it 
Unfought withal, it squares not with our honour. 
Sidn. {apart.) A perilous honour, that allows 
the enemy. 
And such an enemy as this same Edward, 
To choose our field of battle! He knows liow 
To make our Scottish pride betray its master 
Into the pitfall. [During tids speech the debate 1 
among the nobles seems to coniijiue. I 
Suth. [aloiul.) We will not back one furlong • 
— not one yard. 
No, nor one inch; where'er we find the foe, 
Or where the foe finds us, there will we fight him. 
Retreat will dull the spirit of our followers. 
Who now stand prompt for battle. 

Ross. My lords, methinks great Morarchat has 
doubts, 
That, if his northern clang once turn the seam 
or their check'd hose behind, it will be hard 
To halt and rally them. 

Suth. Say'st thou, Mac-Donnell? — add another 
falsehood, 
And name when Morarchat was coward or traitor! 
Thine island race, as chronicles can tell, 
Were oft aftianced to the southern cause; 
Loving the weight and temper of their gold. 
More than the weight and temper of their steel. 
Reg. Peace, my lords, ho! 
Ross, [Tlir owing down his glove.) Mac-Donnell 
will not peace! There lies my pledge, 
Proud Morarchat, to witness thee a liar. 
Max. Brought 1 all Nithsdale from the western 
border; 
Left I my towers exposed to foraying England, 
And thieving Annandale, to see such misrule > 
John. Who speaks of Annandale? Dare Max- 
well slander 
The gentle house of Lochwood ? 

Reg. Peace, lordings, once again. We represent 



i 



HALIDON HILL. 



391 



The majesty of Scotland — in our presence 
Brawling is treason. 

SiUh. Were it in presence of the king himself, 
What should prevent iny saying 

Elltel' LlXDESAT. 

Lind. You must determine quickly. Scarce a 
mile 

Parts our vanguard from Edward's. On tlie plain, 
Bright gleams of armour flash thro' clouds of dust, 
Like stars through frost-mist — steeds neigh, and 

weapons clasli — 
And arrows soon will whistle — the worst sound 
That waits on English war. — You must determine. 
jRe:^. We are determined. We will spare proud 
Edward 
Half of the ground that parts us. — Onward, lords; 
Saint Andrew strike for Scotland! We will lead 
The middle ward ourselves, the royal standard 
Display'd beside us; and beneath its shadow 
Shall the young gallants whom we knight this day. 
Fight for their golden spurs. — Lennox, thou'rt wise. 
And wilt obey command — lead thou the rear. 
Leii. Tiie rear I— why I the rear? The van were 
fitter 
For him who fought abreast with Robert Bruce. 
S-idn. [apart. ) Discretion hath forsaken Lennox 
too! 
The wisdom lie was forty years in gathering 
Has left him in an instant. 'I'is contagious 
Even to witness frenzy. 

Suth. The regent hath determined well. The rear 
Suits him the best who counsell'd our retreat. 
Len. Proud northern thane, the van were soon 
the rear. 
Were thy disordered followers planted there. 

S^ith. Then, for that very word, 1 make a vow, 
By my broad earldom and my father's soul, 
That if 1 have not leading of the van, 
I will not fight to-day ! 

Ross. Morarchat! thou the leading of the vgn! 
Not whilst Mac-Donnell lives. 

Sivin. [apart.) Nay, then a stone would speak. 
[Mdresses the regent.] May't please your grace, 
And yours, great lords, to hear an old man's coun- 
sel. 
That hath seen fights enow. These open bickerings 
Dishearten all our host. If that your grace, 
With these great earls and lords, must needs debate. 
Let the closed tent conceal your disagreement; 
Else 'twill be said, ill fares it with the flock, 
If shepherds wrangle when the wolf is nigh. 
Meg. The old knight counsels well. Let every 
lord 
Or chief, who leads five hundred men or more. 
Follow to council — others are excluded — 
We'll have no vulgar censurers of our conduct. 

[Looking at Swintost. 
Young Gordon, your high rank and numerous fol- 
lowing 
Give you a seat with us, though yet unknighted. 
Gor. 1 pray you pardon me. My youth's unfit 
To sit in cniincil, when that knight's gray hairs 
And wisdom wait without. 

Meg. Do as you will; we deign not bid you twice. 
[The iiEeE\T, Ross, Sutherland, Len- 
nox, Maxwell, fs:c. enter the tent. The 
rest remain grouped about the stage. 
Gor. [observing Swinton.] That helmetless 
old knight, his giant stature, 
His awful accents of rebuke and wisdom. 
Have caught my fancy strangely. He doth seem 
Like to some visiou'il form which 1 have dream 'd of, 

37 



Ijut never saw with waking eyes till now. 
I will accost him, 

Vip. Pray you, do not so; 
Anon I'll give you reason why you should not. 
There's other work in hand ~ 

Gor. 1 will but ask his name. There's in hia 
presence 
Something that works upon me like a spell, 
Or like the feeling made my childish ear 
Doat upon tales of superstitious dread. 
Attracting while they chill'd my heart with fear. 
Now, born the Gordon, I do feel right well 
Pm bound to fe.ir nought earthly— and I fear nought. 

Pll know who this man is 

[Accosts Swinton. 
Sir knight, I pray you, of your gentle courtesy. 
To tell your honour'd name, I am asliamed, 
Being unknown in arms, to say that mine 
Is Adam Gordon. 

Stvin. [sho-ivs emotion, but instantly snbdues it.) 
It is a name that soundeth in ray ear 
Like to a death-knell — ay, and like the call 
Of tlie shrill trumpet to the mortal lists; 
Yet 'tis a name which ne'er hath been dishonour'd, 
And never will, I trust — most surely never 
By such a youth as thou. 

Gor. There's a mysterious courtesy in this. 
And yet it yields no answer to my question, 
I trust, you hold the Gordon )iot unworthy 
To know the name he asks? 

S-ivin. Worthy of all that openness and honour 
May show to friend or foe — but, for my name, 
Vipont will show it you; and, if it sound 
Harsh in your ear, remember that it knells there 
But at your. own request. This day, at least. 
Though seldom wont to keep it in concealment. 
As there's no cause I should, you had not heard it. 

Gor. This strange 

Vip. Tile mystery is needful. Follow me. 

[They retire behind the side scene, 

Swin. [looking after them.) 'Tis a brave youth. 
How blush'd his noble cheek, 
While youthful modesty, and the embarrassment 
Of curiosity, combined with wonder. 
And half suspicion of some slight intended. 
All mingled in the flush; but soon 'twill deepen 
Into revenge's glow. How slow is Vipont! 
I wait the issue, as I've seen spectators 
Suspend the motion even of the eye-lids. 
When the slow gunner, with his lighted match, 
Approach 'd the charged cannon, in" the act 
To waken its dread slumbers. — Now 'tis out; 
He draws his sword, and rushes towards me, 
Who will nor seek nor shun him, 

E)iter Gordon, -withheld by Vipont, 
Vip. Hold, for the sake of heaven!— O, for the 

sake 
Of your dear country, hold!— Has Swinton slain 

your father. 
And must you, therefore, be yourself a parricide ' 
And stand recorded as the selfish traitor. 
Who, in her hour of need, his country's cause 
Deserts, tliat he may wreak a private wrong? 
Look to yon banner — that is Scotland's standard; 
Look to the regent — he is Scotland's general; 
Look to the English — tiiey are Scotland's foemen! 
Bethink thee, tlien, thou art a son of Scotland, 
And think on nought beside, 

Gor. He liatl* come here to brave me! 03"! 

Unhand me! 
Thou canst not be my father's ancient friend, 



392 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



That stand'st 'twixt me and him who slew my fa- 
ther. 
Vip. You know not Swinton. Scarce one pass- 
. ing thought 
Of his high mind was with you; now, his soul 
Is fixed on this day's battle. You might slay him 
At unawares before he saw your blade drawn. 
Stand still, and watch him close. 

Enter JMaxwell/cowj the tent. 

Swin. How go our councils, Maxwell, may I ask? 

j\lax. As wild, as if the very wind and sea 
\Vitli ever}' breeze and every billow battled 
For their precedence. 

S-ivin. Most sure they are possess'd I Some evil 
spirit, 
To mock their valour, robs them of discretion. 
Fie, fie, upon't! — O that Dunfermline's tomb 
Could render up the Bruce! that Spain's red shore 
Could give us back the good lord James of Douglas! 
Or tiiat fierce Randolpli, witii his voice of terror, 
Were here, to awe these brawlers to submission! j 

Vip. {to Gordon.) Thou hast perused him ati 
more leisure now. 

Gor. 1 see llie giant form which all men speak of, 
The stately port — but not the sullen eye, 
"Not the blood-thirsty look, that should belong 
To him tiiat made me orphan. I shall need 
To name my father twice ere 1 can strike 
At such gray hairs, and face of such command; 
Yet my hand clenches on my falchion-hilt, 
In token he shall die. 

Vip. Need I again remind you, that the place 
Permits not private quarrel? 

Gor. I'm calm, I will not seek — nay, I will 
shun it — 
And yet methinks that such debate's the fashion. 
You've heard how taunts, reproaches, and the lie, 
The lie itself, hath ilown from mouth to mouth; 
As if a band of peasants were disputing 
About a foot-ball match, rather than chiefs 
Were ordering a battle. 1 am young. 
And lack experience; tell me, -brave De Vipont, 
Is such the fashion of your wars in Palestine? 

Vip. Such it at times hath been; and then the 
cross 
Hath sunk before the crescent. Heaven's cause 
Won us not victory where wisdom was not. 
Behold yon English host comes slowly on. 
With equal front, rank marshall'd upon rank, 
As if one spirit ruled one moving body; 
The leaders, in their pliices, each prepared 
To charge, support, and rally, as the fortune 
Of changeful battle needs: — then look on ours. 
Broken, disjointed, as the tumbling surges 
Which the winds wake at random. Look on both. 
And dread the issue; — yet there might be succour. 

Gor. We're fearfully o'ermatch'd in discipline; 
So even my inexperienced eye can judge. 
W^hat succour save in heaven? 

Vit}. Heaven acts by human means. The artist's 
skill 
Supplies in war, as in mechanic crafts, 
Deficiency of tools. There's courage, wisdom. 
And skill enough, live in one leader here, 
As, flung into the balance, might avail 
To counterpoise the odds 'twixt that ruled host 
And our wild multitude. — I must not name him. 

Gor. I guess, but dare no}, ask. What band is 
jonder, 
Arranged as closely as the Englisn discipline 
Hath marshall'd their best files? 

Vip. Know'st thou not the pennon' 



One day, perhaps, thoul't see it all too closely, 
It is sir Alan Swinton's. 

Gor. These, then, are his, — the relics of his 
power; 
Yet worth an host of ordinary men. 
And 1 must slay my country's sagest leader, 
And crush by numbers that determined iiandful. 
When most ray country needs their practised aid, 
Or men will say, " There goes degenerate Gordon; 
His father's blood is on the Swinton's sword. 
And his is in his scabbard ! " \_J\luses. 

Vip. {apart.) High blood and mettle, mix'd 
witii early wisdom. 
Sparkle in this brave youth. If he survive 
This evil-omened day, I pawn my word. 
That, in the ruin which 1 now forebode, 
Scotland has treasure left. How close he eyes 
[ Each look and step of Swinton! Is it hate, 
Or is it admiration, or are bolh 
'Commingled strangely in that steady gaze' 

[SwixTON and Maxwell i-etvni from 
the bottom of the slatre. 
Max. The storm is laid at length amongst these 
counsellors: 
See, they come forth. 

Sivin. And it is more than lime; 

For I can mark the van-guard archery 
Handling their quivers — bending up their bows 
Enter the Regent and Scottish lords. 
Reg. Tims shall it be then, since we may no 
better: 
And, since no lord will yield one jot of way 
To this high urgency, or give the van-guard 
Up to another's guidance, we will abide them 
Even on this bent; and as our troops are rank'ti. 
So shall they meet the foe. Chief, nor thane. 
Nor noble, can complain of the precedence 
Which cliance has tlius assign'd him. 

S-MU. {apart.) O, sage discipline. 
That leaves to chance the marshalling of a battle! 
Gor. Move him to speech, De Vipont. 
Vip. Move him\ — Move whom? 
Gor. Even him, whom, but brief space since, 
My hand did burn to put "to utter silence. 

Vip. I'll move it to him. Swinton, speak to 
them. 
They lack thy counsel sorely. 

S-uiin. Had I the thousand spears which once 1 
led, 
I had not thus been silent. But men's wisdom 
Is rated by their means. From the poor leader 
Of sixty lances, who seeks words of weight? 

Gor. {steps foi-ivard.) Swinton, there's tiiat of 
wisdom on thy brow. 
And valour in thine ey£, and that of peril 
In this most urgent hour, tiiat bids me say, — 
Bids me, thy mortal foe, say — Swinton, speak. 
For king and country's sake! 

S~Mn. >■ ay, if that voice commands me, speak 

I will; 
It sounds as if the dead lay charge on me. 

Reg. { To Lennox, ~with luhom he has been con~ 
sidling.) 'Tis better than you think. This 
broad liill side 
Affords fair compass for our power's display, 
Rank above rank rising in seemly tiers; 
So tliat the rear-ward stands as fair and open— — 
Siuin. As e'er stood mark before an English 

archer. 
Reg. Who dares to say so! — Who is't dare im- 
peach , 
Our rule of discipline ? 



HALIDON HILL. 



SQ'' 



S-win. A poor knight of these marches, good my 
lord; 
Alan ofSwinton, who hath kept a house here, 
He and his ancestr}', since tlie old days 
Of Malcolm, called^he maiden. 

licff. You have hrought here, even to this pitch- 
ed field. 
In which the royal hanner is display'd, 
I think, some sixty spears, sir knight ofSwinton: 
Our musters name no more. 

Swin. I hrought each man I had; and chief, or 
earl. 
Thane, duke, or dignitary, brings no more: 
And with them brought 1 what may here he use- 
ful— 
An aged eye, which, what in England, Scotland, 
Spain, France, and Flanders, hath seen fifty battles, 
And la'eu some judgment of them; a stark hand too, 
Which . plays as with a straw with this same 

mace. 
Which if a young arm here can wield more lightly, 
1 never more will offer word of counsel. 

Len. Hear him, my lord; it is the noble Swin- 
ton — 
He hath had high experience. 

Max. He is noted 

The wisest warrior 'twixt the Tweed and Solway, — 
1 do beseech you hear him. 

Jo/m. Aj-, hear the Swinton — hear stout old sir 
Alan; 
Maxwell and Johnstone both agree for once. 

Heg. Where's your impatience now? 
Late you were all for battle, would not hear 
Ourselves pronounce a word — and now you gaze 
On you old warrior, in his antique armour,. 
As if he were arisen from the dead. 
To bring us Bruce's counsel for the battle. 

Sioin. 'Tis a proud word to speak; but he who 
fought 
Long under Robert Bruce, may something guess. 
Without communication with the dead. 
At what lie would have counsell'd. — Bruce had 

bidden ye 
Review your battle-order, marshall'd broadly 
Here on the bare hill-side, and bidden you mark 
Yon clouds of southron archers, bearing down 
To the green meadow-lands "wjiich stretch be- 
neath — 
The Bruce had warn'd you, not a shaft to-day 
But shall find mark within a Scottish bosom. 
If thus our field be order'd. The callow boys. 
Who draw but four-foot bows, shall gall our front. 
While on our mainwai-d, and upon the rear. 
The cloth-yard shafts shall fall like death's own 

darts. 
And, tho' blind men discharge them, find a mark. 
Thus shall we die the death of slaughter'd deer. 
Which, driven into the toils, are shot at ease 
By boys and women, while they toss aloft 
All idly and in vain their branchy horns. 
As we shall shake our unavailing spears. 

lies: Tush, tell not rae ! If their shot fall like 
hail. 
Our men have Milan coats to bear it out. 

Swin. N ever did armourer temper steel on stithy 
That made sure fence against an English arrow; 
A cobweb gossamer were guard as good 
Against a wasp-sting. 

Jieff. Who fears a wasp-sting? 

Sivin. 1, my lord, fear none; 

Yet should a wise man brush the insect off, 
Or he may smart for it. 



■Reg. We'll keep the hill; it is the vantage ground 
When the main battle joins. 

Sxvhi. It ne'er will join, while their light archery 
Can foil our speai'-men and our barbetl horse. 
To hope Plantagenet would seek close combat 
When he can conquer riskless, is to deem 
Sagacious Edward simpler than a babe 
In battle-knowledge. Keep the hill, my lord, 
Witii the main body, if it is your pleasure; 
But let a body of your chosen horse 
Make execution on yon waspish archers. 
I've done such work before, and love it well; 
If 'tis your pleasure to give me the leading. 
The dames of Sherwood, Inglewood, and Weardale, 
Shall sit in widowhood and long for venison, 
And long in vain. Whoe'er remembers Bannock- 
burn, — ' ; 
And when shall Scotsman, till the last loud trum])et. 
Forget that stirring word ! — knows that great battle 
Even thus was fought and won. 

Len. Phis is the shortest road to bandy blows; 
For when the bills step forth and bows go back. 
Then is the moment that our hardy spearmen. 
With their strong bodies, and their stubborn hearts, 
And lind)S well knit by mountain exercise. 
At the close tug shall foil the short-breathed south- 
ron. 

Su'in. 1 do not say the field will thus be won; 
The English host is numerous, brave, and loyal; 
Their monarch most accomplish'd in war's art, 
Skill'd, resolute, and wary 

lieg. And if your scheme secure not victory. 
What does it promise us? 

Swin. This much at least, — 

Darkling we shall not die; the peasant's shaft, 
Loosen'd perchance without an aim or purpose. 
Shall not drink up the life-blood we derive 
From those famed ancestors, who made their breasts 
This frontier's barrier for a thousand years. 
We'll meet these southrons bravely hand to hand. 
And eye to eye, and weapon against weapon; 
Each man who falls shall see the foe who strikes 

him. 
While our good blades are faithful to the hilts. 
And our good hands to these good blades are 

faithful. 
Blow shall meet blow, and none fall unavenged — 
We shall not blee^ alone." 

Seg. And this is all 

Your wisdom hath devised! 

Swin. Xot all; fori would pray you, noble lords, 
(If one, among the guilty guiltiest, might,) 
For this one day to charm to ten hours' rest 
The never-dying worm of deadly feud. 
That gnaws our vexed hearts — think no one foe 
Save Edward and his host — days will remain, 
Ay, days by far too many will remain, 
To avenge old feuds or struggles for precedence; 
Let this one da)' be Scotland's. For myself. 
If there is any here may claim from me 
(As well may chance) a debt of blood and hatred, 
My life is his to-morrow unresisting, 
So he to-day will let me do the best 
That my old arm may achieve for the dear country 
That's mother to us both. 

[Goudos shows 7mich emotion dnimg this 
and the preceding speech oySwiiSTGN. 

Reg. It is a dream — a vision! — If one troop 
Rush down upon the archers, all will follow. 
And order is destroy'd — we'll keep the battle- rank 
Our fathers wont to do. No more on't. — Hoi 



394 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Where be those youths seek kuighthood from our 
sword ? 
Her. Here are the Gordon, Somerville, and Hay, 
And Hepburn, with a score of gallants more. 
Meg. Gordon, stand forth. 
Gor. 1 pray your grace, forgive me. 

J^e^-. How! seek you not for knighthood.' 
Gor. I do thirst for't. 

liut, pardon me— 'tis from another sword. 
Reg. It is your sovereign's — seek you for a 

worthier? 
Gor. Who would drink purely, seeks the secret 
fountain, 
How small soever — not the generar stream, 
Though it be deep and wide. My lord, 1 seek 
The boon of knighthood from the honour'd weapon 
Of the best knight, and of tlie sagest leader, 
That ever graced a ring of chivalry. 
— Therefore, I beg the boon on bended knee. 
Even from sir Alan Swinton. [Kneels. 

Reg. Degenerate boy ! Abject at once and inso- 
lent!— 
See, lords, he kneels to him that slew his father! 
Gor. [starting up.) Shame be on him who speaks 
such shameful word ! 
Shame be on him whose tongue would sow dis- 
sension. 
When most the time demands that native Scots- 
men 
Forget each private wrong! 
Swin. [iiitemipting Mm. ) Youth, since you crave 
me 
To be your sire in chivalry, 1 remind you 
War has its duties, office has its reverence; 
Who governs in tlie sovereign's name is sove- 
reign. 
Crave the loi'd regent's pardon. 

Gor. You task me justly, and I crave his pardon, 
\_.Boius to the Regent. 
His and these noble lords'; and pray them all 
Bear witness to my words. — Ye noble presence, 
Here I remit unto the knight of Swinton 
All bitter memory of my father's slaughter, 
All thoughts of malice, hatred, and revenge; 
By no base fear or composition moved. 
But by the thought, that in our country's battle 
All hearts should be as one. I do forgive him 
As freely as 1 pray to be forgiven. 
And once more kneel to him to sue for knighthood. 
Sivin. [affected, and draiving his s-ivord.) Alas! 
brave youtli, 'tis I should kneel to you. 
And, tendering thee the liilt of the fell sword 
That made thee fatherless, l)id thee use the point 
After thine own discretion. For thy Ijoon — 
Trumpets be ready — In the holiest name. 
And in our lady's and saint Andrew's name, 

[ Touching fas shoulder ivith the siuord. 
1 dub thee knight! Arise, sir Adam Gordon! 
Be faithful, brave, and O be fortunate. 
Should this ill hour permit! 

[The trumpets sound; the heralds cry, 

" Largcssee;" and the attendants 

shout, " A Gordon! A Gordon!" 

Reg. Beggars and flatterers! Peace, peace, I 

say! 

We'll to the stand'ard: kniglits shall there be made 

Who will with better reason crave your clamour. 

Leu. Wliat of Swinton's council? 
Here's Maxwell and myself tliink it worth noting. 
Reg. [-ivith concentrated indignation. ) Let tlie 
best knight, and let the sagest leader, — 
So Gordon quotes tlic nu»n who slew iiis father, — 



With his old pedigree and heavy mace, 
Essay the adventure if it pleases him, 
With his fair threescore horse. As for ourselves. 
We will not pex-il aught upon the measure. 

Gor. Lord regent, you mistake; for if sir Alan 
Shall ventui-e sucli attack, each man who calls 
The Gordon chief, and hopes or fears from him 
Or good, or evil, follows Swinton's banner 
la this achievement. 

Reg. Why, God ha' mercy ! This is of a piece. 
Let young and old e'en follow their own counsel, 
Since none will list to mine. 
Ross. The border cockerel fain would be on 
horseback : 
'Tis safe to be prepared for fight or flight: 
And this comes of it to give northern lands 
To the false Norman blood, 

Gor. Hearken, proud chief of Isles! Within my 
stalls 
1 have two hundred horse; two hundred riders 
Mount guard upon my castle, who would tread 
Into the dust a thousand of your redshanks. 
Nor count it a day's service. 

Switi. Hear I, this 

Prom thee, young man, and on the day of battle? 
And to the israve Mac-Donnell? 

Gor. 'Twas he that urged me; but I am rebuked. 
Reg. He crouches like a leash-hound to his 

master ! 
Szvin. Each hound must do so that would head 
the deer — 
'Tis mongrel curs which snatch at mate oi' master. 
Reg. Too much of this. — Sirs, to the royal 
standard ! 
[ bid you, in the name of good king David, 
Sound trumpets — sound for Scotland and king 
David ! 

[The Rkgent and the rest go off, and the 
scene closes. J\lane?it(Sioa.Boif, S.\vjnton', 
and ViPONT, iMth Rktnald a7id fodoia- 
ei's. Lennox follows the Regent; but re- 
t%ims and addresses Swinton. 
JLen. O, were my western horsemen but come 
up, 
I would take part with you ! 

6w«i. Better that you remain. 

They lack discretion; such gray head as yours 
May best supply that want. 

Lennox, mine ancient friend, and honour'd lord. 
Farewell, 1 think, forever! 
Len. Farewell, brave friend! — and farewell, no- 
ble Gordon, 
Whose sun will be eclipsed even as it rises! 
The regent will not aid you. 

Sivin. We will so bear us, that as soon the 
blood-Iiound 
Shall halt, and take no part, what time his comrade 
Is grapling with tlie deer, as he stand still, 
And see us overmatch'd. 
Len. Alas! thou dost not know how mean his 
pride is. 
How strong his envy. 

Swin. Then will we die, and leave the shame 
with him. [Exit Lennox. 

Vip. [to Gordon.) What ails thee, noble youtli? 
Wliat means this pause? 
Thou dost not i-ue thy generosity? 

Gor. I have been hurried on by a strong impulse, 
Liiie to a bark tliat scuds before the storm, 
Till (h'iven upon some strange and distant coast, 
Which never pilot dream 'd of. Have I not forgi- 
ven? 



HALIDON KILL. 



395 



And am I not still fiitherless ! 

Swin. Gordon, no; 

For while we live, 1 am a father to thee. 

Gov. Thou, Swinton? no! that cannot, cannot 

be. 
Swill. Then change the phrase, and say, that 
while we live, 
Gordon shall be my son. If thou art fatherless, 
Am I not childless too? Bethink thee, Gordon, 
Our death-feud was not like the household fire. 
Which the poor peasant hides among its embers. 
To smoulder on, and wait a time for waking. 
Ours was the conflagration of the forest. 
Which, in its fury, spares nor sprout nor stem. 
Hoar oak, nor sapling— not to be extinguish'd. 
Till heaven, in mercy, sends down all her waters. 
But, once subdued, it's flume is quench'd for ever; 
And spring shall hide the track of devastation. 
With foliage and with flowers. Give me thy 
hand. 
Gor. My hand and heart I — And freely now — 

to fight! 
Fip. How will you act? [Tb Swixto:^.] The 
Gordon's band and tiiine 
Are in the rearward left, I think, in scorn. 
Ill post for them who wish to charge the foremost! 
Sivin. We'll turn that scorn to vantage, and 
descend 
Sidelong the hill — some winding path there must 

be. 
O, for a well-skill'd guide! 

Hob Hattely starts up from a tlucket. 
Hob. So here he stands. — An ancient friend, sir 
Alan. 
Hob Hattely, or, if you like it better. 
Hob of the Heron Plume, here stands your guide ! 
6W?i. An ancient friend? — A most notorious 
knave, 
Whose throat I've destined to the dodder'd oak 
Before my castle, these ten months and more. 
Was it not you, who drove trom Simprim-mains, 
And Swinton-quarter, sixty head of cattle? 

Hob. What then i" If now I lead your sixty lances 
Upon the English flank, where they'll find spoil 
Is worth six hundred beeves? 

<S'wm. Why, thou canst do it, knave. I would 
not trust thee 
With one poor bullock; yet would risk my life, 
And all my followers, on thine honest guidance. 

Hob. There is a dingle, and a most discreet one, 
(I've trod each step by starlight,) that sweeps 

round 
The rearward of this hill, and opens secretly 
Upon the archers' flank. Will not that serve 
Your present turn, sir Alan ? 

Sxviii. Bravely, bravely! 

Gor. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan. 
Let all who love tiie Gordon follow me ! 

Swill. Ay, let all follow — but in silence follow. 
Scare not tlie hare that's couchant on her form — 
The cushat from her nest — brush not, if possible. 
The dew-drop from the spray — 
Let no one whisper, until 1 cr)', " Havoc!" 
Then shout as loud's ye will. — On, on, brave Hob; 
On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scotsman ! 



ACT II. SCENE I. 

»4 rising groundimmciliiUehi in front of the position 
of the^English main body. Percy, Chandos, 

RiBAUMONT, and other English and JSTorman I In which he term'd vour grace a rat-cather. 
nobles are grouped on the stage. I A'. Ed. Chandos, how's tiiis 



Per. The Scots still keep the hill — the sun 
grows higii. 
Would tiiat the charge would sound ! 

Chan. Thou scent'st the slaughtei-, Percy. 
Who comes here? 

Eritcr t/ie abbot of Walthamstow. 
Now,*by my life, the holy priest of Walthamstow, 
Like to a lamb among a herd of wolves ! 
See, he's about to bleat. 
M. The king, methinks, delays the onset long. 
Chan. Your general, fatlier, like your rat- 
catcher, 
Pauses to bait his traps, and set his snares. 
Jib. The metaphor is descent. 
C/ian. Reverend sir, 

I will uphold it just. Our good king Edward 
Will presently come to this battle-field, 
And speak to you of the last tilting match. 
Or of some feat he did a twenty years since; 
But not a word of the day's work before him. 
Even as the artist, sir, whose name ofi'ends you, 
Sits prosing o'er his can, until the trap fall, 
Announcing that the vermin are secured. 
And then 'tis up, and on them. 
Per. Chandos, you give your tongue loo bold a 

license. 
Chan. Perc}'-, I am a necessary evil. 
King Edward would not want me, if he could, 
And could not, if he would. 1 know my value; 
My heavy hand excuses my liglit tongue. 
So men wear weighty swords in their defence, 
Although they may ofiend the tender shin. 
When the steel boot is doft'd. 

^b. My lord of Chandos, 

This is but idle speech on brink of battle, 
VVhen christian men should think upon their sins: 
For as the tree falls, so the trunk must lie. 
Be it for good or evil. Lord, hetiiink thee. 
Thou hast withheld from our most reverend house, 
The tithes of Everingham and Settleton; 
Wilt thou make satisfaction to the church 
Before her thunders strike thee? 1 do warn thee 
In most paternal sort. 

C/ian. I thank you, father, filially, 
Though but a truant son of holy church, 
I would not choose to undergo her censures, 
When Scottish blades are waving at ray throat. 
I'll make fair composition. 

^ib. No composition; I'll have all or none. 
Cha7i. None, then — 'tis soonest spoke. I'll 
take my chance. 
And trust my sinful soul to heaven's mercy. 
Rather than risk my worldly goods with thee — 
My hour may not be come. 
Jib. Impious — impenitent — 
Per. Hush! the king— the king! 

Enter kino Edwakd, attended by Baliol, an 
others. 
King, [apart to Chaitdos.) Hark hither, Chan- 
dos! — Have the Yorkshire archers 
Yet join'd the vanguard? 

Chan. I'hey are marching thither. 

K. Ed. Bid them make haste, for shame — send 

a quick rider. — 

The loitering knaves, were it to steal my venison. 

Their steps were light enough, — How now, sir 

al)bot? 
Say, is your reverence come to study with us 
The princely art of war? 
Jib. I've had a lecture from my lord of Chandos, 



396 



SCOTT'S POETI AL WORKS. 



Chan. O, I will prove it, sir!— These skipping 
Scots 
Have changed a dozen times 'twixt Bruce and 

Baliol, 
Quitting each house when it hegan to totter: 
They're fierce and cunning, treacherous, too, as 

rats, 
And we, as such, will smoke them in their fast- 
nesses. 
K. Ed. These rats have seen your back, my lord 
ot'Chandos, 
And noble Percy's too. 

Per. Ay; but the mass which now lies weltering 
On yon hill side, like a Leviathan 
That's stranded on the shallows, then had soul in't, 
Order and discipline, and power of action. 
Now 'tis a headless cor^jse, whicii only shows, 
By wild convulsions, that some life remains in't. 
K. Ed. True, tliey had once a head; and 'twas 
a wise 
Although a rebel head. 

Ab. {bowing to the king.) Would he were here! 

we should find one to match him. 
K. Ed. There's soractliing in that wish which 
wakes an echo 
Within my bosom. Yet it is as well, 
Or better, that the Bruce is in his grave. 
We have enough of powerful foes on earth, 
No need to summon them from other worlds. 
Per. Your grace ne'er met the Bruce? 
K. Ed. Never himself; but, in my earliest field, 
I did encounter with his famous captains, 
Douglas and Randolph. Faith ! they press'd me 
hard. 
^6. My liege, if I might urge you with a question. 
Will the Scots fight lo-day?" 

K. Ed. [sharplij.) Go look your breviary. 

Chan, {apart.) The abbot has it — Edward will 

not answer 

On that nice point. We must observe hishumour. — 

[Addresses the king. 

Your first campaign, my liege? — That was in 

Weardale, 
When Douglas gave our camp yon midnight ruffle, 
And turn'd men's beds to biers. 

K. Ed. Ay, by saint Edward! — 1 escaped right 
nearly. 
1 was a soldier then for holidays. 
And slept not in mine armour: my safe rest 
Was startled by the cry of Douglas! Douglas! 
And by my coucli, a grisly cliamberlain. 
Stood Alan Swintoii, witli iiis bloody mace. 
It was a chiuclimau saved me — my stout chaplain, 
Heaven (piit his spirit! cauglit a weapon up. 
And grappled with the giant. — How now, Louis? 
Enter an officer, xvho ivhispers tlie king. 

K. Ed. Say to liim,— thus — and thus 

[ Whispers. 
Ab. That Swinton's dead, a monk of ours re- 
ported. 
Bound homeward from saint Ninian's pilgrimage. 
The lord of Gordon slew him. 

Per. Father, and if your house stood on our 
borders, 
You might have cause to know that Swinton lives. 
And is on horseback yet. 

Chan. He slew the Gordon, 

That's all the difference — a very trifle. 

Ab. Trifling to those who wage a war more noble 
Tlian with the arm of flesli. 

Chan, [apart.) The alibot's vex'd, I'll rub the 
sore for iiini. 



[Aloud.) 1 have used that arm of flesh, 
Atid used it sturdily — most reverend father, 
What say you to the chaplain's deed of arms 
In the kmg's tent at Weardale? 

Ab. It was most sinful, being against the canon 
Prohibiting all churchmen to bear weapons; 
And as he fell in that unseemly guise. 
Perchance liis soul may rue it. 
King, [overhearing the last -words.) Who may 
rue ? 
And what is to be rued? 

Chan, [apart.) I'll match his reverence for the 
tithes of Everingham. 
The abbot says, my liege, the deed was sinful 
By wliich your chaplain, wielding secular weapons. 
Secured your grace's life and liberty. 
And that lie suffers for't in purgatory. 
King, tto the abbot.) Say'st thou my chaplain 

is in purgatory' 
Ab. It is the canon speaks it, good my liege. 
King. In purgatory! thoushaltprayhimouton't. 
Or I will make tliee wish thyself beside him. 

Ab. My lord, perchance his soul is pastthe aid 
Of all the chmxh may do — there is a place 
From which there's no redemption. 

King. And if 1 thought my faithful chaplain there, 
Thou shouldst there join him, priest ! — Go, watch, 

fast, pray. 
And let me have such prayers as will storm hea- 
ven — 
None of your maim'd and mutter'd hunting masses, 
Ab. [apart <o Ghandos. ) For God's sake, take 

liim oft". 
Chan. Wilt thou compound, then, 
The tithes of Everingham? 
King. I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys of 
heaven. 
Abbot, thou shalt not turn a bolt with them 
'Gainst any well-deserving English subject. 
Ab. (to Chaxdos.) We will compound, and 
grant thee, too, a share 
I' the next indulgem-. . Thou dost need it much, 
And greatly 'twill av..' hee. 

Chan. Enough — ■we're friends, and when occa- 
sion serves, 

1 will strike in. 

[Looks as iftoxvards the Scottish army. 
King. Answer, proud abbot, is my chaplain's 
soul. 
If thou knowest aught on't, in the evil place? 
Chan. My liege, the Yorkshire men have gain'd 
the meadow. 
1 see the pennon green of meiTy Sherwood. 

King. 'I'hen give the signal instant. We have lost 
But too much lime already. 
Ab. My liege, your holy chaplain's blessed 

soul 

King. To hell with it, and thee ! Is this a time 
To speak of monks and chaplains? 

[Flourish of trumpets, answered by a distant 
sound of bugles. 
See, Chandos, Percy— Ha, saint George! saint 

Edward! 
See it descending now, the fatal bail shower, 
The storm of England's wrath — sure, swift, re- 
sistless. 
Which no mail-coat can brook. Brave English 

hearts ! 
How close they shoot together! — as one eye 
Had aimed five thousand shafts — as if one hand 
Had loosed five thousand bow-strings! 

Per. The thick volley 



HALIDON HILL. 



397 



Darkens the air, and hides the sun from us. 

King. It falls on those shall see the sun no more. 
The winged, the resistless plague is with them. 
How their vex'd host is reeling to and fro. 
Like the chafed whale with fifty lances in him! 
They do not see, and cannot shun the wound. 
The storm is viewless, as death's sable wing, 
Unerring as his sithe. 

Per. Horses and riders are going down together. 
'Tis almost pity to see nobles fall, 
And by a peasant's arrow. 

Bed. I could weep them, 

Although they are my rebels. 

Chan, [aside to Percy.) His conquerors, he 
means, who cast him out 
From his usuri)'d kingdom. {Moucl.) 'Tis the 

worst of it. 
That knights can claim small honour in the field 
Which archers win, unaided by our lances. 
King. The battle is not ended. \^Looks toivards 
the field. 
Not ended! — scarce begun!— What horse are these. 
Rush from the thicket underneath the hill' 

Per. They're Hainaulters, the followers of queen 

Isabel. 
King, [hastily.) Hainaulters I — thou art blind — 
wear Hainaulters 
Saint Andrew's silver cross? — or would they charge 
Full on our archers, and make havoc of them ? 
Bruce is alive again — ho, rescue! rescue! 
W\\n was't surveyed the ground? 
JiibmL -Most royal Tu'ge — 
King. A rose hath falltn from thy chaplet,' Ri- 

baumont. 
Jiibatt. I'll win it back, or lay my head beside it. 

[Ejcit. 
King. Saint George! saint Edward! Gentlemen, 
to horse. 
And to the rescue! Percy, lead the bill-men; 
Chandos, do thou bring up the men-at-arms. 
If yond«r numerous host should now bear down 
Bold as their van-guard, [to the abbot,) ihou may'st 

pray for us. 
We may need good men's prayers. To the rescue, 
Lords, to the rescue! ha, saint George! saint Ed- 
ward I [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 

^ part of the Field of Battle betxvixt the tivoMain 
Arnries; tumults behind the scenes; alarms, and 
cries of" Gordon ! a Gordon ! " " S winton ! " &c. 

Enter, as victorious over the English van-guard, 
ViPONT, Retsald, and others. 

Vip. 'Tis sweet to hear these war-cries sound 
together, — 
Gordon and Swinton. 

Jiey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange withal. 
Faith, when at first 1 heard the Gordon's slogan 
Sounded so near me, I had nigh struck down 
The knave who cried it. 

Enter Swittton and Gobdon. 

Sivin. Pitch down my peimon in yon holly bush. 

Gor. Mine in the thorn beside it; let them wave, 
As fought this morn their masters, side by side. 

Sivin. let the men rail)', and restore tlieir ranks 
Here on this vantage-ground — disorder'd chase 
Leads to disorder'd flight; we have done our part. 
And if we're succour'd now, Plantagenet 
Must turn his bridle southward. 
Reynald, spur to tlie regent with the basnet 
Of stout He Grey, the leader of their van-guard; 
I Sav, that in.batlle-front the Gordon slew him. 



And by that token bid him send us succour. 

Gor. And tell him that when Selby's headlong 
charge 
Had well nigh borne me down, sir Alan smote 

him. 
I cannot send his helmet, never nutshell 
Went to so many shivers. — Hark 'ye, grooms! 

[To those behind the scenes 
Why do you let my noble steed stand stiffening 
After so hot a course ? 

STvin. Ay, breathe your horses, they'll have 
work anon, 
For Edward's men-at-arms will soon be on us, 
The flower of England, Gascony, and Flanders; 
But with swift succour we will bide them bravely. 
De Vipont, thou look'st sad ! 

Vip. It is because I hold a, templar's sword 
Wet to the crossed hilt with cliristian blood. 

Slain. The blood of English archers — what can 
gild ^ 

A Scottish blade more bravely? 

Vip. Even therefore grieve I for those gallant 
yeomen, 
England's peculiar and appropriate sons. 
Known in no other land. Each boasts bis hearth 
And field as free as the best lord his barony, 
Owing subjection to no human vassalage, 
Save to their king and law. Hence are they re- 
solute. 
Leading the van on eveiy day of battle. 
As men who know the blessings they defend, 
Hence are they frank and generous in peace, 
As men who have their portion in its plenty. 
No other kingdom shows such worth and happi- 
ness 
Veil'd in such low estate — therefore I mourn them. 

Sivin. I'll keep my sorrow for our native Scots, 
Who, spite of hardship, poverty, oppression. 
Still iollow to the field their chieftain's banner, 
And die in the defence on't. 

Gor. And if I live and see my halls again. 
They shall have portion in the good the)' fight for. 
Each hardy follower shall have his field. 
His household hearth and sod-built home, as free 
As ever southron had. They shall be happy ! 
And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it! 
I have betray'd myself. 

S~M7i. Do not believe it. 

Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height. 
And see wliat motion in the Scottish host. 
And in king Edward's. [Exit Vipont. 

Now will I counsel thee; 
The templar's ear is for no tale of love. 
Being wedded to his order. But I tell thee. 
The brave young knight that hath no lady-love 
Is like a lamp unlighled; his brave deeds. 
And its rich painting, do seem ihen most glorious. 
When the pui-e rav gleams through them. 
Hath thy Elizabeth no other name? 

Go7\ Must I then speak of her to you, sir Alan? 
The thought of thee, and of thy matchless strength, 
Hath conjured phantoms up amongst her (h-eams. 
The name of Swinton hath been spell sufticient 
To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek. 
And would'st thou now know her's? 

Siirin. I would, nay, must. 

Thy father ii\ the paths of chivalry 
Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy 

course by. 
Gor. Nay, ttien, her name is — hark [ Whispers. 

Swill. I know it well, that ancient northern 
' house. 



S98 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Gor. O, thou shalt see its fairest grace and ho- 
nour, 
111 my Eliz;ihelh. And if music touch thee 

Hirni. It did, before disasters had uiUuned me. 
Gor. O, lier notes 
Shall hush eacli sad remembrance to oblivion, 
Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling, 
Tliat gi'ief sliall have its sweetness. Who, but she. 
Knows the wild harpings of our native land? 
Whether thej' lull the shepherd on his hill. 
Or wake the knight to battle; rouse to merriment. 
Or sooth to sadness; she can touch each mood. 
Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms, 
And grav-liair'd bards, contend which shall the 

^first 
And choicest homage render to th' enchantress. 
Sivin. You speak her talent bravely. 
Gor. ' Though you smile, 

1 do not speak it half. Her gift creative 
New mcasiu'es adds to every air she wakes; 
Varying arm gracing it with liquid sweetness, 
Like the wild modulation of the lark, 
Now leaving, now returning to the strain! — 
To listen to her, is to seem to wander 
In some enchanted labyrinth of romance, 
Whence nothing but the lovely fairy's will. 
Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer: 
Methinks I hear her now! — 

Swin. Bless'd privilege 

Of youth! There's scarce three minutes to decide 
'Twixt death and life, 'twixt triumph and defeat, 
Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower, 
Lisln'ing her harping! 

Enter Vipont. 

Where are thine, De Yipont? 
Vi'p. On death — on judgment — on eternity ! 
For time is over with us. 
S-wi7i. There moves not then one pennon to our 
aid. 
Of all that flutter yonder? 

Vip. From the main English host come rushing 
forward 
Pennons enow — ay, and their royal standard. 
But ours stand I'ooted, as for crows to roost on. 
Swin. ( to Mmself. ) I'll rescue him at least. Young 
lord of Gordon, 
Spur to the regent— show the instant need 
Gor. I penetrate thy purpose; but I go not. 
Swill. Not at my bidding? I, thy sire in chival- 
ry— 
Thy leader in the battle? — I command tliee. 
Gov. No, thou wilt not command me seek my 
safety. 
For such is thy kind meaning, at the expense 
Of the last hope which heaven reserves for Scot- 
land. 
While 1 abide, no follower of mine 
' ^Will turn his rein fur life; but were I gone, 
what power can stay them? and, our band dis- 
persed. 
What sword shall for an instant stem yon host. 
And save the latest chance for victory? 

Vip. The noble youtii speaks truth; and were 
he gone. 
There will not twenty spears be left with us. 

Gor. No, bravely as we have begun the field, 
oo Jet us fight it out. The I'egent's eyes. 
More certain than a thousand messages. 
Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host 
Against yon bursting storm. If not for honour, 
If not for warlike rule, for shame at least, 
He must bear down to aid us. 



Swin. Must it be so? 

And am I forced to yield the sad consent. 
Devoting thy young life? O, Gordon, Gordon! 
I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue; 
1 at my country's, he at heaven's command; j, 

But I seek vainl)' some atoning sacrifice. 
Rather than such a victim ! — [Tnimpets.) Hark, 

they come ! 
That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. 

Gor. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it gayly. 
Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, " Gor- 
don ! 
Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth!" 

[Exeimt. Loud alantm. 

SCENE III. 

Anotlier part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to tliA 

former scene. 
Marums. EtiterSwiNTOi^, followed bi/ Hob Hat-- 

TELT. 

Swiri. Stand to it yet I The man who flies to-day. 
May bastards warm them at his household hearth ! 
Hob Hut. That ne'er shall be my curse. My 
Magdalen 
Is trusty as my broadsword. 

Swi7i. Ha, thou knave. 

Art thou dismounted too! 

Hob. Hat. 1 know, sir Alan, 

You want no homeward guide; so threw my reins 
Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose. 
Within an hour lie stands before my gate: 
And Magdalen will need no other token 
To bid tlie Alelrose monks say masses for me. 
Swin. Tliou art resolved to cheat the halter, 

then? 
Hob Hat. It is my purpose. 

Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's death; 
And never had I a more glorious chance for't. 
Swin. Here lies the way to it, knave. — Make 
in, m.ike in. 
And aid young Gordon! 

[ Exeunt. Loud a7id long alancms. After 
which the back scene rises, and discovers 
SwiNTox on the groxmd, GoRnou sup- 
porting Mms both much wou7ided. 
Swi7i. All are cut down — the reapers have pass'd 
o'er us. 
And hie to distant harvest. My toil's over; 
There lies my sickle, \_dropping Ids sword,] hand 

of mine again 
Shall never, never wield it! 

Gor. O valiant leader, is thy light extinguish'd ! 
That only beacon flame which promised safety 
In this day's de.idly wreck! 

Sxviji. My lamp hath long been dim. But thine, 
young Gordon, 
Just kindled, to be quench'd so suddenly. 

Ere Scotland saw its splendour! 

Gor. P'ive thousand horse hung idly on yon hill. 
Saw us o'erpowered, and no one stirr'd to aid us. 

Sivi7i. It was the regent's envy — Out! — alas! 
Why blame I him? — It was our civil discord. 
Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred. 
Which framed tlus day of dole for our poor coun- 
try. 
Had thy brave father held yon leading staff, 
As well his rank and valour might have claim'd it. 
We had not fall'n unaided. How, O how 
Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented ! 

Gor. Alas! Alas! the author of the death-feud. 
He has his reckoning too! for had your sons 
And num'rous vassals liv'd, we had lack'd no aid. 



HALIDON HILL. 



399 



Stum. May God assoil the dead, and him who 
follows! 
We've (hank the poisoii'd beverage which we 

brew'd-, 
Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirl- 
wind ! 
But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart 
Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted; . 
Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no for- 
giveness. 
Why should 'st thou share our punishment? 

Gor. All need forgiveness — [ilist ant alarums] — 
Hark! in yonder shout 
Did the maiu battles counter! 

S-!vin. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou 
canst. 
And tell me how the day goes. But I guess, 

Too surely do 1 guess 

Gor. All's lost ! all's lost ! Of the main Scottish 
host, 
Some wildly fly, and some I'ush wildly forward; 
And some there are who seem Id turn their spears 
Against their countrymen. 

Swill. Rashness, and cowardice, and secret trea- 
son. 
Combine to ruin us; and our hot valour. 
Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength, 
More fatal unto friends than enemies! 
I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more 

on't. 
Let thy hand close theim, Goi'don — I will think 
My fair-hair'd William renders me that ofiice ! 

\_Dies. 
Gor. And, Swinton, 1 will think 1 do that duty 
To my dead father. 

Enter De Vipont. 
Vip. Fly, fly, brave youth ! A handful of thy 
followers, 
The scattered gleaning of this desperate day. 
Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue. 
O linger not! — I'll be your guide to them. 

Gor. Look there, and bid me fly ! — The oak has 
fallen! 
And the young ivj' bush, which learn'd to climb 
Ky its support, must needs partake its fall! 

Vip. Swinton' alas! the best, the bravest, 
strongest. 
And sagest of our Scottish chivalry! 
Forgive one moment, if to save the living. 
My tongue should wrong the dead. Gordon, be- 
think thee. 
Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse 
Of him who slew thy father. 

Gor, Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry ! 
He taught my youth to soar above the promptings 
Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave ray youth 
A name that shall not die even on this death-spot. 
Recoids sliall tell this field had not been lost. 
Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon. 
Save thee, De Vipont — Hark ! the southron trum- 
pets. 
Vip. Nay, without thee, I stir not. 
Enter Edwart), Chandos, Percy, Baiiol, &o. 
Gor. Ay, they come on, the tyrant and the trai- 
tor. 
Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol. 
O for a moment's strength in this poor arm. 
To do one glorious deed. 

[He Irishes on the English, but is 
made prisoner with Vipont. 



King. Disarm them — liarra them not; though it 
was they 
Made havoc on the archers of our van-guard. 
They and that bulky champion. WHiere is he' 
Chan. Here lies the giant! Sav his name, young 

knight! 
Gor. Let it suffice, he was a man this morning. 
Chan. I question'd thee in sport. I do not need 
Thy information, youth. Who that has fought 
Through all these Scottish wars, but knows that 

crest. 
The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak. 
And that huge mace still seen where war was 
wildest. 
King. 'Tis Alan Swinton! 
Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at Weardale, 
Stood by my startled couch with torch and mace, 
Wlien the black Douglas war-cry waked my camp. 
Gor. {^sinking down.) If thus thou know'st him. 
Thou wilt respect his corpse. 

King. As belted knight and crowned (nng, I will, 
Gor. And let mine 
Sleep at his side, in token tliat our death 
Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon. 

King. It is the Gordon ! — Is there aught beside 
Edward can do to honour braverj-, 
Even in an enemy ? 

Gor. Nothing but this: 

Let not base Baliol, with his touch or look. 
Profane my corpse or Svvinton's. I've some breath 

still. 
Enough to say — Scotland — Elizabeth ! [Dies. 

Chan. Baliol, 1 would not brook such dying 
looks 
To buy the crown you aim at. 

King, {to Vipont.) Vipont, thy crossed shield 
shows ill in warfare 
Against a christian king. 

Vip. That christian king is warring upon Scot- 
land. 
I was a Scotsman ere I was a templar,^ 
Sworn to my country ere I knew my order. 
Ki7ig. I will but know thee as a christian cham- 
pion. 
And set thee free unramsom'd. 

Enter abbot of Walthamstow. 
^b. Heaven grant your majesty 
Many suchglorious days as this has been! 

King. It is a day of much advantage; 
Glorious it might have been, had all our foes 
Fought like these two brave champions. — Strike 

the drums, 
Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives. 
Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwick's 

rendered — 
These wars, 1 trust, will soon find lasting close. 



NOTES. 
1. A rose hath fallen from thy chaplet.— P. 397. 
The well-known expression by which Robert 
Bruce censured tlie negligence of Randolph, for 
permitting an English body of cavalry to pass his 
flank on the day preceding the battle of Bannock- 
burn. 

2. I was a Scotsman ere I was a templar.— P. 399. 
A Venetian general observing his soldiers testi- 
fied some unwillingness to fight against those of 
the pope, whom they regarded as fittlier of the 
church, addressed them in terms of similar en- 
couragement: — "Fight on! we were Venetians 
before we were christians." 



3$aUal3fi5( awtr %nvitul mttt^^ 



GLENFINLAS; 

on 

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.* 

For them the viewless forms of aif obey, 
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; 

They know what spirit brews the stormful day, 
And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare, 
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare. 

The tradition upon which the following stanzas 
are founded runs thus: While two highland hun- 
ters were parsing the night in a solitary batht) (a 
hut built for the purpose of hunting,) and making 
merry over their venison andwhisky, one of them 
expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to 
complete their party. The words were scarcely 
uttered, wken two beautiful young women, habited 
in green, filtered the hut, dancing .and singing. 
One of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who 
attached herself particularly to liim, to leave the 
hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the 
fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or 
Jew's harp, some strain consecrated to tiie virgin 
Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress 
vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the 
bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn 
to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose 
toils he had fallen. The place was from thence 
called, the Glen of the Green Women. 

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest ground, lying in 
the highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callen- 
der, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, 
and now belongs to the earl of Moray. This coun- 
try, as well as'the adjacent district of Balquidder, 
was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the 
Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glen- 
finlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue 
called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Ben- 
voirlich, are mountains in the sante district, and 
at no gi-eat distance from Glenfinlas. The river 
Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, 
and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of 
Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the 
principal access to the highlands from that town. 
Glenartney ,is a forest near Benvnirlicji. The 
■whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scener)'. 

O HONE a rie'! O hone a rie'lt 

The pride of .\lbyn's line is o'er, 
And fallen Glenartiiey's stateliest tree; 

We ne'er shall see lord Ronald more ! 
O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 

The chief that never fear'd a foe, 
JIow matchless was thy broad claymore, 

How deadly thine unerring bow! 
Well can tiie Saxnn widows tell,' 

How, on ilie Tcith's resounding shore, 
The boldest lowland warriors fell. 

As down from LBnny's pass you bore. 

But o'er his hills, on festal day, 

How blazed lord Ronald's beltane tree;^ 

While yo\iths and maids the light strathspey 
So nimbly danced, with highland glee. 

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's shell, 
E'en age forgot liis tresses lioar; 



• Coronnc/i is the lamentation for a deceased wanior, 
sung by the agcti of the clan. 
1 hour a lit:' signities— " Alas for the prince, or chief." 



But now the loud lament we swell, 
O, ne'er to see lord Ronald more ! 

From distant isles a chieftain came, 
The joys of Ronald's hall to find, 

And chase with him the dark brown game, 
That bounds o'er Albyn's hills of wind. 

'Twas Moy; whom, in Columba's isle, 

The seer's prophetic spirit found, 3 
As, with a minstrel's fire the while, 

He waked bis harp's harmonious sound. 
Full many a spell to him was known. 

Which wandering spirits shrink to hear; 
And many a lay of potent tone. 

Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. 
High converse with the dead they hold, 

And oft espy the fated shroud. 

That shall th^uture corpse enfold. 

O so it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den, 
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

And scoured the deep Glenfinlas' glen. 

No vassals wait, their sports to aid. 

To watch their safety, deck their board: 

Their simple dress, tlie highland plaid; 
Their trusty guard, the highland sword. 

Three summer days, through brake and dell. 
Their whistling shafts successful. flew; 

And still, when dewy evening fell, 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest noo.k 

The solitary cabin stood, 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

Which murmurs througli that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, 
When three successive days had flown; 

And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steeped heathy bank and raossj' stone. 

The moon, half hid in silvery flakes. 

Afar her dubious radiance shed. 
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes. 

And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise, 
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy; 

And pleasvu-e laughs in Roland's eyes, 
As many a pledge he quafls to Moy. 

'■' What lack we liere to crown oui- bliss, 

While thus tiie pulse of joy beats high? 
What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, 

Her panting breath and melting eye.' 
" To chase the deer of yonder shades, 

This morning left their father's pile _ 
The fairest of our mountain maids. 

The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 
" Long have 1 sought sweet Mary's heart, 

And dropped the tear, and heaved the sigh: 
But vain the lover's wily art. 

Beneath the sister's watchful eye. 
" But thou raay'st teach that guardian fair, 

While far with Mary I am flown. 
Of other hearts to cease her care. 

And find it hard to guard her own. 
" Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



401 



Unmindful of her charge and rae, 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. 

" Or, if she choose a melting tale. 
All underneath tlie green-wood bough, 

Will good St. Oran's rule prevail,* 
Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?" 

'• Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death, 
No more on me shall rapture rise, 

Responsive to the panting breath. 
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

" E'en then, when o'er th« heath of wo. 

Were sunk my hopes of love and fame, 
I bade my harp's wild wailings flow, 

On me the seer's sad spirit came. 
^' The last dread curse of angry he.aven. 

With ghastly sights and sounds of wo, 
To dash each glinTfise of joy, was given — 

The gift, the future ill to know. 

*' The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn, 

So gayly part from Oban'^jwiy, 
My eye beheld her dashed aTO torn, 

J-'ar on the rocky Colousay. 

" The Fergus too, thy sister's son. 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power, 
As marching 'gainst tlie lord of Downe, 

He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

" Thou only saw'st their tartans* wave. 
As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, 

Heard'st but the pibroch,! answering brave 
To man)' a tai'get clanking round. 

" I heard the groans, I marked the tears, 

I saw the wound his bosom bore. 
When on the serried Saxon spears 

He poured his clan's resistless roar. 

" And thou, who bidst me thmk of bliss. 
And bidst my heart awake to glee. 

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss. 
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 

" I see the death-damps chill thy brow; 

I hear thy warning spirit cry; 
The corpse-lights dance — they 're gone, and now-- 
No more is given to gifted eye!" 

— ~«' Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams. 

Sad prophet of the evil hour! 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, 

Because to-morrow's storm may lour? 

" Or false, or sooth, thy words of wo, 
Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, 
Tliough doomed to stain the Saxon speai\ 

"E'en now, to meet rae in yon dell. 
My Mary's buskins brush tlie dew." 

I le spoke, nor bade the chief farewell. 
Hut called his dogs and gay withdrew. 

Within an hour returned each liound; 

In ruslied the rousers of the deer; 
Tliey bowled in melancholy sound, 

Then closely couched beside the seer. 

No Ronald yet; though midnight came, 
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams. 

As, bending o'er the dying Hame, 

He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 



* Tnrtans, the full highland dress, luadij of the che- 
queii il stuff so termed. 

t fihror/i, a piece of martial music, adapted to the high- 
land bagpipf. 



Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 
And sudden cease their moaning howl; 

Closed press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shivering limbs, and stifled growl. 

Untouched, the harp began to ring. 

As softly, slowl)^ op'd the door, 
And shook responsive every string. 

As light a footstep pressed the floor. 

And, by the watch-fire's glimmering light, 
Close by the minstrel's side was seen 

An huntress maid, in beauty bright. 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 

All dropping wet her garments seem. 
Chilled was her cheek, her bosom bare, 

As, bending o'er the dying gleam. 
She wrung the moisture from her hair 

With maiden blusii she softly said, 
" O gentle huntsman, hast tliou seen. 

In deep Glenfmlas' moonlight glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green? 

" With her a chief in highland pride; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
The mountain dirk adorns his side. 

Far on the wind his tartans flow?" 

"And who art thou? and who are they?" 

All ghastly gazing, Moy replied: 
" And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. 

Dare ye thus roam Glenflnlas' side?" 
" Where w'ld Loch Katrine pours her tide. 

Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, 
Our father's towers o'ethang her side. 

The castle of the bold Glengyle. 

" To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, 
Our woodland course this morn we bore. 

And haply met, while wandering here, 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

" O aid me, then, to seek the pair, 
Whom, loitering in the woods, 1 lost; 

Alone, 1 dare not venture there. 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost." 

" Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there; 

Then, first, my own sad vow to keep. 
Here will I pour my midnight prayer. 

Which still must rise when mortals sleep." 
" O first, for pity's gentle sake. 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! 
For I must cross the haunted brake. 

And reach my father's towers ere day." 

" First, three times tell each ave-bead, 

And thrice a pater-nobter say; 
Then kiss witii me the holy reed: 

So shall we safely wind our way." 

"O shame to knighthood, strange and foul! 

Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow. 
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 

Which best befits thy stdlen vow. 

"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire. 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy. 

When gayly rung tity raptured lyre. 
To wanton Morna's melting eye." 

Wild stared the minstrel's eye of flame. 

And high his sable locks arose. 
And quick his colour went and came. 

As fear and rage alternate rose. 



402 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 






"And thou! when by the blazing oak 

I lay, to her and love resign'd, 
Sa}', rode ye on the eddying smoke, 

Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind? 

"Not thine a race of mortal blood. 

Nor old Glengyle's pretended line; 
Thy dame, the lady of the flood. 

Thy sire, the monarch of the mine." 
He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme, 

And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayerjS 
Then turned him to the eastern clime. 

And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 
And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 

His wildest witch-notes on the wind; 
And loud, and high, and strange, they rung, 

As many a magic change they find. 

Tall waxed the spirit's altering form, 
Till to the roof her stature grew; 

Then, mingling with the rising storm. 
With one wild yell, away she flew. 

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear: 
The slender hut in fragments flew; 

llut not a lock of Moy's loose hair 
AVas waved by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale, 
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise; 

High o'er the minstrel's head they sail, 
And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood, 
As ceased the more than mortal yell; 

And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next, dropped from high a mangled arm; 

The fingers strained a half-drawn blade; 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm, • 

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field. 

Streamed the proud crest of high Benraore; 

That arm the broad claymore could wield, 
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 

Wo to Moneira's sullen rills ! 

Wo to Glenfinlas' dreary glen! 
There never son of Albyn's hills 

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen! 

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 
At noon shall sliun that sheltering den, 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
The wayward ladies of the glen. 

And we — behind the chieftain's shield. 
No more shall we in safety dwell; 

None leads the people to tlie field — 
And we the loud lament must swell. 

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'! 

The pride of Albyn's line is o'er. 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; 

We ne'er shall see lord Ronald more! 

NOTES. 

1. Well can the Saxon widows ti.ll.— P. 400. 

The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by 

the highlanders to their low-country neighbours. 

2. How blazed lord Ronald's beltane tree.— P. 400. 

The fires lighted by the highlanders on the 

first of May, in compliance witli a custom derived 

from the pagan times, are termed, the Beltane 

Tree. It is a festival celebrated with various su- 



perstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and 
in Wales. 

3. Tlie seer's pvoiihetic spirit found, &:t'.— P. 400. 
I can only describe the second sight, by adopting 
Dr. Johnson's definition, who calls it " an impres- 
sion, either by the mind upon the eye, or by the 
eye upon the mind, by which things distant and 
future are perceived and seen as if they were pre- 
sent." To which I would only add, that the spec- 
tral appearances, thus presented, usually presage 
misfortune; that the faculty is painful to those who 
suppose they possess it; and that they usually ac- 
quire it, while themselves under the pressure of 
melancholy. 

4. Will good St. Oran's rule prevail.— P. 401. 
St. Oran was a friend and follower of Si. Co- 
lumba, and was bm-ied in Icolmkill. His pre- 
tensions to be a saint were rather dubious. Ac- 
cording to the legend, he consented to be buried 
alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of the 
soil, who obstructed the attempts of Columba to 
build a chapel. QUumba caused the body of his 
friend to be dug up, after three days had elapsed; 
when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the as- 
sistants, declared, that there was neither a God, 
a judgment, nor a future state! He had no time to 
make further discoveries, for Columba caused the 
earth once more to be shovelled over him with the 
utmost despatch. The chapel, liowever, and the 
cemetery, was called Reilig 0(/r«n,- and, in memory 
of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to 
pay her devotions, or be buried, in that place. 
This is the rule alluded to in the poem. 

5. And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer. — P. 402. 
St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, 
holj' fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, accord- 
ing to Camerarius, an abbot of Pittenweem, ia 
Fife, from which situation he retired, and died a , 
hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 649. 
While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his 
lelt hand was observed to send forth such a splen- 
dour, as to afibrd light to that with which he wrote; 
a miracle which saved many candles to the con- 
vent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in 
that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated 
to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in 
Renfrew, and St. Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. 
Lesley, lib. 7, tells us, that Robert the Bruce was 
possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous 
arm, which he inclosed in a silver shrine, and had 
it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the 
battle of Bannockburn, the king's chai)lain, a man 
of little faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited 
it in some place of security, lest it should f:dl into 
the hands of the English. But, lo! wliile Robert 
was addressing his prayers to the empt}' casket, it 
was observed to open and shut suddenly; and, on 
inspection, the saint was found to have himself 
deposited his arm in the shrine, as an assurance 
of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though 
Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan 
should assist his own, he dedicated to him, in 
gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay. 

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802 (a national 
periodical publication, v hich has lately revived 
with considerable energy,) there is a copy of a 
very curious crown-grant, dated 11th Jul)', 1487, 
by which James 111 confirms to Malice Doire, an 
inhabitant of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peace- 
able extacise and enjoyment of a relic of St. Fil- 
lan, called the Quegrich, which he, and his pre- 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



403 



decessors, are said to have possessed since the 
days of Robert Bruce. As the quegrich was used 
to cure diseases, this document is, probably, the 
most ancient patent ever granted for a quack me- 
dicine. Tlie ingenious correspondent, l)y -whom it 
»s furnished, further observes, tliat additional par- 
ticulars concerning St. Fillan are to be found in 
Jiallendeii's Boece, book 4, folio ccxiii, and in 
I'eimant's Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. H, 15. 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 

Smatlho'me, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of 
the following ballad, is situated on the northern 
boundarj' of Roxburghshire, among a cluster ot 
■wild rocks, called Sandiknow Crags, the property 
of Hugh Scott. Esq., of Harden. The tower is a 
high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, 
now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, be- 
ing defended, on three sides, by a precipice and 
morass, is accessible only from the west, by a 
steep and rocky path. The apartments, as is usual 
in a border-keep, or fortress, aijp placed one above 
another, and communicate by a narrow stair; on 
the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence 
or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, 
the outer an iron grate; the distance between them 
being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall, 
From the elevated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, 
it is seen many miles in every direction. Among 
the crags by which it is surrounded, one, more 
eminent, is called The TVatchfoM; and is said to 
have been the station of a beacon, in the times of 
■war with England. Without the tower-court is a 
ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, in the 
neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower. 

This ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the 

scene of the author's infancy, and seemed to claim 

.,/i'om him this attempt to celebrate tliem in a border 

tale. The catastrophe of the tale is founded upon 

a well-known Irish tradition. 

The baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurred his courser on. 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, 

That leads to Brotherstone. 
He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 

His banner broad to rear: 
He went not 'gainst the English yew 

To lift the Scottish spear. 
Yet his plate-jack* was braced, and his helmet 
was laced. 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe. 

Full ten pound weight and more. 
The baron returned in three days' space. 

And his looks were sad and sour; 
And weary was his courser's pace, 

As he reached his rocky tower. 
He came not from where Ancrara Moor' 

Ran red with English blood; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 

'Gainst keen lord Evers stood. 
Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed. 

His acton pierced and tore; 
His axe and his dagger with blood embrued. 

But it was not English gore. 
He lighted at the Chapellage, 

He held him close and still; 



* The plate-Jack is co.-it-armour; the Taunt-brace, or 
warabrace, armour for the body; the spcilUe, a battle-axe. 



And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page. 

His name was English Will. 
" Come thou hither, my little foot-page; 

Come hither to my knee; 
Though thou art young, and tender of age, 

I think thou art true to me. 

"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen. 

And look thou tell me true! 
Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been. 

What did thy lady do?" 

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light. 

That burns on the wild Watchfold; 
For, from height to height, the beacons bright 

Of the Englisii foeraen told. 
" The bittern clamoured from the moss. 

The wind blew loud and shrill; 
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross. 

To the eiry beacon hill. 

"I watched her steps, and silent came 

Where she sat her on a stone; 
No watchman stood by the dreaiy flame; 

It burned all alone. 
" The second night I kept her in sight. 

Till to the fire she came, 
And, by Mary's might! an armed knight 

Stood by the lonely flame. 

" And many a word that warlike lord 

Did speak to my lady there; 
But the rain fell last, a'nd loud blew the blast, 
.And I heard not what they were. 
" The third night there tiie sky was fair, 

And the mountain blast was still, 
As again I watched the secret pair, 

On the lonesome beacon hill. 
" And I heard her name the midnight hour. 

And name this holy eve; 
And say, ' Come tliis night to thy lady's bower: 

Ask no bold baron's leave. 
" ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch; 

His lady is all alone; 
The door she'll undo to her knight so true. 

On the eve of good St. John.' 

" ' I cannot come; I must not come, 

I dare not come to thee; 
On the eve of St. John I must wander alone; 

In thy bower I may not be.' 

" ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight! 

Thoti shouldst not say me nay; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet 

Is worth the whole summer's day, 

" ' And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder 
sliall not sound, 

And rushes shall be strewed on the stair. 
So, by the black rood-stone,* and by holy St! John 

1 conjure thee, my love, to be there!' ' 

" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush 
beneath my foot, 
And the warder his bugle should not blow. 
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the 
east, 
And my footstep he would know.' 
" ' O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east I 
For to Dryburght the way he has ta'en; 



• The black rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black mar- 
ble, and of superior sanctity. 

t Dryburgh abbey is beaiupJiilly situated on the banks of 
the Tweed, After its dissoluuou, it became the property 



404 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



- 



And there to say mass, till three days do pass, 
For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' 

" He turned him round, and grimly he frowned; 

Then he hmglied right scornfully; 
• He who sa} s the mass-rite for the soul of that 
knight, 

May as well say mass for me. 

" ' At the lone midnight hour, Avhen bad spirits 
have power. 

In thy chamber will I be.' 
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, 

And no more did I see." 

Then changed, I trow, was that bold baron's brow, 
From the dark to the blood-red high; 

" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast 
seen. 
For, by Mary, he shall die.'" 

" His arms shone full bright in the beacon's red 
light, 

His plume it was scarlet and blue; 
On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound. 

And his crest was a branch of the yew." 

" Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 

Loud dost tliou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, 

All under the Eildon tree."* 

" Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! 

For I heard her name his name; 
And that lady bright, she called the knight, 

Sir liiciiard of Coldinghame." 

The bold baron's brow then changed, I trow. 

From high blood-red to pale! 
*' The grave is deep and dark, and the corpse is 
stift'and stark, 

So I may not trust thy tale. 
" Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 

And Eildon slopes to the plain. 
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, 

That gay gallant was slain. 
<' The varying light deceived thy sight. 

And the wild winds drowned the name; 
For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks 
do sing. 

For sir Richard of Coldinghame!" 
He passed the court gate, and he op'd the tower 
grate. 

And he mounted the narrow stair. 
To the bartizan seat, where, with maids that on 
her wait, 

He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood; 

Looked over hill and dale; 
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoua'st wood. 

And all down Teviotdale. 

" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!" 

"Now hail, thou baron true! 
What news, what news, from Ancram fight? 

What news from the bold Buccleuch?" 



of the Haliburtons of Newniiiins, and is now the seat of 
the riglit lioiioura\)le the eai-l of Buchau. It belonged to 
the order of Pi-cmoiistvatcnses. 

* Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical 
summits, immediately above the town of Melrose, where 
are theadmired ruins of a magnificent monastery. Eildon 
tree is said to be the spot where Thomas the Rhymer ut- 
tered his prophecies. 

tMertoun is the beautiful seat of, Hugh Scott, esq. of 
Harden. I 



" The Ancram Moor is red with .gore, 

For many a southron fell; 
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore. 

To watch our beacons well." 

The lady bluslied red, but nothing she said; 

Nor added the baron a word: 
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber 
fair, 

And so did her moody lord. 

In sleep the lady mourned, and the baron tossed 
and turned. 
And oft to himself he said, 
" The worms around him creep, and his bloody 
grave is deep — 
It cannot give up the dead!" 

It was ne.tr the ringing of matin bell. 

The night was well nigh done. 
When a heavy sleep on that baron fell. 

On the eve of good St. John. 

The lady looked through the chamber fair, 

By the liglit of a dying flame; 
And she was aware of a knight stood there, 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 
"Alas! away, away!" she cried, 

" For the holy Virgin's sake!" 
" Lady, 1 know who sleeps by thy side; 

But, lady, he will notjiiwake. 

" By Eildon tree, for long nights three. 

In bloody grave have I lain; 
The mass and the death pra)"er are said for me, 

But, lady, they are said in vain. 

" By the baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand. 

Most foully slain I fell; 
And my restless sprite on the beacod's height, 

For a space is doomed to dwell. 

" At our trysting-place,* for a certain space, . 

I must wander to and fro; 
But 1 had not had power to come to thy bower, 

Hadst thou not conjured me so." 

Love mastered fear; her brow she crossed; 

" How, Richard, hast thou sped? 
And art thou saved, or art thou lost.'" 

The Vision shook his head! 

" Who spilleth life shall forfeit life; 

So bid thy lord believe; 
That lawless love is guilt above, 

This awful sign receive." 

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam; 

His right upon her hand: 
The lady shrunk, and, fainting, sunk, 

For it scorched like a fiery brand. 

The sable score of fingers four. 

Remains on liiat board impressed; 
And for evermoi'e that lady wore 

A covering on lier wrist. 
There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,2 

Ne'er looks upon the sun: 
There is a monk in Melrose tower. 

He speaketh word to none. 

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day, 

That monk, who speaks to none, 
Tliat nun was Smayllio'me's lady gay. 

That monk the bold baron. 

• Trysting-place, a place of rendezvous. 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



405 



NOTES. 
1. BATTLE OF AXCHAM BfOOK. P. 403. 

Lord Evers, and sir Brian Latoun, during the 
year 1544, coiDmitted the most dreadful ravages 
upon theScottish frontiers, compelling most of the 
inhabitants, and especially the men of Liddesdale, 
to take assuranceunder the king of England. Upon 
the 17th of November, in that year, the sum total 
of their depredations stood thus, in the bloody 
leger of lord Evers. 

Towns, towers, barnekynes, pa- 
r3she churches, bastill houses, 

burned and destroyed 192 

Scots slain 403 

Prisoners t:iken 816 

Nolt ( cattle) 10,386 

Shepe 12,492 

Nags and geldings 1,296 

Gayt 200 

Bolls of corn 850 

Insight gear, 8cc. (furniture) an incalcula- 
ble quantity. 

J\Ii(rdiii's State Papers, vol. i, p. 51. 
The king of England had promised to these two 
barons a feudal grant of the country, which they 
had thus reduced to a desert; upon hearing which, 
Archibald Douglas, the seventh earl of Angus, is 
said to have sworn to write the deed of investiture, 
upon their skins, with sharp pens and bloody ink, 
in resentment for their having defaced the tombs 
of his ancestors, at Melrose. — Godscroft. In 1545, 
lord Evers and Latoun again entered Scotland 
with an army, consisting of 3000 mercenaries, 
1500 English borderers, and 700 assured Scottish- 
men, ciiiefly Armstrongs, TurnbuUs, and oilier 
broken clans. In this second incursion, the En- 
glish generals even exceeded their former cruelt}'. 
Evers burned the tower of Broomhouse, witli its 
lady (a noble and aged womaii, says 'Lesley,) and 
her whole family. Tlie Englisli penetrated as far 
as TVIelrose, which they had destroyed last year, 
and which they now again pillaged. As they I'e- 
turned towards Jedburg, thej' were followed by 
Angus, at the head of 1000 horse, who was shortly- 
after joined by tlie famous Norman Lesley, with 
a body of Fife-men. The English, being probably 
unwilling to cross the Teviot while the Scots hung 
upon their rear, halted upon Ancram moor, above 
the village of tliat name; and the Scottisli general 
•was deliberating whether to advance or retire, 
when sir \\''alter Scott* of Buccleuch came up, at 
full speed, with a small but chosen body of his 
retainers, the rest of whom were near at hand. 
By the advice of this experienced waiTior (to 
whose conduct Pitscollie and Buchanan ascribe 
the success of the engagement,) Angus withch-ew 
from the heiglit which he occupied, and drew up 
his forces behind it, upon a piece of low Hat ground, 
called Panier-heugh, or Peniel-heugh. The spare 
horses, being sent to an eminence in llieir rear, 



' The editor has found no instance upon record ot this 
fiiiuil}" having taken assiu'ance with England. Hence 
tliey usually suffered dreadfully from the English forays. 
Ill Augu3t,'l544 (the year preceding the battle,) the whole 
lands belonging to IJuccleuch, in West Teviotdale, were 
harried by JKveis ; the out-works, or barnkin, of the tower 
of Branxliolm, burned; eight Scots slain, thirty made 
prisoners, and an immense prey of horses, cattle, and 
sheep, carried oH". The lands upon Kale Water, belong- 
ing to the same chieftain, were also plundered, and much 
spoil obtained; thirty Scots slain, and tlie Moss Tower (a 
fortress near Eekiord) smoked very sore. Thus Buccleuch 
had a long account to settle at Ancram Moor.— jl/wrrf;jiV 
State Papers, pp. 45, 46. 



appeared to the English to be tiie main body of 
the Scots, in the act of flight. Under ibis pei'sua- 
sion, Evers and Latoim hurried precipitately for- 
ward, and, having ascended the hill, wliich their 
foes had abandoned, were no less dism.'iyed than 
astonished, to find the phalanx of Scottish spear- 
men drawn up, in firm array, upon the flat ground 
below. The Scots in their turn became \iie as- 
sailants. A heron, roused from the marshes by the 
tumult, soared away betwixt the encountering ar- 
mies: "O!" exclaimed Angus, "that I had here 
my white goss hawk, that we might all yoke at 
once!"— Gof/,9c;o/h The Englisli, breathless and 
fatigued, having the setting sun and wind full in 
their faces, were unable to withstand the resolute 
and desperate charge of the Scottish lances. No 
sooner had they begun to waver, than their own 
allies, the assured borderers, who had been wait- 
ing the event, threw aside their red crosses, and, 
joining their countrymen, made a most merciless 
slaughter among the English fugitives, the pur- 
suers calling upon each other to "remember 
Broomhouse!" — Lesley, p. 478. In the battle fell 
lord Evers, and his son, together villi sir Brian 
Latoun, and 800 Englishmen, many of « hum were 
persons of rank. A thousand prisoiieis were taken. 
Among these was a patriotic alderman of London, 
l{ea<l by name, who, having contumaciously re- 
fused to pay his portion of a benevolence, demand- 
ed from the city by Henry VUI, was sent by royal 
authority to serve against the Scots. These, at 
settling his ransom, he found still more exorbitant 
in their exactions than the monarch. — Eedpath's 
Border History, p. 553. Evers was uiucli regret- 
ted by king Uenry, who swore to avenge hist'leath 
upon Angus; against whom he conceived himsell 
to have particular grounds of resentment, on ac- 
count of tavours received by the earl at his hands. 
The answer of .\ngus was'worthy of a Douglas. 
■' Is our brother-in-law- oftended,'"* saiil he, " that 
I, as a good Scotsman, have avenged my ravaged 
country, and the defaced tombs of my ancestors, 
upon Ralph Evers? They were better men than 
he, and I was bound to ilo no less — and will he 
take my life for that.' Little knows king Henry 
the skirts of Kirnetable:t I can keep myself there 
against all his English host." — Godscroft. 

Such was the noted bailie of Ancram Moor. 
The spot on which it was fought is called Lyliaid's 
Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish womaii of that 
name, who is reported, by traditio'n, to have dis- 
tinguished herself in the same manner as squire 
Witherington. The old people point out her mo- 
nument, now broken and defaced. The inscription 
is said to have been legible within this century, 
and to have run thus: 



Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane. 
Little was her stature, but great was her fame; 
Upon the English loiuis she laid mouv thumps. 
And when her legs were cutted otf, she fought upon her 
stumps. 

Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose. 
It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an an- 
cestor of lord Evers held also a grant of Scottish 
lands from an English monaich. " i have seen," 
says the historian, " under the broad seale of the 
said king Edward I, a manor called Ketnes, iu 
the countie of Ferliire, in Scotland, and neere the 
furthest part of the same nation noilliward, given 



* Angus had married the widow of James IV, sister to 
king Henry VIII. ' 

t Kimetahle, now called Caimtable, is a niountainouii 
tract at the head of Douglasdale. 



406 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



to John Eure and his heirs, ancestor to the lord 
Euro that now is, and for his service done in these 
partes, with market, &c. dated at Lanercost, the 
20th day of October, anno regi s, 34. " — Stowe's 
Jinnals, p. 210. Tiiis grant, like that of Henry, 
must have been dangerous to the receiver. 

2. There is a nun in Dryburgh bower.— P. 404. 

The circumstance of the nun, " who never saw 
the day," is not entirely imaginary. About fitty 
years ago, an unfortunate female wanderer took 
up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins 
of Dryburgh-abbey, which, during the day, she 
never quilted. "Wlien night fell, she issued from 
this miserable hubitalion, ai)d went to the house 
of Mr. Haliburton, of Newmains, the editor's 
great-grandfather, or to that of Mr. Erskine, of 
Shielfield, two gentlemen of the neiglibourhood. 
From their charity she obtained such necessaries 
as she could be prevailed upon to accept. At 
twelve, eacli night, she lighted her candle, and 
returned to her vault; assuring her friendly neigli- 
bours tliat, during her absence, her habitation was 
arranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the un- 
couth name of Fatlips; describing him as a little 
man, wearing heavy iron shoes, with v.hich he 
trampled the clay floor of the vault, to dispel the 
damps. This circumstance caused her to be re- 
garded, by the well-informed, with compassion, as 
deranged in her understanding; and by the vulgar, 
with some degree of terror. The cause of her 
adopting this extraordinary mode of life she would 
never explain. It was, however, believed to have 
been occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence 
of a man, to whom she was attached, she would 
never look upon the sun. Her lover never re- 
turned. He fell during the civil war of 1745-6, 
and slie never more would behold the light of day. 

The vault, or rallier dungeon, in which this un- 
fortunate woman lived and died, passes still by 
tlie name of the supernatural being, with which 
its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed imagina- 
tion, and few of the neighbouring peasants dare 
enter it by night. 

CADYOW CASTLE. 

AIIDRESSED TO THE 
RIGHT HON. LADY ANNE HAMILTON. 
Thk ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow castle, the an- 
cient baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, 
are situated upon the precipitous banks of the ri- 
ver Evan, about two miles above its junction with 
the Clytle. It was dismantled in the conclusion of 
the civil wars, during the reign of the unfortunate 
Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamilton de- 
voted themselves with a generous zeal, which oc- 
casioned their temporary obscurity, and, very 
nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the ruins, 
embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creep- 
ing shrubs, and overhanging the brawling torrent, 
ifi romantic in the highest degree. In the imme- 
diate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense 
oaks, the remains of the Caledonian forest, which 
anciently extended through the south of Scotland, 
from the Eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of 
these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, 
in circumference, and the state of decay, in which 
they now appear, shows, that they may have wit- 
nessed the rites of tlie druids. The whole scenery 
is included in the magnificent and extensive park 
of tlic duke of Hamilton. There was long preserv- 
ed in thia forest the breed of the Scottish wild cat- 



tle, until their ferocity occasioned their being ex- 
tirpated, about forty years ago. Their ajjpearance 
was beautiful, being milk white, witli black muz- 
zles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described 
by ancient authors, as having white manes; but 
those of latter d.nys had lost that peculiarity, per- 
haps by intermixture with the tame breed.* 

in detailing the death of the regent Murray, 
which is made the subject of the following ballad, 
it would be injustice to my reader to use other 
words than those of Dr. Robertson, whose account 
of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of 
historical painting. 

" Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person 
who committed this barbarous action. He had 
been condemned to death soon after the battle of 
Langside, as we have already related, and owed 
his life to the regent's clemency. But part of his 
estate had been bestowed upon one of the regent's 
favourites, t who siezed his house, and turned out 
his wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open 
fields, where, before next morning, she became 
furiously mad. This injury made a deeper im- 
pression on him than the benefit he had received, 
and from that moment he vowed to be revenged of 
the regent. Party rage strengthened aud inflamed 
his private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamil- 
tons, applauded the enterprise. The maxims pf 
that age justified the most desperate course he 
could take to obtain vengeance. He followed the 
regent for some time, and watched for an oppor- 
tunity to strike the blow. He resolved, at last, to 
wait till his enemy should arrive at Linlithgow, 
through which he was to pass, in his way from 
Stirling to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a 
wooden gallery,:): which had a window towards the 
street; spread a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder 
the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up a 
black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not 
be observed from without; and, after all this pre- 
paration, calmly expected the regent's approach, 
who had lodged, during the night, in a house not 
far distant. Some indistinct information of the 
danger which threatened him had been conveyed 
to tiie regent, and he paid so much regard to it, 
that he i-esolved to return by the same gate through 
which he had entered, and to fetch a compass round 
the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was 
great, and he himself unacquainted with fear, he 
proceeded directly along the street; and the throng 
of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave 
the assassin time to lake so true an aim, that he 
shot him, with a single bullet, through the lower 
part of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentle- 
man, who rode on his other side. His followers 
instantly endeavoured to break into the house 
whence the blow had come; but they found the 
door strongly barricaded, and, before it could be 
forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,§ 
which stood ready for him at a back-passage, and 



* Tliey were formerly kept in the park at Driimlanrig, 
and are still to be seen at Chillinghaiu castle in Northiim- 
jerland. For their nature anil ferocity, see Notes. 

t This was sir James Ballenden, lord-justice-clerk, 
wliose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasiomd the 
catastrophe in the te\t.—Spottis7voo(k. 

X This projrctiiis- gallery is still shown. The house to 
which it was ullaciu il was the property of the arehliislion 
of St. Andrews, a natural brother of the duke of fhatel- 
herault, and uncle to liothwellhaugh. This, amoui,' luany 
other circumstances, seems to evince the aid which Hoth- 
wellhaugh received from his clau in efrectinif his purpose. 

5 The gift of lord John Hamilton, commendator ot Ar- 
broath. 



' 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



407 



was got far beyond their reacli. The regent died 
the same night of his wound." — History of Scot- 
land, book V. 

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamihon, where 
he was received in triumph; for the ashes of the 
houses in Clydesdale, wliich had been burned by 
Murray's army, were yet smoking; and party pre- 
judice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of 
the provocation, seemed to his kinsmen to justif}' 
his deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this 
fierce and determined man left Scotland, and serv- 
ed in France, under the patronage of the family 
of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recommended 
by having avenged the cause of their niece, queen 
Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. De Thou has 
recorded, that an attempt was made to engage him 
to assassinate Caspar de Coligni, the famous ad- 
miral of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot I 
cause. But the character of Bothwellhaugh was | 
mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, 
and rejected the offer with contempt and indigna- 
tion. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland, 
to commit murders in France; he had avenged his 
own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price 
nor prayer, avenge thatof anotlier man. — Tliuanus, 
cap. 46. 

The regent's death happened 23d January, 1569. 
It is applauded, or stigmatized, by contemporary 
historians, according to their religious or part}' 
prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is un- 
bounded. He not only extols the pious feat of' 
Bothwellhaugh, " who," he observes, " satisfied 
with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrile- 
gious avarice had stripped the metropolitan church 
of St. Andrews of its covering;" but he ascribes it 
to immediate Divine inspiration, and the escape 
of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous in- 
terference of the Deity. — Jebb, vol. ii, p. 263. With 
equal injustice it was, by others, made the ground 
of a general national reflection; for, when Mather 
urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted 
the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the 
other conspirators answered-, " that neitlier Pol- 
trot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, 
without some reason or consideration to lead them 
to it: as the one, by hyre, and promise of prefer- 
ment or rewarde; the other, upon desperate mind 
of revenge, for a lytle wrong done unto him, as 
the report goethe, accordinge to the vyle trayterous 
disposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scotles." — 
Mur dill's State Papers, vol. i, p. 19r. 

When princely Hamilton's abode 

Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 
The song went round, the goblet flow'd. 

And revel sped the laughing hours. 
Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 

So sweetly i-ung each vaulted wall. 
And echoed light the dancer's bound, 

As mirth and music cheered the hall. 
But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid. 

And vaults, by ivy mantled- o'er, 
Thrill to the music of the shade, 

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 



Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 
You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 

And tune my harp, of border frame. 
On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
From pleasure's liehter scenes, canst turn, 

^ 28 



To draw oblivion's pall aside, 

And mark Ihe long forgotten urn. 
Then, noble maid ! at thy command. 

Again the crumbled halls shall rise; 
Lo I as on Evan's banks we stand. 

The past returns, the present flies. 
Where with the rock's wood-covered side 

Were blended late the ruins green. 
Rise turrets in fantastic pride. 

And feudal banners flaunt between. 
Where the rude torrent's brawling course 

Was shagged with thorn and tangling sloe, 
The ashler buttress braves its force, 

And ramparts frown in battled row. 
'Tis night: the shade of keep and spire 

Obscurely dance on Evan's stream, 
And on the wave the warder's fire 

Is chequering the moonlight beam. 
Fades slow their light; the east is gray; 

The weary warder leaves his tower; 
Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 

And merry hunters quit the bower. 
The drawbridge falls, they hurry out; 

Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 
As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 
First of his troop, the chief rode on;i 

His shouting merrymen throng behind; 
The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 
From the thick copse the roebucks bound, 

The startling red deer scuds the plain; 
For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound 
Has roused their mountain haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 

What sullen roar comes down the gale. 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase. 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race. 

The mountain bull comes thundering on.2 

Fierce, on the hunters' quivered band. 
He rolls his eye of swarthy glow. 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 

Aimed well, the chieftain's lance has flown; 

Struggling in blood the savage lies; 
His roar is sunk in lioUow groan! 

Sound, merry huntsmen! sound the pryaeJ* 
'Tis noon: against the knotted oak 

The hunters rest the idle spear; 
Curls through the trees the slender smoke. 

Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 
Proudly the chieftain marked his clan. 

On greenwood lap all careless thrown, 
Yet missed his eye the boldest man, 

That bore the narrte of Hamilton. 
" Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, 

Still wont our weal and wo to share ? 
Why comes he not our sport to grace? 

Why shares he not our hunter's fare?" 
Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, 

(Gray Pasley's haughty lord was he,)3 



• Pry*e— The note blown at the death of the game. 



408 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



♦' At merry feast, or buxom chase, 

No more the warrior shall thou see. 
«' Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee'* 

Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, 
When to his hearths, in social glee. 

The war-worn soldier turned him home. 
" There, wan from her maternal throes, 

His Margaret, beautiful and mild. 
Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, 

And peaceful nursed her new-born child. 

«' O change accurst! past are those days; 

False Murray's ruihless spoilers came, 
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, 

Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 

" What sheeted phantom wanders wild. 

Where mountain Eske thro' woodland flows. 
Her arms enfold a shadowy child! 

Oh is it she, the pallid rose? 
" The wildered traveller sees her glide, 

And hears her feeble voice with awe; 
' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride! 

And wo for injured Bothwellhaugh ! ' " 

He ceased; and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred band. 

And half arose the kindling chief. 

And half unsheatlied his Arran brand. 

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream, and rock. 

Rides headlong, with resistless speed. 
Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 

Drives to the leap his jade^l steed?5 
Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-balls glare, 

As one some visioned sight that saw. 
Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair? 

— 'Tis he! 'tis he! 'lis Bothwellhaugh! 

From gory selle,* and reeling steed, 

Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound. 

And, reeking from the recent deed. 
He dashed his carbine on the ground. 

Sternly he spoke: " 'Tis sweet to hear. 
In good green-wood, the bugle blown; 

But sweeter to revenge's ear. 
To drink a tyrant's dving groan. 

" Your slaughtered quarry proudly trod, 
At dawning morn, o"^r dale and down, 

But prouder base-born Murray rode 

Through old Linlithgow's crowded town. 

" From the wild border's humbled side, 
In haughty triumph marched he,6 

While Knox relaxed his bigot pride, 
And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. 

" But can stern Power, with all his vaunt. 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, 

The settled heart of Vengeance daunt. 
Or change the purpose of Despair? 

"With hackbut hent,t my secret stand, ' 

Dark as the purposed deed, I chose. 
And marked, where, mingling in his band. 
Trooped Scottish pikes and English bows. 

" Dark Morton, girt with many a spear,8 
Murder's foul minion, led the van; 

And clashed tlieir broadswords in the rear. 
The wild Macfarlane's plaided clan. 9 



• feWe— Saddle. A word used by Spencer, ai)d other 
ancient authors, 
t Hackbut 6eni— (iun cocked. 



" Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, 

Obsequious at their regent's rein,'o 
And haggard Lindsay's iron eye, 

That saw fair Mary weep iu vain." 
" Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove, 

Proud Murray's plumage floated high; 
Scarce could his trampling charger move. 

So close the minions crowded nigh. 12 

" From the raised vizor's shade, his eye. 
Dark rolling, glanced the ranks along, 

And his steel truncheon, waved on high, 
Seemed marshalling the iron throng. 

'♦ But yet his saddened brow confessed 
A passing shade of doubt and awe; 

Some fiend was whispering in his breast, 
' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!' 

" The death-shot parts, the charger springs, 
Wild rises tumult's startling roar! 

And Murray's plumy helmet rings, — 
Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 

*' What joy the raptured youth can feel. 
To hear her love the loved one tell, 

Or, he who broaches on his steel 
The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! 

•' But dearer to my injured eye, 
To see in dust proud Murray roll; 

And mine was ten times trebled joy. 
To hear him groan his felon soul. 

" My Margaret's spectre glided near; 

With pride her bleeding victim saw; 
And shrieked in his death-deafened ear, 

' Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!' 

" Then speed thee, noble Chatelrault! 

Spread to the wind thy bannered tree! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! * 

Murray is fallen, and Scotland free!" 

Vaults every warrior to his steed; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim, — 
" Murray is fallen and Scotland freed! 

Couch, Arran ! coucii thy spear of flame ! " 
But, see! the minstrel vision fails. 

The glimmering spears are seen no more; 
The shouts of war die on the gales, 

Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high, 

The blackbird whistles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The bannered towers of Evandale. 

For chiefs intent on bloody deed. 

And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed. 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids, who list the minstrel's tale; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the lair banks of Evandale ! 

NOTES. 

1. First of his troop, the chief rode on.— P. 407. 
The head of the family of Hamilton, at this pe- 
riod, was James, earl of Arran, duke of Chatelhe- 
rault in France, and first peer of the Scottish realm. 
la 1569, he was appointed by queen Mary, her 
lieutenant-general in Scotland, under the singular 
title of her adopted father. 
2. The mountain bull comes thundering' on.— P. 407. 
♦' In Caledonia olim frequens erat sylvestris qui- 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES 



409 



dam bos, nunc A'ero rarior, qui colore candidissi- 
mo, jubani densam et demissam instar leonis ges- 
tat, truculeutus ac ferus, ab humano genere abhor- 
I'ens, ut qutecunque homines vel manibus contrec- 
taverint, vel halitu perflaverint, ab iis multos post 
dies omniuo abstinuerint. Ad hoc tanta audacia 
huic bovi inditaerat, utnon solum irritalusequites 
furenter prosterneret, sed ne tantillum lacessitus 
omnes promiscue homines cornibus, ac ungulis pe 
teret; ac canum, qui apud nos ferocissimi sunt, im- 
petus plane cpntemnei-et. Ejus carnes cartilagino- 
se sed saporis suavissirai. Erat is olim per illam 
vastissimam Caledonia sylvam frequens, sed hu- 
mana ingluvie jam assumptus tribus tantura locis 
est reliquus, Strivilingii, Cumbernaldice, et Kin- 
carniK." — Lesleeus, ScoiiiB Descriptio, p. 13. 

3. Stem Claud replied, with darkening face 

(Gray Pasley"shaughty lord was he.)— P. 407. 

Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the duke 
of Cliatelherault, and coramendator of the abbey 
of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during the 
troubles of queen Mary's reign, and remained un- 
alterably attached to the cause of that unfortunate 
princess. He led the van of her army at the fatal 
iattle of Langside, and vvas one of tlie commanders 
at the Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given 
complete success to the queen's faction. He was 
ancestor to the present marquis of Abercorn. 

4. Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee.— P. 408. 
This barony, stretching along the banks of the 

Esk, near Auchendinny, belonged to Bothwell- 
haugh, in right of his wile. The ruins of the man- 
sion, from whence slie was expelled in the brutal 
manner wliicli occasioned her death, are still to 
be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popu 
lar report tenants them with the restless ghost 
of the lady Bothwellhaugh; whom, however, it 
confounds with lady Anne Bothwell, whose iO' 
fne?ii is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious 
of her rights, tliat, a part of the stones of the an- 
cient edifice having been employed in building or 
repairing the present Woodhouselee, she has 
deemed it a part^ of her privilege to haunt that 
house also; and, even of very late years, has ex- 
cited considerable disturbance and terror among 
the domestics. This is a more remarkable vindi- 
cation of the rights of ghosts, as the present Wood- 
houselee, wliich gives his title to the honoiirable 
Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of tl'e college 
of justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland 
hills, distant at least four miles froja her proper 
abode. She always appears in white, and with a 
child in her arms. 

5. Whose bloody poniard's fivintie stroke. 

Drives to the leap his jaded steed.— P. 408. 

Birrell informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being 
closely pursued, " after that spur and wand had 
failed him, he drew forth his dagger, and strocke 
his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap 
a verey brode stank, [i. e. ditch,) by whilk means 
he escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the 
horses." — Birrel's Diary, p. 18. 

6. From the wild border's humbled side, 

In haughty triumph marched he. — P. 403. 

Murray's death took place shortly after an ex- 
pedition to the borders; which is thus commemo- 
rated by the auttior of his elegy. 

" So having stablischt all thing in this sort. 

To Liddisdaill again he did resort, 

Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and all the daills rode he, 

And also lay tltree nights in Cannabie, 



Whair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before, 
Nae thief (lurst stir, they did him feir so sair; 
And, that they suld na mair thair thift alledge. 
Threescore and twelf he brocht of thaiiie in pledge. 
Syne wardit tliame, w hilk made the rest keep ordour. 
Than mycht the raseh-bus keep ky on the bordour. 
Scottish Poems, 16th century, p. 232. 

7. With hackbut bent, my secret stand. — P. 408. 

The carabine, with which the i-egent was shot, 
is preserved at Hamilton palace. It is a brass piece, 
of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, 
what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been 
rifled or indented in the barrel. It had a matchlock, 
for which a modern firelock has been injudiciously 
substituted. 

8. Dark Morton, girt with many a spear. — P. 408. 

Of this noted person it is enough to say, that he 
was active in the murder of David Rizzio, and at 
least privy to that of Darnley. 

9. The wild ISIacfarlane's plaided clan. — P. 408. 
Thi s clan of Lennox highlanders were attacheil to 

the regent Murray. Holinshead, speaking ofthebat- 
tle of Langside, says, *' In this batayle the vali- 
ance of an hieland gentleman, named Macfarlane, 
stood the regent's part in great steede; for, in the 
hottest brunte of the fighte, he came up with two 
hundred of his friendes and countrymen, and so 
manfully gave in upon the flankes of the queene's 
people, that he was a great cause of the disorder- 
ing of them. This Macfarlane had been lately be- 
fore, as 1 have heard, condemned to die, for some 
outrage by him committed, and oblayning par- 
don through suyt of the countess of Murray, he 
recompensed that clemencie by this piece of ser- 
vice now at this batayle." Calderwood's account 
is less favourable to the Macfarlanes. He states, 
that " Macfarlane, with his liighlandmen, fled 
from the wing where they were set. The lord 
Lindesay, who stood nearest to them in the regent's 
battle, said, ' let them go! 1 shall fill their places 
better:' and so stepping forward witli a company 
of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears 
were n>'»' spent, with long weapons, so that they 
were driven back by force, being Ijefore almost 
overthrown by the avant guard and harquebusiers, 
and so were turned to flight. " Caklenvood's MS. 
apud Keith, page 4S0. Melville mentions the 
fliglit of tlie vanguard, but states it to have been 
commanded by Morton, and composed chiefly of 
commoners of the barony of Renfrew. 

10. Glencaii-n and stout Parkhead were nigli, 

Obsequious at their regent's rein. — P. 408. 

The earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of 
the regent. George Douglas, of Parkhead, was a na- 
tural brother of the earl of Morton: his horse was 
killed by the same ball by which Murray fell. 

11. And haggard Lindsay's iron eye. 

That saw fair Mary weep in vain. — P. 408. 
1 .ord Lindesay, of the Byres, was the most fe- 
rocious and brutal of the regent's faction; and, as 
such, was employed to extort Mary's signature to . 
the deed of resignation, presented to her in Loch- 
leven castle. He discharged his commission with 
the most savage rigour; and it is even said, that 
when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, 
averted her eyes from the fatal deed, he pinched 
her ami with the grasp of his iron glove. 

12. Scarce could his trampling charger move. 

So close the miiiiuus crowded ujgh. — P. 408. 
Richard Bannatyne mentions in hisjournal, that 
Jolm Knox repeatedly warned Murray to avoid 
Linlithgow. 



410 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Not only had the regent notice of the intended 
attempt upon his life, but even of the very house 
from which it was threatened. 

With that infatuation, at which men wonder af- 
ter such events have happened, he deemed it would 
be a suflRcient precaution to ride briskly past the 
dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by 
the crowd: so that Bothwellhaugh had time to 
take a deliberate aim. — SpoUisivoode, p. 233. Eu- 
chanan. 

THE GRAY BROTHER. 

A TKAGMENT. 

The imperfect state of this ballad, which was 
written several years ago, is not a circumstance 
afiFected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar 
interest, which is often found to arise from ungra- 
tified curiosity. On the contraiy, it was the au- 
thor's intention to have completed the tale, if he 
had found himself able to succeed to his own satis- 
faction. Yielding to the opinion of persons, whose 
judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friend- 
ship, is entitled to deference, the author has pre- 
ferred inserting these verses, as a fragment, to his 
intention of entirely suppressing them. 

The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, 
regards a house, upon the barony of Gilmerton, 
nearLasswade,in Mid-Lothian. This building, now 
called Gilmerton-Grange, was originally named 
Burndale, from the following tragic adventure. 
The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a 
gentleman, named Heron, who had one beautiful 
daughter. This young lady was seduced by the 
abbot of Newbottle, a richly endowed abbey, upon 
the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the 
marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge 
of this circumstance, and learned, also, that the 
lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the 
connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this 
house, of Gilmerton-Grange, or Burndale. He form- 
ed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred 
by the supposed sanctity of the clerical cti.iracter, 
or by the stronger claims of natural affetvion. 
Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, wUn 
the objects of his vengeance were engaged in a 
Stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried 
thorns, and other combustibles, which he had 
caused to be piled against the house, and reduced 
to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all 
its inmates.* 

The scene, with which the ballad opens, was 
suggested by the following curious passage, ex- 
tracted from the life of Alexander Peden, gne of 
the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect 
of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles 11, 
and his successor, James. This person was sup- 
posed by his followers, and, perhaps, really be- 
lieved himself, to be possessed of supernatural 
gifts; for the wild scenes, which they frequented, 
and the constant dangers, which were incurred 
through their proscription, deepened upon their 
minds tlie gloom of superstition, so general in that 
age. 

" About the same time he (Peden) came to An- 
drew Normand's house, in the parish of Alloway, 
in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in 



his barn. After he came in, he halted a little^ 
leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered; 
when he lifted up his liead, he said, ' There are 
in this house that 1 have not one word of salvation 
unto;' he hailed a little again, saying, ' This is 
strange, that the devil will not go out, that we 
may begin our work ! ' Then there was a woman 
went out, ill looked upon almost all her life, and 
to her dying hour, for a witch, with many pre- 
sumptions of the same. It escaped me, in the 
former passages, that John Muirhead (whom I 
have often mentioned) told me, that when he 
came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family 
worship, and giving some notes upon the Scripture, 
when a verj- ill looking man came, and sat down 
within the door, at the hack of the hallan: (par- 
tition of the cottage:) immediately he halted, and 
said, ' There is some unhappy body just now come 
into this house. 1 charge him to go out, and not 
stop my mouth. ' The person went out, and he 
insisted, (went on,) yet he saw him neither come 
in nor go out." — The Life and Prophecies of Mr, 
Mexandei' Peden, late Minister of the Gospel ai 
JVev) Glenluce, in Gallowat/, part ii, section 26. 

The pope he was saying the high, high mstss. 

All on saint Peter's day. 
With the power to him given, by the saints in 
heaven. 

To wash men's sins away. 

The pope he was saying the blessed mass. 

And the people kneeled around; 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass, 

As he kissed the holy ground. 

And all, among the crowded throng, 

Was still, both limb and tongue, 
While through vaulted I'oof, and aisles aloof. 

The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quivered for fear, 

And faltered in the sound; 
And, when he would the chalice rear. 

He dropped it on the ground. 

"The breath of one, of evil deetl. 

Pollutes our sacred day; 
He has no portion in our creed, 

No part in what I say. 

" A bevng, whom no blessed word 

To ghosi.ly peace can bring; 
A wretch, at whose approach abhorredj 

Recoils each holy thing. 
"Up, up, unhappy! haste, arise! 

My adjuration fear! 
I charge thee not to stop my voice. 

Nor longer tarry here!" 

Amid them all a pilgrim kneeled, 

In gown of sackcloth gray; 
Far journeying from his native field. 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear, 

1 ween, he had not spoke. 
And, save with bread and water clear. 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 
Amid the penitential flock, 

Seemed none more bent to pray; 
But, when the holy father spoke. 

He rose, and went his way. 



* This tradition was communicated to me by John 
Clerk, esq. of Eldin, author Of an Essay upon Naval Tac- 
tics; who will be remembered by posterity, as having, . • „ i„ l- _„f:„„ i„„,i 
taught the genius of Britain to concentrate her thunders, Agam unto nis native lanu, 
^nd to lanch them against her foes with an unerring aim. I His weary course he drew. 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



411 



To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, 
And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His unblest feet his native seat, 

Mid Eske's fair woods, regain; 
Through woods more fair lid stream more sweet 

Rolls to the eastern main. 
And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 

And vassals bent tlie knee; 
For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 

Was none more famed than he. 

And boldly for his country still. 

In battle he had stood, 
Ay, even when, on the banks of Till, 

Her noblest poured their blood. 
Sweet are the paths, O, passing sweet! 

By Eske's fair streams that run, 
O'er airy steep, through copse-wood deep. 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove. 

And yield the muse the day; 
There Beauty, led by timid Love, 

May shun the tell-tale ray: 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free,' 
To Auchendinny's hazel glade,2 

And haunted Woodhouselee.' 

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,* 

And Roslin's rocky glen,^ 
Dalkdlth, which all the virtues love,^ 

And classic Hawthori^den?'' 

Yet never a path, from day to day. 

The pilgrim's footsteps range, 
Save but the solitary way 

To Burndale's ruined Grange. 
A woful place was that, I ween, 

As sorrow could desire; 
For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall. 

And the roof was scathed with fire. 
It fell upon a summer's eve. 

While, on Carnethy's head. 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streaked the gray with red; 
And the convent bell did vespers tell, 

Newbottle's oaks among. 
And mingled «ith the solemn knell 

Our ladye's evening song; 

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, 

Came slowly down the wind. 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 

As his wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was. 

Nor ever raised his eye. 
Until he came to that dreary place, 

Which did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the wall, so scathed with fire, 

With many a bitter groan; 
And there was aware of a gray friar. 

Resting him on a Etone. 

♦• Now, Christ thee save !" said the Gray Brother; 

" Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did lord x\lbert gaze. 

Nor answer again made he. . 

" O come ye from east, or come ye from west. 

Or bring relics from over the sea,* 
Or come ye from the shrine of St, Jafhes the divine. 

Or saint John of Beverley?" 



"1 come not from the shrine of saint James the 
divine. 

Nor bring relics from over the sea; 
I bring but a curse from our father, the pope, 

Which for ever will cling to me." 
"Now, woful pilgrim, say not sol 

But kneel thee down by me. 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, 

That absolved thou may'st be." 
" And who art thou, thou gray brother, 

Tliat 1 should shrive to thee. 
When he, to whom are given the keys of earth 
and heaven. 

Has no power to pardon me?" 

" O I am sent from a distant clime. 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime. 

Done here 'twixt night and day." 

The pilgrim kneeled him on the sand. 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Gray Brother laye. 



NOTES. 

1. From that fair dome, where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free.— P. 411. 
The barony of Pennycuik, the property of sir 
George Clerk, bart., is held by a singular tenure; 
the proprietor being bound to sit upon a large 
rocky fragment, called the Buckstane, and wind 
three blasts of a horn, when the king shall come 
to hunt on the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. 
Hence, the family have adopted, as their crest, 
a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the 
motto. Free for a Blast. The beautiful mansion- 
house of Pennycuik is much admired, both on ac- 
count of the architecture and surrounding scenery. 

2. To Auchendinny's hazel glade.— P. 411. 
Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below 

Pennycuik, the present residence of the ingenious 
H. Mackenzie, esq. &\H.\\or oi The Man of Feeling, 
&c. 

3. And haunted Woodhouselee. — P. •■". 

For the traditions connected with this ruinous 
mansion, see Notes to the ballad of Cadyow Cas- 
tle, p. 409. 

4. Who knows not Melville's beechy grove. — P. 411. 

Mehille castle, the seat of the honourable Ro- 
bert Dundas, member for the county of Mid-Lo- 
thian, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near 
Lasswade. It gives the title of viscount to his fa- 
ther, lord Melville. 

5. And Roslin's rocky glen. — P. 411. 

The ruins of Roslin castle, the b.ironial residence 
of the ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic 
chapel, which is still in beautiful preservation, 
with the romantic and woody dell, in which they 
are situated, belong to the right honourable the 
earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former 
lords of Roslin. 

6. Dalkeith, which all the virtues love.— P. 411. 

The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged, of 
old, to the famous earl of Morton, but is now the 
residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. The 
park extends along the Eske, which is there joined 
by its sister stream of the same name. 

7. And classic Hawthoraden. — P. 411. 

Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Dram- 



412 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



mond. A house of more modern date is enclosed, 
as it were, by the ruins of the ancient castle, and 
overhangs a tremendous precipice, upon the banks 
of the Eske, perforated by winding caves, which, 
in former times, formed a refuge to the oppressed 
patriots of Scotland. Here Drummond received 
Ben Jonson, who journeyed from London, on foot, 
in order to visit him. The beauty of this striking 
scene has been much injured, of late years, by the 
indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now 
looks in vain for the leaf)' bower, 

" 'VVheie Jonson sate in Drummond's social shade." 
Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its 
source, till it joins the sea, at Musselburgh, no 
stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succes- 
sion' of the most interesting objects, as well as of 
the most romantic and beautiful scenery. 

THE FIRE KING. 

" The blessings of the evil genii, which are curses, were 
upon him." Eastern Tale. 

This ballad was written at the request of Mr. 
Lewis, to be inserted in his Tales of Wonde>\ It 
is the third in a series of four ballads, on the sub- 
ject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, however, 
partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during 
the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, 
a knight templar, called saint Alban, deserted to 
the Saracens, and defeated the christians in many 
combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a 
conflict with king Baldwin, under the walls of Je- 
rusalem. 

Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, 
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear; 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, 
At the tale of count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 
O see you that castle, so strong and so high? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her e)'ei' 
And see you that palmer from Palestine's land. 
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand? 

«' Now palmer, gray palmer, O tell unto me. 
What newsbringyouhomefrom the HolyCoimtrie? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land?" 
«' O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. 
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
For the heathen have lost, and the christians have 

won." 
A fair chain of gold mid her ringlets there hung: 
O'er the palmer's gray locks the tair chain has she 

flung; 
" O palmer, gray palmer, this chain be thy fee. 
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy 

Countrie. 
" And palmer, good palmer, liy Galilee's wave, 
O saw ye count Albert, the gentle and brave ? 
When the crescent went back, and the red-cross 

rushed on, 
O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon?" 

" O lady, fair lady, the tree green it growsj 
O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows: 
Your castle stancls strong, and your hopes soar on 

high; 
But lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

" The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt 

falls, 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorched walls; 



The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone; 
Count Albert is prisoner on mount Lebanon." 
O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speedj 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her 

need; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land. 
To ransom count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. 
Small thought had count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on hisfaith, or hisknighthood had he; 
A heathenish damsel his light heart had won. 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 
"O christian, brave christian, my love wouldst 

thou be. 
Three things must thoii do ere I hearken to thee; 
Our laws and our worship on thee shaltthou take; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Kurdmans adore. 
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake; 
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. 
" And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and 

hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land; 
For my lord and my love then count Albert I'll take, 
When all this is accomplished for Zulema's sake." 
He has thrown by his helmet and cross-handled 

sword, 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord; 
He has (a'en the green caftan, and turban put on, 
For the love of the maideii of fair Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground, 
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, 
He has watched until daybreak, but sight saw he 

none. 
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

Amazed was the princess, the Soldan ama2^d. 
Sore murmured the priests as on Albert they 

gazed; 
They searched all his garments, and, under his 

weeds. 
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground. 
He watched the lone night, while the winds whis- 
tled round; 
Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigli, 
The flame burned unmoved, and nought else did he 

spy. 
Loud murmured the priests, and amazed was the 

king. 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they 

sing; 
They searched Albert's body, and, lo ! on his breast 
Was the sign of the cross, by his father impressed. 
The priests they erase it with care and with pain, 
And tl»e recreant returned to the cavern again; 
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell, — 
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell! 

High bristled his hair, his heart fluttered and beat. 

And he tm-ned him five steps, half resolved to re- 
treat; 

But his heart it was hardened, his purpose was 
gone. 

When he thought of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold scarce 

trod, • 
When the winds from the four points of heaven 

were abroad; 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



413 



They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, 
And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire-King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh. 
The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high; 
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach of the monarch of flame. 

Unmeasured in height, undistinguished in form, 
His breatii it was lightning, his voice it was storm; 
I ween the stout heart of count Albert was tame. 
When he saw in his terrors the monarch of flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue glimmered thro' 

smoke, 
And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he 

spoke: 
" With this brand shall thou conquer, thus long, 

and no more. 
Till thou bend to the cross, and the virgin adore." 

The cloud-shrouded arm gives the weapon; and, 

see! 
The recreant receives the charmed gift on his 

knee: 
The thunders grow distant, and faint gleam the 

fires. 
As, borne on his whirlwind, the phantom retires. 

Count Albert has armed him the paynim among, 
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was 

strong; 
And the red-cross waxed faint, and the crescent 

came on, 
Frcm the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. 

Frnm Lebanon's fores^ to Galilee's wave. 

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the br.we; 

Till the knights of the temple, and knights of St. 
John, 

With Salem's king Baldwin, against him came on. 

The war-cymbals clattered, tlie trumpets replied, 

Th° lances were couched, and they closed on each 
side; 

And horsemen and horses count Albert o'erthrew. 

Till iie pierced the thick tumult king Baldwin 
unto. 

Against the charmed blade which count Albert did 
wield. 

The ftnce had been vain of the king's red-cross 
shield; 

But a page thrust him forward the monarch be- 
fore, 

And chft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint, that count Albert stooped low 

Before the crossed shield, to his steel saddle-bow; 

And scarce had he bent to the red-cross his head, 

" Bowie grace, notre datne," he unwittingly said. 

Sore sighed the charmed sword, for its virtue was 

o'er, 
It spruig from his grasp, and was never seen more: 
But trte men have said, that the lightning's red 

wing 
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. 

He clench 'd his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand; 

He stretched, with one buffet, that page on the 
strand; 

As back from the stripling the broken casque 
rolled, 

Vou might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of 
gold. 

Short time had count Albert in horror to stare 

On those death-swimming eye-balls, and blood- 
clotted hair; 



For down came the templars, like Cedron in flood. 
And dieil their long lances in Saracen blood. 

The Saracens, Kurdmans, and Ishmaelites yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and croslelted shield; 
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead, 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Napthali's head. 
The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. 
Oil, who is yon paynim lies stretched mid the 

slain? • 
And who is yon page lying cold at his knee? 
Oh, who but count Albert and fair Rosalie. 
The lady was buried in Salem's blessed bound. 
The count he was left to the ^'ulture and hound: 
Her soul to high mercy our lady did bring; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 
Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell. 
How the red-cross it conquered, the crescent it fell; 
And lords and gay ladies have sighed, mid their 

glee. 
At the tale of count Albert and fair Rosalie. 

FREDERICK AND ALICE. 

This tale is imitated, rather than translated, 
from a fragment introduced in Gcethe's Claudi- 
na von Villa Bella, where it is sung by a member 
of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the 
family, while his companions break into the cas- 
tle. It owes any little merit it may possess to my 
friend Mr. Lewis, to wliom it was sent in an ex- 
tremely rude state; and who, after some material 
improvements, published it in his Tales of Won- 
der. 

Frederick leaves the land of France, 

Homeward hastes his steps to measure, 
Careless casts the parting glance 

On tile scene of former pleasure. 
Joying in his prancing steed. 

Keen to prove his untried blade, 
Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 

Over mountain, moor, and glade. 
Helpless, ruined, left forlorn, 

Lovely Alice wept alone; 
Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope, and peace, and honour flown. 
Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! 

See, the tear of anguish flows! 
Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 
Wild she cursed, and wild she prayed; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er; 
Deatli in pity brought his aid, 

As the village bell struck four. 
Far from her, and far from France, 

Faithless Frederick onward rides; 
Marking, blith, the morning's glances 

Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. 
Heard ye not the boding sound. 

As the tongue of yonder tower. 
Slowly, to the hills around, 

Told the fourth, the fated hour? 
Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, 

Yet no cause of dread appears; 
Bristles high the rider's hair. 

Struck with strange mysterious fears« 

Desperate, as his teirors rise, 
In the steed the spur he hides:' 



414 



SGOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



From himself in vain he flies; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days, and seven long; nights, 
Wild he wandered, wo the while! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless frights, 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seventh sad night descends; 

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour! 
While the deafening thunder lends . 

All the terrors of its roar. 
Weary, wet, and spent with toil. 

Where his head shall Frederick hide? 
Where, but in yon ruined aisle. 

By the lightning's flash descried. 

To the portal, dank and low, 

Fast his steed the wanderer bound; 
Down a ruined staircase slow. 

Next his darkling way he wound. 
Long drear vaults before him lie ! 

Glimmering lights are seen to glide! 
" Blessed Mary, hear my cry! 

Deign a sinner's steps to guide!" 

Often lost their quivering beam. 

Still the lights move slow before, 
Till they rest their ghastly gleam 

Right against an iron door. 
Thundering voices from within, 

Mixed witii peals of laughter, rose; 
As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wond'rous close ! 

Midst the din, he seemed to hear 

Voice of friends, by death removed; 
Well he knew that solemn air, 

'Twas the lay that Alice loved. 
Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke; 
Four times, at its deadened swell, 

Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthened clangours die, 

Slowly opes the iron door! 
Straight a banquet met his eye, 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 
Cofiins for the seats extend; 

All with black the board was spread; 
Gii't by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since numbered with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound. 

Ghastly smiling, points a seat; 
All arose, with thundering sound; 

AH the expected stranger greet. 
High their meagre arms they wave, 

Wild their notes of welcome swell; 
"Welcome, traitor, to the grave! 

Perjured, bid the light farewell!" 

THE WILD HUNTSMEN. 

This is a translation, or rather an imitation, of 
the Wilde Jager of the German poet Biirger. The 
tradition upon which it is founded bears, that for- 
merly a wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, 
named Falkenburg, was so much addicted to the 
pleasures of the chase, and otherwise so extremely 
profligate and cruel, that hfe not only followed this 
unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other 
days consecrated to religious duty, but accompa- 
nied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon 
the poor peasants who were under his vassalage. 



When this second Nimrod died, the people adopt- 
ed a superstition, founded probably on the many 
various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a 
German forest, during the silence of the night. 
They conceived they still heard the cry of the 
wildgrave's hounds; and the well-known cheer of 
the deceased hunter, the sound of his horse's feet, 
and the rustling of the branches before the game, 
the pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly 
discriminated; but the phantoms are rarely, if 
ever, visible. Once, as a benighted chasseur heard 
this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the 
halloo, with which the spectre Huntsman cheered 
his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, 
" Gluck zu, Falkenburg!" (Good sport to ye, 
Falkenburg!) " Dost thou wish me good sport?" 
answered a hoarse voice; "thou shalt share the 
game;" and there was thrown athim what seemed 
to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring 
chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and^ 
never perfectly recovered the personal effects of 
this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with 
some variation, is universally helieved all over 
Germany. 

The trench had a similar tradition concerning 
an aerial hunter, who infested the forest of Fou- 
tainebleau. He was sometimes visible; when he 
appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a 
tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be 
found in "Sully's Memoirs," who says he was 
called, Le Grand Ve7ieur. At one time he chcse 
to hunt so near the palace, that the attendants, and, 
if f mistake not, Sully himsglf, came out into the 
court, supposing it was the Sound of the king re- 
turning from the chase. This phantom is else- 
where called saint Hubert. 

The superstition seems to have been very ge- 
neral, as appears from the following fine poetical 
description of this phantom chase, as it was heard 
in the wilds of Ross-shire. 

" Ere since, of old, the haughty thanes of Ross,— 
So to tlie simple swain tradition tells, — 
Were wont with elans, and ready vassals throng'd, 
To wake the bounding stag, or guilty wolf. 
There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon. 
Beginning faint, but rising still more loud. 
And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds. 
And horns hoarse-winded, blowing far and ke«n:— 
Forthwith the hubbub multiplies; (he gale 
Labours with \\ilder shrieks and rifer din 
Of hot pursuit; the broken ciy of deer- 
Mangled by throttling dogs; the shouts of men, 
And hoofs thick beating on the hollow hill. 
Sudden the grazing lieifer in the vale 
Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's eirs 
Tingle witli inward dread. ' Aghast, he eyes 
The mountain's height, and all the ridges roimd. 
Yet not one trace of living wight discerns; 
Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands, 
To what, or wliom, he owes his idle fear, 
To ghost, to witch, to fairj', or to fiend; 
But wonders, and no end of wondering finds." 

Scottish Descriptive Foetus, pp. 167, 168. 
A posthumous miracle of father Lesly, a Scottish 
capuchin, related to his being buried on a hill 
haunted by these unearthly cries of hounds and 
huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been de- 
posited there, the noise was never heard more. 
The reader will find this, and other miracles, re- 
corded in the life of father Bonaventura, which is 
written in the choicest Italian. 

The wildgrave winds his bugle horn, 
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo! 

His fier}' courser snuff's the morn. 
And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



415 



The eager pack, from couples freed, 

Dash through the hush, the brier, the brake 
While answering hound, and horn, and steed, 

The mountain echoes startling -wake. 
The beams of God's own hallowed day 

Had painted 3'onder spire with gold. 
And, calling sinful man to pray, 

Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled: 
But still the wildgrave onward rides; 

Halloo, halloo ! and hark again ! 
When, spurring from opposing sides, 

Two stranger horsemen join the train. 
Who was each stranger, left and right, 

Well may I guess, but dare not tell; 
The right hand steed was silver white, 

The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 

The right hand horseman, young and fair, 
His smile was like the morn of May; 

The left, from eye of tawny glare. 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

He waved his huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord! 

What sport can earth, or sea, or sky. 
To match the princely chase, afford?" 

•' Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," 
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; 

•' And for devotion's choral swell. 
Exchange the rude unhallowed noise. 

" To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, 
Yon bell yet summons to the fane; 

To-day the warning spirit hear. 

To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain." 

"Away, and sweep the glades along!" 

The sable hunter hoarse replies; 
" To muttering monks leave matin song. 

And bells, and books, and mysteries. " 

The wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, 
And, lanching forward with a bound, 

'« Who, for thy drowsy priest-like rede. 
Would leave the jovial horn and hound ? 

" Hence, if our manly sport offend! 

With pious fools go chant and pray: 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend; 

Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!" 

The wildgrave spurred his courser light, 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; 

And on the left, and on the right, 

Each stranger horseman followed still. 

Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, 
A stag more white than mountain snow: 

And louder rung the wildgraae's horn, 
"Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" 

A heedless wretch has crossed the way; 

He gasps, the thundering hoofs below: 
But, live who can, or die who may. 

Still, "Forward, forward!" on they go. 

See, where )'on simple fences meet, 

A field with autumn's blessings crowned; 

See, prostrate at the wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman, with toil embrowned: 

" O mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 
" Earned by tiie sweat these brows have poured, 

In scorching hour of fierce July." 
Earnest the right hand stranger pleads. 

The left still cheering to the prey, 



The impetuous earl no warning heeds. 
But furious holds the onward way. 

" Away, thou hound! so basely born. 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!" 

Then loudly rung his bugle horn, 
" Hark forwai-d, forward, holla, ho!" 

So said, so done: a single bound 

Clears the poor labourer's humble palei 

Wild follows man, and horse, and hound. 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man, and horse, and hound, and horn. 
Destructive sweep the field along; 

While joying o'er the wasted corn. 

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. 

Again uproused, the timorous prey 

Scours moss, and moor, and holt, and hill; 
Hai-d run, he feels his strength decay. 

And trusts for life his simple skill. 
Too dangerous solitude appeared; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er moss, and moor, and holt, and hill. 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace; 
k O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, 
The furious earl pursues the chase. 

Full lowly did the herdsman fall; 

"O spare, thou noble baron, spare 
These herds, a widow's little all; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care." 
Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads, 

The left still cheering to the prey; 
The earl nor prayer nor pity heeds. 

But furious keeps the onward way. 

"Unmannered dog! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar whine. 

Though human spirits, of thy sort. 
Were tenants of these carrion kine!" 

Again he winds his bugle horn, 

"Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" 

And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, 
He cheers his furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman near; 
The murderous cries the stag appal, — 

Again he starts, new nerved by fear. 

With blood besmeared, and white with foam, 

While big the tears of anguish pour. 
He seeks, amid the forest's gloom. 

The humble hermit's hallowed bower. 
But man and horse, and horn and hound, 

Fast rattling on his traces go; 
The sacred chapel rung around 

With, "Hark away! and, holla, ho!" 
All mild, amid the rout profane. 

The holy hermit poured his prayer; 
" Forbear with blood God's house to stain; 

Revere his altar, and forbear! 
" The meanest brute has rights to plead, 

Which, wronged by cruelty, or pride. 
Draw vengeance on ihe ruthless head: 

Be warned at length, and turn aside." 
Still the fair horseman anxious pleads ; 

The black, wild whooping, points the prey t 
Alas ! the earl no warning heeds, 

But frantic keeps tlie forward way. 



416 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" Holy or not, or right or wrong, 
Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; 

Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, 
Mot God himself, shall make me turn!" 

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 

"Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" 
But off, on -whirlwind's pinions borne, 

The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 
And horse, and man, and horn, and hound. 

And clamour of the chase was gone; 
For hoofs, and howls, and bugle sound, 

A deadly silence I'eigned alone. 

Wild gazed the affrighted earl around; 

He strove in vain to wake his horn; 
In vain to call; for not a sound 

Could from his anxious lips be borne. 

He listens for his trusty hounds; 

No distant baying reached his ears: 
His courser, rooted to the ground, 

The quickening spur unmindful bears. 

Still dark and darker frown the shades, 
Dark, as the darkness of the grave; 

And not a sound the still invades, 
Save what a distant torrent gave. 

High o'er the sinner's humbled head 

At length tlie solemn silence broke; 
And from a cloud of swarthy red. 

The awful voice of thunder spoke. 
" Oppressor of ci'eation fair! 

Apostate spirit's hardened tool! 
Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! 

The measure of thy cup is full. 

" Be chased forever through the wood; 

For ever roam the aftVighted wild; 
And let thy fate instruct the proud, 

God's meanest creature is his child." 

'Twas hushed: one flash, of somhre glare, 
With yellow tinged the forests brown; 

Up rose the wildgrave's bristling hair. 
And horror cliilled each jierve and bone. 

Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill; 

A rising wind began to sing; 
And louder, louder, louder still. 

Brought storm and tempest on its wing. 

Earth heard the call! Her entrails rend; 

From yawning rifts, with many a yell, 
Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend 

The misbegotten dogs of hell. 
What ghastly Huntsman next arose. 

Well may I guess, but dare not tell; 
His eye like midnight lightning glows. 

His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 

The wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn. 
With many a shriek of helpless wo; 

Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, 
And. " Hark away, and lioUa, ho!" 

With wild despair's reverted eye. 

Close, close behind, he rnai-ks the throng. 

With bloody fangs, and eager cry, 
In frantic fear he scours along. 

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, 
Till time itself sliall have an end 

By day, they scour earth's caverened space. 
At midnight'^ witching hour, ascend. 

This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 
That oft the lated peasant hears; 



I Appalled lie signs the frequent cross, 
When the wild din invades his ears. 

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 
For human pride, for human wo, 

When, at his midnight mass, he hears 
The infernal cry of " Holla, ho!" 

WILLIAM AND HELEN. 

Imitated from the " Lenore'''' of Burger. 

The author had resolved to omit the following 
version of a well-known poem, in any collection 
which he might make of his poetical trifles. But 
the publishers having pleaded for its admission, 
the author has consented, though not unaware of 
the disadvantage at which this youthful essay (for 
it was written in 1795) must appear with those 
which have been executed by much more able 
hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Nor- 
wich, and tiiat of Mr. Spencer. 

The following translation was written long be- 
fore the author saw any other, and originated in the 
following circumstances. A lady of high i-ank in 
the literar)" world read this romantic tale, as trans- 
lated by Mr. Taylor, in the bouse of the celebrat- 
ed professor Dugald Stuart of Edinburgh. The au- 
thor was not present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at 
the time; but a gentleman who had the pleasure 
of hearing the ballad, afterwards told him the 
story, and repeated the remarkable chorus, — 

" Tramp! tramp! along; the land they rode, 

Splash! splash! along the sea; 
Hurrah! htn-ruh! the dead can ride! 
Dost fear to ride with me?" 
In attempting a translation, then intended only 
to circulate among friends, the present author did 
not hesitate to make use of this impressive stanza; 
for which freedom he has since obtained the for- 
giveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it 
properly belongs. _____ 

Fhom heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 

And ey'd the dawning red: 
" Alas, my love, thou tarriest long! 

O art thou false or dead?" 

With gallant Frederick's princely power 

He sought the bold crusade; 
I3ut not a word from Judah's wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 

With Paynim and with Saracen 

At length a truce was made, 
And every knight returned to dry 

The tears his love had shed. 

Our gallant host was homeward bound 

With many a song of joy; 
Green wav'd the laurel in each plume. 

The badge of victory. 

And old and young, and sire and son, 

To meet them crowd the vvay, 
With shouts, and mirth, and melody. 

The debt of love to pay. 

Full many a maid her true love met, 

. And sobb'd in his embrace. 
And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles, 
Array'd full many a face. 

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad; 

She sought the host in vain; 
For none could tell her William's fate, 

If faithless, or if slain. 

The martial band is past and gone; 
She rends her raven hair. 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



417 



And in distraction's bitter mood 
She weeps with wild despair. 

" O rise, my child," her mother said, 

•' Ncfr sorrow thus in vain; 
A perjured lover's fleeting heart 

No tears recal again." 

" O mother, what is gone is gone; 

What's lost for ever lorn: 
Death, death alone can comfort me; 

O had I ne'er been born ! 

" O break, my heart, O break at once ! 

Drink my life-blood, despair! 
No joy remains on earth tor me. 

For me m heaven no share." 
" O enter not in judgment. Lord!" 

The pious mother prays; 
"Impute not guilt to thy frail child, 

She knows not what she says. 

" O say thy pater-noster, child ! 

O turn to God and grace! 
His will, that turn'd thy bliss to bale, 

Can change thy bale to bliss. " 

" O motlier, mother, what is bliss? 

O mother, what is balei' 
My William's love was heaven on earth, 

XVithout it earth is hell. 

"Why should 1 pray to ruthless heav'n, 
Since my lov'd Willianj's slain? 

I only pray'd for William's sake. 
And all my prayers were vain. " 

"O take the sacrament, my child. 
And check tliese tears that flow; 

By resignation's humble prayer, 
O hallowed be thy wo!" 

" No sacrament can quench this fire, 

Or slake this scorching pain; 
No sacrament can bid the dead 

Arise and live again. 

" O break, my heart, O break at once! 

Be thou my god, despair! 
Heaven's heaviest blow has fall'n on me. 

And vain each fruitless prayer." 

" O enter not in judgment. Lord, 

W ith thy frail child of clay ! 
She knows not what her tongue has spoke; 

Impute it not, I pray ! 

"Forbear, my child, this desp'rate wo. 

And turn to God and grace; 
Well can devotion's heavenly glow 

Convert thy bale to bliss." 
" O mother, mother, what is bliss? 

O mother, what is bale? 
Without my William what were heaven. 

Or with him what were hell?" 

Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, 

Upbraids each sacred power. 
Till spent, she sought her silent room. 

All in the lonely tower. 

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands. 

Till sun and day were o'er, ^^ 
And tlu'ough the glimm'ring ISB^^shone 

The twinkling of the star. ^^^ 
Then crash ! the heavy draw-bridge fell. 

That o'er the moat was hung; 
And clatter! clatter! on its boards 

Tlie hoof of courser runir. 



The clank of echoing steel was heard. 

As off the rider bounded. 
And slowly on the winding-stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 
And hark! and hark! a knock— Tap! tap! 

A rustling stifled noise; — 
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring; — 

At length a whisp'ring voice. 

"Awake, awake, arise, my love! 

How, Helen; dost thou fare? 
Wak'stthou or sleep'st? laugh'st thou orweep'st? 

Hast thought on me, my fair?" 
" My love! my love! — so late by night!— 

1 wak'd, I wept for thee: 
Much have I borne since dawn of morn; 

Where, William, could'st thou be?" 
" We saddled late — From Hungary 

I rode since darkness-fell; 
And to its bourne we both return 

Before the matin bell." 

"O rest this night within my arms. 

And warm thee in their fold! 
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind; 

.My love is deadly cold." 

"Let the wind liowl through hawthern bush! 

This niglit we must away; 
The steed is wight, llie spur is bright; 

I cannot stay till day. 

" Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mount'st behind 

Upon my black barb steed: 
O'er stock and stile a hundred miles, 

We haste to bridal bed." 

"To-night — to-night a hundred miles! — 

O dearest William, stay ! 
The bell strikes twelve — dark dismal hour. 

O wait, my love, till day ! " 

" Look here, look here— the moon shines clear, 

Full fast, 1 ween, we ride; 
Mount and away ! for ere the day' 

We reach our bridal bed. 
" The black barb snorts, the bridal rings; 

Haste, busk, and boune, and seat theel' 
The feast is made, the chamber spread, 

The bridal guests await thee." 

Strong lore prevail'd: she busks, she bounes. 

She rac^Rs the barb behinil. 
And round her darling William's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 

And hurry ! hurry ! off they rode, 

As fast as fast might be; 
Spurn'd from the courser's thunderinff' heels 

The flashing pebbles flee. * 

And on the right and on the left, 

Ere they could snatch a view, 
Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain," 

And cot and castle flew. 

" Sit fast— dost fear?— The moon shines clear. 

Fleet goes my barb — keep hold ! 
Fear'st thou?"—" O no!" she faintly said; 

"But why so stern and cold? 

" What yonder rings? what yonder sings? 

Why shrieks the owlet gray?" 
" 'Tis death-bell's clang, 'tis funeral song,^ 

The body to the clay. 

" With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, 
Ye may inter the dead: 



418 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



To-night I ride, with my young bride, 

To deck our britlul bed. 
« Come with tliy choir, thou coffin'd guest, 

To swell our nuptial song! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! 

Come all, come all along!" 
Ceas'd clang and song; down sunk the bier; 

The shrouded corpse arose: 
And hurry ! hurry ! all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

And forward! forward! on they go; 

High snorts the straining steed; 
Thick pants the rider's labouring breath. 

As headlong on they speed. 

" O William, why this savage haste? 

And where thy bridal bed?" 
" 'Tis distant for, low, damp, and chill, 

And narrow, trustless maid." 

" No room for me?" — " Enough for both; — 
Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!" 

O'er thund'ring bridge, through boiling surge, 
He drove the furious horse. 

Tramp! tramp! alotig the land they rode. 

Splash! splash! along the sea; 
The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

Fled past on right and left how fast 

Each forest, grove, and bower; 
On right and left fled past how fast 

Each city, town, and tower, 

"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear; 

Dost fear to ride with me? — 
Hurrah! hurrah! The dead can ride!" 

" O William, let them be!— 

"See there, see tiicre! What yonder swings 

And creaks 'mid whistling rain?" 
" Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel; 

A murd'rer in his chain. — 
" Hollo! thou felon, follow here: 

To bridal bed we ride; 
And thou shall prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride." 

And hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash! 

The wasted form descends; 
And, fleet as wind through hazel |||||sh, 

The wild career attends. 

Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, 

Splash! splash! along the sea; 
The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

How fled what moonshine faintly show'd ! 

How fled what darkness hid! 
How fled the earth beneath their feet. 

The heav'n above their head! 

•'Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear, 

And well the dead can ride; 
Does faithful Helen fear for them?" 

"O leave in peace the dead!" 
" Barb! barb! methinks I hear the cock; 

The sand will soon be run: 
Barb! barb! I smell the morning air; 

The race is well nigh done." 
Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, 

Splash! splash! along the sea; 
The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, 

The flasiiing pebbles flee. 



" Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead; 

The bride, the bride is come! 
And soon we reach the bridal bed, 

For, Helen, here's ray home."j 

Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolv'd an iron door, 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a church and tow'r. 
With many a shriek and cry whiz round 

The birds of midnight scared; 
And rustling like autumnal leaves, 

Unhallow'd ghosts were heard. 

O'er many a tomb and tomb-stone pale 

He spurr'd the tiery horse, 
Till sudden at an open grave 

He check'd the wond'rous course. 

The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 

Down drops the casque of steel. 
The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, 

The spur his gory heel.' 

The eyes desert the naked skull, 

The raould'ring flesh the bone, 
Till Helen's lily arms entwine 

A ghastly skeleton. 

The furious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And, with a fearful bound. 
Dissolves at once in empty air, 

And leaves her on the ground. 
Half seen by fits, by fits half heard. 

Pale spectres fleet along. 
Wheel round the maid in dismal dance. 

And howl the funeral song. 

" E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft. 

Revere the doom of heav'n. 
Her soul is from her body reft; 

Her spirit be forgiven!" 

THE BATTLE OF SEJIPACH. 

These verses are a literal translation of an an- 
cient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sempach, 
fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which 
the Swiss cantons established their independence. 
The author is Albert Tchudi, denominated the 
Souter, from his profession of a shoemaker. He 
was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among 
his countrymen, both for his powers as a Meistei'- 
singer or [^minstrel, and his courage as a soldier; 
so that he might share the praise conferred by 
Collins on Eschylus, that — 

Not alone he nursed the poet's flaraej 
But reached from Virtue's hand the patriot steel. 

Tlie circumstance of their being written by a 
poet returning from the well-fought field he de- 
scribes, and in which his country's fortune was se- 
cured, ma)' confer on Tchudi's verses an interest 
which they are not entitled to claim from their 
poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more lite- 
rally it is translated, the more it loses its simpli- 
city, without acquiring either grace or strength; 
and therefore some of the faults of the verses must 
be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to 
keep as closdB^s possible to his original. The 
various puns,rade attempts at pleasantry, and dis- 
proportioned episdoes, must be set down to Tchu- 
di's account, or to the taste of his age. 

The military antiquary will derive some amuse- 
ment from the minute particulars which the mar- 
tial poet has recorded. The mode in which the 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



419 



Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of the 
Swiss was by forming a phalanx, which they de- 
fended with their long lances. The gallant Wink- 
elried, who sacrificed hia own life by rushing 
among the spears, clasping in his arms as many as 
he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in these 
iron battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. 
When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length 
of their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their de- 
fensive armour, rendered the Austrian men-at-arms 
a very unequal match for the light-armed moun- 
taineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over 
the German chivalry, hitherto deemed as formi- 
dable on foot as on horse-back, led to important 
changes in the art of war. The poet describes the 
Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks 
from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in 
allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often 
mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III, archduke 
of Austria, called " The handsome man-at-arms, "| 
•was slain in the battle of Sempach, with the flower 
of his chivalry. 

'Twas when among our linden < ees 

The bees had housed in sw\rras, 
(And graj'-hair'd peasants say that these 

Betoken foreign arms, ) 

Then look'd we down to WilUsow, 

The land was all in flame; 
We knew the archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 
The Austrian nobles made their vow, 
* So hot their heart and bold, . 

'• On Switzer carles we'll trample now, 

And slay both young and old." 
With claj'ton loud, and banner proud, 

From Zurich on the lake. 
In martial pomp and fair array. 

Their onward marcli they make. 

" Now list, y^lowland nobles all, 

Ye seek thAnouniain strand, 
Nor wot ye m hat shall be your lot 

In such a dangerous land. 
" I rede ye, shrive you of your sins. 

Before you further go; 
A skirmish in Helvetian hills 

May send your souls to wo." 
" But where now shall we find a priest. 

Or shrift that he may hear?" 
** The Switzer priest* has ta'en the field, 

He deals a penance drear. 
" Right heavily upon your head 

He'Ulay his hand ot steel; 
And with his trusty partizan 

Your absolution deal." 
'Twas on a Monday morning then. 

The corn was steep'd in dew. 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en. 

When the host to Sempach drew. 

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 

Together have they join'd; 
The pith and core of manhood stei'n. 

Was none cast looks behind. 
It was the lord of Hare castle. 

And to the duke he said, 
•' Yon little band of brethren true 

Will meet us undismay'd." 



* All the Swiss clergy who were able to bear arms fought 
in this patriotic war. 



'*'0 Hare-castle,* thou heart of hare!" 

Fierce Oxenstern replied; 
" Shalt see then how the game will fare." 

The taunting knight replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets bright. 

And closing ranks amain; 
The peaks they hew'd fram their boot-points 

Might well nigh load a wain.f 
And thus, they to each other said, 

" Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell. 

The peasants are so few." 

The gallant Swiss confederates there. 

They pray'd to God aloud, . 
And he display'd his rainbow fair 

Against a swarthy cloud. 

Then heart and pulse throb'd more and more 

With courage firm and high. 
And down tlie good confed 'rates bore 

On the Austrian chivalry. 

The Austrian lion:j: 'gan to growl. 

And toss his main and tail; 
And ball, and shaft, and cross-bow bolt 

Went whistling forth like hail. 

Lance, pike, and halberd, mingled there. 

The game was nothing sweet; 
The boughs of man}' a stately tree 

Lay shiver'd at their feet. 

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast. 

So close their spears they laid: 
It chafed the gallant Winkelri^d, 

Who to his comrades said— r 

•' I have a virtuous wife at home, 

A wife and infant son; 
I leave them to my country's care, — 

This field shall soon be won. 

" These nobles lay their spears right thick, 

And keep full firm array. 
Yet shall my charge their order break. 

And make my brethren way. " 

He rushed against the Austrian band. 

In desperate career, 
And with his body, breast, and hand. 

Bore down each hostile spear. 

Four lances splintered on his crest. 

Six shivered in his side; 
Still on the serried files he press'd — 

He broke their ranks, and died. 
This patriot's self-devoted deed. 

First tamed the lion's mood. 
And the four forest cantons freed 

From thraldom by his blood. 
Right where his charge had made a tene. 

His valiant comrades burst, 
With sword, and axe, and partizan. 

And hack, and stab, and thrust. 
The daunted lion 'gan to whine. 

And granted ground amain. 



• In the original, Haasenstein, oi- Hare-Hone. 

tThis seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, du 
ring the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or 
peakes turned upwards, and so long that, in some cases, 
they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with small 
chains. When they alighted to fight upon foot, it would 
seem that the Austrian gentlemen found it necessary to 
cut off these peaks, that they^might move with the neces- 
sary activity. 

X A pun on the archduke's name, Leopold. 



420 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The mountain bull,* he beht his brows, 
And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear^ and shield, 

At Sempach in the flight, 
The cloister vaults at Konigsfield 

Hold many an Austrian knight. 
It was the archduke Leopold, 

So lordly would he ride. 
But he came against the Switzer churls, 

And they slew him in his pride. 

The heifer said unto the bull, 

" And shall I not complain? 
There came a foreign nobleman 

To milk me on the plain. 

" One thrust of thine outrageous horn 
Has gall'd the knight so sore, 

That to the churchyard he is borne. 
To range our glens no more." — 

An Austrian noble left the stour, 

And fast the flight 'gan take; 
And he arrived in luckless hour 

At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher call'd, 
(His name was Hans Von Rot) 

•' For love, or meed, or charity, 
Receive us in thy boat." 

Their anxious call the fisher heard. 

And, glad the meed to win, 
His shallop to the shore he steer'd. 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly row'd his way. 
The noble to his follower sign'd 

He should the boatman slay. 

The fisher's back was to them turu'd. 

The squire his dagger drew, 
Hans saw his shadow in the lakoj 

The boat he overthrew. 

He whelm 'd the boat, and as ihey strove. 

He stunn'd them with his oar; 
«'Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs. 

You'll ne'er stab boatman more. 
" Two gilded fishes in the lake 

This morning have 1 caught, 
Their silver scales may much avail. 

Their carrion flesh is naught." 

It was a messenger of wo 

Has sought the Austrian land; 
" Ah! gracious lady, evil news! 

My lord lies on the strand. 
«' At Sempach, on the battle-field, 

His blflody corpse lies there." 
« Ah, gr.icious God!" the lady cried, 

" What tidings of despair!" 

Now, would you know the minstrel wight. 

Who sings of strife so slern, 
Albert the Souter is he hight, 

A burgher of Lucerne. 

A merry tinan was he, 1 wot, 

The night he made the lay, 
Returning from the bloody spot, 

Where God had judged the day. 



* A pun on the. Urus, oi- wild bull, which gives name to 
the canton of Uri. 



THE NOBLE MORINGER: 

AN ANCIEJfT BAtLAD, 

Translated from the German. 

The original of these verses occurs in a collec- 
tion of German popular songs, entitled Sammbing 
Deiitschen Volkslieiler, iievlin, 1807, published by 
Messrs. Busching atjd Von der Hagen, both, an(? 
more especially tl>e last, distinguished for their 
acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and 
legendary history of Germany. 

In the German editor's- notice of the ballad, it 
is stated to have been extracted from a manuscript 
Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to St. 
Leonard in Weisenhorn, which bears the date 
1533; and the song is stated by the author to have 
been generally sung in the neighbourhood at that 
early period. Tiiomann, as quoted by the German 
editor, seems faithfully to have believed the event 
he narrates. He quotes tomb.'Stones and obituaries 
to prove the existence of the personages of the 
ballad, and discovers that there actually died on 
the 11th May, 1349, a lady Von Neuffen, countess 
of Marstetten, who was by birth of the house of 
Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been 
Moringer's daughter mentioned in the ballad. He 
quotes the same authority for the death of Berck- 
hold Von Neuffen in the same year. The editors, 
on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of pro- 
fessor Smith, of Ulm, who, from the language of 
the ballad, ascribes its date to the 15th century. 

The legend itself turns on an incident not pecu- 
liar to Germany, and which perhaps was not un- 
likely to happen in more instances than one, when, 
crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their 
disconsolate dames received no tidings of their 
fate. A story very similar in circumstances, but 
without the miraculous machinery of £aint Tho- 
mas, Is told of one of the ancient lords of Haigh- 
hall, in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of 
the late countess of Balcarras; and the particulars 
are represented on stained glass upon a window 
in that ancient manor-house. |p 



I. 

O, will you hear a knightly tale 

Of old Bohemian day. 
It was the noble Moringer 

In wedlock bed he lay; 
He halsed and kissed his dearest dame. 

That was as sweet as May, 
And said, "Now, lady of my heart. 

Attend the words I say. 

II. 
" 'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage 

Unto a distant shrine, 
And I must seek saint Thomas-land, 

And leave the land that's mine; 
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, 

So thou wilt pledge thy fay. 
That thou for my return will wait 

Seven twelvemonths and a day." 

TiT. 

Then out and spoke that lady bright, 

Sore troubled in her cheer, 
"Now, tell me true, thou noble knight. 

What order takest thou here; 
And who shall lead thy vassal band, 

And hold thy lordly sway. 
And be thy lady's guardian true 

When thou art far away.?" 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



421 



IV. 


^^S^aind trust this charge to me until 


Out spoke the noble Moringer, 


Your pilgrimas;e have end. 


" Of that have, thou no care, 


XIL 


There's many a valiant gentleman 


" Rely upon my plighted faith. 


Of me holds living fair; 


Which shall be truly tried. 


The trustiest shall rule my land, ' 


To guard your lands, and ward your towers, 


My vassals and my state, 


And with your vassals ride; 


And be a guardian tried and true 


And for your lovely lady's faith. 


To thee, my lovely mate. 


So virtuous and so dear, 


V. 


I'll gage my head it knows no change, 


*' As christian-man, I needs must keep 


Be absent thirty year." 


The vow which 1 have plight; 


XIIL 


When I am far in foreign land. 


The noble Moringer took cheer 


Remember thy true knight; 


When thus he heard him speak. 


And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve. 


And doubt forsook bis troubled brow. 


For vain were sorrow now, 


And sorrow left his cheek; 


But grant thy Moringer his leave, 


A long adieu he bids to all — 


Since God hath heard llis vow." 


Hoists top-sails and away. 


VI. 


And wanders in saint Thomas-land 


It was the noble Moringer 


Seven twelvemonths and a day. 


From bed he made him bowne. 


XIV. 


And met him there his chamberlain. 


It was the noble Moringer 


With ewer and with gown: 


Within an orchard slept, 


He flung the mantle on his back, 


When on the baron's slumbering sense 


'Twas furr'd with miniver. 


A boding vision crept; 


He dipp'd his liand in water cold, 


And wliisper'd in his ear a voice, 


And bathed his forehead fair. 


" 'Tis time, sir knight, to wake, 


Vlt. 


Thy lady and thine lieritage 


"Now hear," he said, " sir Chauiberlain, 


Another master take. 


True vassal art thou mine. 


XV. 


And such the trust that I repose 


" Thy tower another banner knows. 


In that proved worth of thine, 


Thy steeds another rein. 


^ For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, 


And stoop them to another's will 


And lead my vassal trJiin, 


Thy gallant vassal train; 


And pledge thee for my lady's faith 


And she, the lady of thy love. 


Till 1 return again." 


So faithful once and fair. 


VIII. 


This night, within thy father's hall, 


The chamberlain was blunt and true, 


She weds Marstetten's heir." 


And sturdily said he. 


XVI. 


" Abide, my lord, and rule your own, 


It is the noble Moringer 


And takej^is rede from me; 
That womanre faith's a brittle trust — 


Starts up and tears his beard. 


" Oh would that I had ne'er been born! 


Seven twelvemonths didst thou say? 
I'll pledge me for no lady's truth 


What tidings have 1 heard! 


To lose my lordship and my lands 


Beyond the sevei\th fair day." 


The less would be my care. 


IX. 


But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue 


The noble barcjn turn'd hira round. 


Should wed my lady fair ! 


His heart was full of care. 


XVIL 


His gallant esquire stood him nigh, 


" good saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd, 


He was Marstetten's heir. 


" My patron saint art thou. 


To whom he spoke right anxiously. 


A traitor robs me of my land 


" Thou trusty squire to me, 


Even while 1 pay ray vow ! 


Wilt thou receive this weighty trust 


My wife he brings to infamy 


When 1 am o'er the sea.' 


That was so pure of name, 


X. 


And 1 am far in foreign land. 


" To watch and ward my castle strong, 


And must endure the shame. " 


And to protect my land. 


XVllL 


And to the hunting or the host 


It was the good saint Thomas, then. 


To lead my vassal band; 


Who heard his pilgrim's prayer, 


And pledge ihee for my lady's faith, 


And sent a sleep sO deep and dead 


Till seven long years are gone. 


That it o'erpower'd his care; 


And guard her as our lady dear 


He waked in fair Bohemian land. 


Was guarded by saint John." 


Outstretch'd beside a rill. 


XL 


High on the right a castle stood, 


Marstetten's heir was kind and true, 
But fiery, Irot, and young. 


Low on the left a mill. 


XIX. 


And readily he answer made. 


The Moringer he started up 


With too presumptuous tongue. 


As one from spell unbound. 


" My noble lord, cast care away, 


And, dizzy with surprise and joy. 


And on your journey wend, 


Gazed wildly all around; 



422 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" I know my father's ancient towers, •^|F 

The mill, the stream 1 know, 
Now hlessed he my patron saint 

Who cheer'd his pilgrim's wo!" 
XX. 
He leant upon his pilgrim staff, 

And to the mill he drew. 
So alter'd was his goodly form. 

That none their master knew; 
The baron to the miller said, 

" Good friend, for charity. 
Tell a poor palmer in your land 

What tidings may there be?" 
XXI. 
The miller answer'd him again, 

"He knew of little news. 
Save that the lady of the land 

Did a new bridegroom choose; 
Her husband died in distant land, 

Such is the constant word, 
His death sits heavy on our souls, 

He was a worthy lord. 
XXU. 
« Of him I held the little mill 

Which wins me living free, 
God rest the baron in his grave, 

He still was kind to me; 
And when saint Martin's tide comes round. 

And millers take their toll. 
The priest that prays for Moringer 

Shall have both cope and stole." 
XXIII. 
It was the noble Moringer 

To climb the hill began. 
And stood before the bolted gate 

A wo and weary man; 
"Now help me, every saint in heaven, 

That can compassion take. 
To gain the entrance of my hall 

This woful match to break." 
XXIV. 
His very knock it sounded sad. 

His call was sad and slow. 
For heart and head, and'voice and hand, 

Were heavy all. with wo; 
And to tlie warder thus he spoke: 

" Friend, to thy lady say, 
A pilgrim from saint Thomas-land 

Craves harbour for a day. 
XXV. 
" I've wander'd many a weary step. 

My strength is well nigh done, 
And if she turn me from her gate 

I'll see no morrow's sun; 
1 pray, for sweet saint Thomas' sake, 

A pilgrim's bed and dole, 
And for" the sake of Moringer's, 

Her once loved husband's soul." 
XXVI. 
It was the stalwart warder then 

He came his dame before, 
"A pilgrim worn and travel-toil'd 

Stands at the castle door; 
And prays, for sweet saint Thomas' sake. 

For harbour and for dole. 
And for the sake of Moringer, 

Thv noble husband's soul." 
XXVII. 
The lady's gentle heart was moved, 

" Do up the gate," she said, 



" And bid the wanderer welcome be 

To banquet and to bed: 
And since he names my husband's name. 

So that he lists to stay. 
These towers shall be his harbourage 

A twelve-month and a day." 

XXVIU. 

It was the stalwart warder then 

Undid the portal broad. 
It was the noble Moringer 

That o'er the threshold strode; 
"And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said. 

Though from a man of sin. 
That the true lord stands here once more 

His castle gate within." 
XXIX. 
Then up the hall paced Moringer, 

His step was sad and slow. 
It sat full heavy on liis heart. 

None seem'd their lord to know; 
He sat him on a lowly bench, 

Oppress'd with wo and wrong. 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him 

Seem'd little space so long. 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er. 

And come was- evening hour, 
The time was nigh when new-made brides 

Retire to nuptial bower; 
" Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, 

" Hath been both firm and long. 
No guest to harbour in our halls 

Till he shall chant a song." 
XXXI. 
Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there, 

As he sat by the bride, 
" My merry minstrel folks," quoth he, 

"Lay shalm and harpr aside;' 
0(Sr pilgrim guest must sing a lay. 

The castle's rule to hold; 
And well his guerdon willApay 

With garment and with ^d." 
XXXII. 
•'Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 

' Twas thus the pilgrim sung, 
" Nor golden meed, nor garment gay, 

Unlocks her heavy tongue; 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay. 

At board as rich as thine. 
And by my side as fair a bride. 

With all her charms, was mine. 

XXXIII. 

" But time traced farrows on my face, 

And I grew silver-hair'd, 
For locks of brown, .ind cheeks of youth, 

She left this brow and beard; 
Once rich, but bow a palmer poor, 

1 tread life's latest stage. 
And mingle with your bridal mirth 

The lay of frozen age. " 

XXXIV. 

It was the noble lady there 

This woful lay that hears. 
And for the aged pilgrim's grief 

Her eye was dimm'd wit'h tears 
She bade her gallant cup-bearer 

A golden beaker take. 
And bear it to the palmer poor 

To quaft" it for her sake. 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL PIECES. 



423 



XXXV. 

It was the noble Moringer 

That di-opp'd, amid the wine, 
A bridal-ring of burning gold, 

So costly and so fine; 
Now listen, gentles, to my song, 

It tells you but the sooth, 
'Twas with that very ring of gold 
He pledged his bridal truth. 
XXXVl. 
Then to the cup-bearer he said, 

" Do me one kindly deed, 
And should my better days return. 

Full rich sliall be thy meed; 
Bear back the golden cup again 

To yonder bride so gay. 
And crave lier, of her courtesy. 
To pledge the palmer gray." 
XXXVII. 
The cup-bearer was courtly bred, 

Nor was the boon denieil. 
The golden cup he took again, 

And bore it to the bride; 
" Lady," he said, " your reverend guest 

Sends this, and bids me pray. 
That, in thy noble courtesy. 
Thou pledge the palmer gray." 
XXXVIIL 
The ring hath caught the lady's eye. 

She vie^s it close and near. 
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, 

"The Moringer is here!" 
Then might you see her start from seat. 

While tears in torrents fell. 
But whether 'twas for joy or wo, 
The ladies best can tell. 
, XXXIX. 
But loud she utter'd thanks to heaven, 

And every saintly power. 
That had i-eturn'd the Moringer 
Before thejpidnight hour; 



And loud she uttei-'d vow on vow. 

That never was there bride 
That had like her preserved her troth, 

Or been so sorely tried. 

XL. 

" Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, 

" To constant matrons due. 
Who keep the troth that they have plight 

So steadfastly and true; 
For count the term how'er you will. 

So tliat you count aright. 
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out 

When bells toll twelve to-night. 
XLL 
It was Marstetten then rose up, 

His falchion there he drew. 
He kneel'd before the Moringer, 

And down his weapon threw; 
"My oath and knightly faith are broke," 

These were the words he said, 
"Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, 

And take thy vassal's head." 

XLII. 

The noble Moringer he smiled. 

And then aloud did say, 
" He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd 

Seven twelvemonths and a day. 
My daughter now hath fifteen years. 

Fame speaks her sweet and fair, 
1 give her for the bride yon lose. 

And name her for my heir. 
XLIII. 
« The young bridegroom hath youthful bride. 

The old bridegroom the old. 
Whose faith was" kept till term and tide 

So punctually were told; 
But blessings on the warder kind 

That oped my castle gate. 
For had I come at morrow tide, 

I came a day too late." 



^wttllunm. 



WAR-SONG 



OF THE HOTAI. EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOOKS. 

Nennius. Is not peace tiie end of arms? 

Caratach. Not wliere the cause implies a general con- 
quest. 
Had we a difference with some petty isle. 
Or \vith our ueijfhbours, Britons, for our landmarks, 
The taking in of some i-ebellious loi'd. 
Or iiiakins: head against a slight commotion. 
After a day of blood, peace might be ai'gued: 
But where we grapple for the land we live on. 
The liberty we Ifold more dear than life, 
Tlie gods we worship, and, next these, our honours. 
And, with those, swords, that know no end of battle — 
Those men, beside tliemselves, allow no neighl)our. 
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance. 
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest. 
And, where they march, hut measure out more ground 
To add to Rom e 

It must not he. — No!. as they are our foes. 
Let's use the peace of honour — that's fair dealing; 
But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman, 
That thinks to graft Ijjunself into my stock. 
Must first beg^u his kindred under ground. 
And be allied in ashes.—— Bonduca. 

The following War-song was written during the 
apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volun- 
teers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 

29 



1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed 
at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right 
Troop of tlie Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, 
commanded by the honourable lieutenant-colonel 
Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of 
arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was 
nowhere more successful tlian in Edinburgh, whicli 
furnished a force of 3000 armed ^nd disciplined 
volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from 
the city and county, and' two corps of artillery, 
each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a 
force, above all others, might, iii similar circum- 
stances, be applied lhe%xhortation of our ancient 
Galgacus: '■'■ Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores 
vestros et posteros comitate." 



To horse! to horse! the standard flies, 

The bugles sound the call; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas, 
Tlie voice of battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all ! 

From high Dunedin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 



424 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned; 

We boast the red and blue.* 
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 

Dull Holland's tardy train; 
Their ravished toys though Romans mourn, 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And, foaming, gnaw the chain; 
O ! had they marked the avenging calif 

Their brethren's murder gave. 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valour, desperate grown. 

Sought freedom in the grave ! 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born. 
Dress our pale cheeks in timid smile. 
To hail a master in our isle. 

Or brook a victor's scorn? 

No! though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood. 
The sun, that sees our falling day, 
Sliall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 

And set that night in blood. 
For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 

Or plunder's bloody gain; 
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw. 
To guard our king, to fence our law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 
If ever breath of British gale 

Shall fan the tricolour. 
Or footstep of invader rude. 
With rapine foul, and red with blood, 

Pollute our happy shore, — 

Then fiirewell home! and farewell friends! 

Adieu each tender tie! 
Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 
Where ciiarging squadrons fiu'ious ride, 
^ To conquer or to die. 

*•' To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam; 

High sounds our bugle call; 

Combined by honour's sacred tie. 

Our word is, Laws and liberty! 

March forward, one and all] 



THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. 

h\v—The ll'^ar-song of the Men of Glamorgan. 
The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, 
and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, 
were usually unable to encounter the shock of the 
Anglo Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, 
they were successful in repelling the invaders; and 
the following verses are supposed to celebrate a 
defeat of Clare, earl of Striguil and Pembroke, 
and of Neville, baron of Chepstow, lords-marchers 
of Monmouthshire, llymny is a stream wiiich di- 
vides the counties of Mon^iiouth and Glamorgan: 
Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a 
vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very 
ancient castle. 



• The royal colon I'S. 

■f- The ;illu';i()ii is to the inassacrt' of the Swiss guards, on 
the fatal lOtli of Auijust, 1792. It is painful, but not use- 
less, to remark, that the passive temper with which the 
Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrjinen, 
mercilessly slaus^htered in distharge of their duty, en- 
couraged and authori/.rd the progressive injustice by 
which the Aljjs, once tlie seat of the most virtuous and 
free people upon the continent, have, at length, been eon- 
v^'rted into tlie citadel of a foreign ajid inilitaiy despot. 
A state dtgrudedis half eusUved. / 



Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, 
And hammers din and anvil sounds, 
And armourers, with iron toil. 
Barb many a steed for battle's broil. 
Foul fall the hand which bends tiie steel 
Around the coursers' thundering heel, 
That e'er shall dint a sable vi'ound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground ! 

From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn. 

Was heard afar the bugle horn; 

And forth, in banded pomp and pride, 

Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 

They swore their banners broad should gleam, 

In crimson light, on Rymny's stream; 

They vowed, Caerphili's sod should feel 

The Norman charger's spurning heel. 

And sooth they swore, — the sun arose. 
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows> 
For Clare's red banner, floating wide. 
Rolled down the stream to Severn's tide! 
And sooth they vowed — the trampled green 
Showed where hot Neville's charge had been; 
In every sable hoof tramp stood 
A Norman horseman's ciu-dling blood! 

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil 
That armed stout Clare for Cambrian broil; 
Their orphans long the art may rue. 
For Neville's war-horse foi'ged the shoe. 
No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet rtftad; 
Nor trace be there, in early spring. 
Save of the fairies' emerald ring. 

THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. 

Air — Daftjdd y Garret-wen." 
There is a tradition that Dafyddy Garreg-wen, 
a famous Welsh bard, being on his death-bed, 
called for his harp, and composed the sweet me- 
lancholy air to which these verses are imited, re- 
questing that it might be performed at his funeral. 

# 

DixAS Emiikx, lament, for the moment is nigh. 

When mute in the woodlands thine echoes si):dl die; 

No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave. 

And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. 

In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade 
Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd sliall fade; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue. 
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that 
sung. 

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side; 
But where is the harp shall give life to their name ? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame.' 

And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair, 
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark 

hair; 

What tuneful enthusiast shall worship tlieir eye. 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall 

die? 

Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene. 
To join the dim choir of the bards wlio have been; 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 
And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, 
Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy 
maids! 



' David of the white Rock. 



MISCELLANIES. 



425 



And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can 

tell, 
Fai"ewell, my lov'd harp ! my last ti-easure, farewell ! 

THE MAID OF TORO. 

O, LOW shone the sun ou the fair lake of Toro, 
And weak were the whispers that waved the dark 
wood, 
All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow, 
Sorel}' sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the 
flood. 
" O, saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend- 1 

Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's ci-y; 
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die! 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes 
they fail, 
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's 
dread rattle, 
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the 
gale. 
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary; 

Slowly approaching a waiTior was seen; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary. 
Cleft was his helmet, and wo was his mien. 

" O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ! 

O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! 
Deadly cold on yon heath th)- brave Henry is lying; 

And fast througli the woodland approaches the 
foe."— 
Scarce could he flilter the tidings of sorrow. 

And scarce could she hear tliem, benumb'd with 
despair: 
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, 

for ever he set to the brave and the fair. 



HELL\TiLLYN. 

In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of 
talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perish- 
ed by losing his waj^ on the mountain Hellvellj'n. 
His remains were not discovered till three months 
afterwards, when they were found guarded by a 
faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant during 
frequent solitary rambles through tlie wilds of 
Cumberland and Westmoreland. 

1 CLiMBEn the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyu, 
Lakes and mountains beneatli me gleamed mis- 
ty and wide; 
All was still, save by fits when the eagle was 
yelling, 
And starting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was 

bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer 
had died. 

Dark green was the spot mid the brown moun- 
tain-heather, 
Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in 
decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless 
clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended. 



The much loved remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hill fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was 
slumber? 
When the wind waved his garment, how oft 
didst thou start? 
How many long days and long weeks didst thou 
number. 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ' 
And, O! was it meet, that, no requium read o'er 

him. 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him. 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretclied before 
him, 
Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart? 
When a prince to the fate of the peasant has 
yielded, 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lidited 
hall; * 

With scutcheons of silver the eoflin is shielded. 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: ' 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, tlie torches 

are gleaming; 
In the proudly aiched chapel the banners are 

beaming; 
Far adown thelong aisle sacred music is streaming, 

Lamenting a chief of the people sliould fall. 
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature. 

To lay down thy head like tlie meek mountain 
lamb; 
When, wildered, he drops from soraeclifl"hu"-e in 
stature, ° 

And draws his last sob by the side of Ids dam. 
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake 

lying, 
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flving. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 

Ail- — A Border Melody. 
The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The 
others were written for Mr. Campbell's Albrn's 
Anthology. 

" Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? 

Why weep ye by the tide? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son. 

And ye sail be his bride: 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 
" Now let this wilful grief be done. 

And diy that cheek so pale; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley-dale; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

" A chain o' gold ye sail not lack. 

Nor braid to bind your hair; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 
And you, the foremost o' them a', 

.Shall ride our forest queen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 



426 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 

The tapers s;limnier'd fair; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 

And dame and knight are there. 
They sought her both by bower and ha'. 

The ladie was not seen ! 
She's o'er the border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF. 

Ah- — Gadilgu lo.* 
O HUSH thee, my babie,thy sire was a knight; 
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; 
The woods and the glens, from the towers which 

we see, 
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. 
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gu lo, 
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 
O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, 
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades would 

be red. 
Ere the step of a foemr.n draws near to thy bed. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, 8cc. 
O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, 
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and 

drum; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you 

may. 
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with 
day. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU, 

Written for Jllbyn^s Anthology. 
Axr—Piobair of Dlionuil DuiM.f 
This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to the 
clan Mac-Donald, and supposed to refer to the 
expedition of Donald Ballocli, who, in 1431, lanch- 
ed from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded 
Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to 
flight the earls of Marr and Caithness, though at 
the head of an army superior to his own. The 
words of the set tlieme, or melody, to which the 
pipe v.ariations are applied, run thus in Gaelic: 

Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd Dlionuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; 
Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The wai'-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place 
at Inverlochy. 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew. 

Summon Clan-Conuil. 
Come away, come away,' 

Hark to the summons! 
Come in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky, 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlochy : 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one. 



* " Sleep on till day." Thtse words, ada2)ted to a mel 
dy somewhat difterent from the oriRinal, are sung in j / 
friend Mr. Terry's drama of Guy lMam»urijU(j. 

t The pibroch of Donald die Black. 



Come every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears one. 
Leave untended tiie herd. 

The flock without shelter; 
Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 

The bi'ide at the altar; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges; 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broad swords and targes. 
Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended; 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded; 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page, and gi'oom, 

Tenant and master. 
Fast they come, fast they come; 

See how they gather! 
Wide waves the eagle plume, 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each man set! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dim, 

Knell for the onset! ' 

NORA'S VOW. 

Written for JUbyifs Anthology. 
Air—C/ia teiil mis a chaoidli." 
In the original Gaelic, the Lady makes protesta- 
tions that she will not go with the Red earl's sou 
until the swan should build in tlie cliff, and the 
eagle in the lake — until one mountain should change 
places with another, and so forth. It is liut fair to 
add, that there is no authority for supposing that 
she altered her mind — except the vehemence of 
her protestation. 

Hear what highland Nora said, 
" The earlie's son I will not wed. 
Should all the race of nature die. 
And none be left but he and I. 
For all the gold, for all the geai'. 
And all the lands both far and near, 
That ever valour lost or won, 
1 would not wed the earlie's son." 
" A maiden's vows," old Galium spoke, 
"Are lightly made, and lightly broke; 
The heather on tlie mountain's height 
Begins to bloom in purple light; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae; 
. Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone. 
May blithly wed the earlie's son." 
"The swan," she said, " the lake'sclear breast 
May barter for the eagle's nest; 
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn, 
Our kilted clans, wlien blood is high, 
Before their foes may turn and fly; 
But I, were all these marvels done. 
Would never wed the earlie's son." 

Still in the water-lily's shade 

Her wonted nest the wild swan made, 

Ben-Cruaich:iii stands as fast as ever. 

Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; 

To shun the clash of foeman's steel. 

No hiirhland brogue has turned the heel; 



""'I will never go with him." 



MISCELLANIES. 



4,27 



But Nora's heart is lost and won, 
— She's wedded to the earlie's son ! 

MAC-GREGOR'S GATHERING. 

Written for Albyii's Jlnthology. 
Ail' — Thain'' a Grigalach." 
These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet 
lively gathering-tune, used by the ]Mac-Gregors. 
The severe treatment of thisclati, their outlawry, 
and the proscription of their very name, arc allud- 
ed to in the ballad. 

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the 

brae. 
And the clan has a u^methat is nameless by daj'! 

Then gather, "llathcr, gather, Gregalach! 

Gather, gather, gather, &;c. 

Our signal for fight, that from monarchswe drew, 
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo ! 

Then haloo, Gregalach! haloo, Gregalach! 

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalach, &c. 

Glen Orcby's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and 

her towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours: 

We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach! 

Landless, lau/iless, landless, &c. 

•But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, 
Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword! 

Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach ! 

Courage, courage, courage, fie. 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with bea- 
gles, 
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the 
eagles! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gre- 
galach ! 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. 
While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on 

the river, 
Mac-Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! 
Come then, Gregalach, come then, Gregalach, 
Come then, come then, come then, &c. 

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed 

sliall career. 
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall 

steer. 
And the rocks of Craig Royston like • icicles melt, 
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt ! 
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach! 
Gather, gather, gather, &c. 

DONALD CAIRO'S COME AGAIN. 

Air— Malcolm Cairirs come again.f 
CHORUS. 

Donald Caird's come again! 
Donald Caird's come again! 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 
Blithly dance the hieland fling. 
Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
Fleech till the gudcwife be kind; 
Hoop a leglcn, clout a pan. 
Or crack a pow wi' ony man; 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again. 



Donald Caird's come again! 
Donald Caird's come again! 
Tell the neivs in bnigh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird can wire a raaukin. 
Kens the wiles o' dun deer staukin; 
Leisters kipper, makes a shift 
To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift; 
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, 
He can wauk when they are sleepers; 
Mot for bountith or reward 
Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 

Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird's come again! 

Gar the bagpipes hum amain, 

Donald Caird's come again! 
Donald Caird can drink a gill 
Fast as hostler-wife can fill; 
Ilka ane that sells good liquor 
Kens how Donald bends a bicker. 
When he's fou he's stout and saucy, 
Keeps the cantle of the cawsey; 
Highland chief and lowland laird. 
Maun gi'e room to Donald Caird! 

Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird's come again! 
Tell the news in bnigh and glen, 

Donald Caird's come again! 
Steek the amrie, lock the kist, 
Else some gear may weel be mist; 
Donald Caird finds orra things 
Where Allan Gregor fand the tings; 
Dunts of kebbeck, tails of woo. 
Whiles a hen and whiles a sow. 
Webs or duds frae hedge or yard — 
'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! 

Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird's come airain! 

Dinna let the shirra ken 

Donald Caird's come again! 

On Donald Caird the doom was stern, 
Craig to tether, legs to airn; 
But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study, 
Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie; 
Rings of airn, and bolts of steel. 
Fell like ice frae hand and heel! 
Watch tlie sheep in fauld and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird's come again! 
Donald Caird's come again! 
Dinna let the justice ken 
Donald Caird's come a^ain! 



* " The Mac-Gi-egor is come, 
t Caird signifies Tinker. 



MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT. 

Air— C/ia till mi tiiille."* 
Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the laird of 
Macleod, is said to have composed this lament 
when the clan was about to depart upon a distant 
and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was im- 
pressed with a belief, which the event verified 
that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; 
and hence the Gaelic words, «« Cha till ml tidlle] 
ged thillia Macleod, cha till Macrimmon," «'I 
shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet 
Mackrimmon shall never return!" The piece is 
but too well known, from its being the strain with 



• We return no more,' 



428 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■which the emigrants from the west highlands and 
isles usually take leave of their native shore. 

MacLeod's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, 

The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys; 

Gleam war-axe and broad sword, clang target and 
quiver, 

As Mackrimmon sings, " Farewell to Dunvegan 
for ever ! 

Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foam- 
ing; 

Farewell each dai-k glen, in which red deer are 
roaming; 

Farewell lonely Skte, to lake, mountain, and 
river, 

Macleod may return but Mackrimmon, shall never ! 

" Farewell the bright clouds tliat on Quillan are 
sleeping; 

Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are 
weeping; 

To each minstrel delusion, farewell! — ami for 
ever — 

Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never ! 

The banshee^s wild voice sings the death-dirge be- 
fore me, 

The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me; 

But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall 
not shiver. 

Though devoted I go — to return again never ! 

" Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's be- 
wailing 

Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing; 

Dear land! to the shores, whence unwilling we 
sever. 
Return — return — return — shall we never! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 
Ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon!" 

ON ETTRICK FOREST'S MOUNTAINS 
DUN.* 

On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 
'Tis blith to hear the sportsman's gun. 
And seek the heath-frequenting brood 
Far through the noon-day solitude; 
By many a cairn and trenched mound, 
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound. 
And springs, where gray-haired shepherds tell, 
That still the fairies love to dwell. 

Along the silver streams of Tweed, 
'Tis blith the mimic fly to lead, 
When to the hook the salmon springs. 
And the line whistles through the rings: 
The boiling eddy see him try, 
Then dashing from the current high. 
Till watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 

'Tis blith along the midnight tide. 
With stalwart arm the boat to guide; 
On high the dazzling blaze to rear. 
And heedful plunge the barbed spear; 
Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright. 
Fling on the stream their ruddy light, 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like genii, armed with fiery spears. 



'Tis blith at eve to tell the tale. 
How we succeed, and how we fail. 
Whether atAlwyn's* lordly meal. 
Or lowlier board of Asbestiel;t 
While the gay tapers cheerly shine, 
Bickers the fire, and flows the wine — 
Days free from thought, and nighty from care. 
My blessing on the forest fair! 

THE SUN UPON THE WIERDLAW-HILL. 

Air— Rimhin aluin ^stu mo run. 
The air, composed by the editor of Albyii's An- 
tliology. The words written for Mr. George 
Thomson's Scottish JMelodies. 

The sun upon the Wierdl^-hill, 

In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet. 
The westland wind is hush and still. 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine e)'e 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore; 
Though evening, with her richest dye. 

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 
With listless look along the plain, 

I see Tweed's silver current glide. 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air. 

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, — 
Are they still such as once they were. 

Or is the dreary change in me? 

Alas, the warp'd and broken board. 

How can it bear the painter's dye ! 
The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, 

How to the minstrel's skill reply ! 
To aching eyes each landscape lowers. 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill; 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland hill. 

THE MAID OF ISLA. 

Ail— r/iP Maid of Isla. 
Written for Mr. George Thomson's Scottish JMe^ 
lodies. 
O MAID of Isla, from the clift'. 

That looks on troubled wave and sky, 
Dost thou not see yon little skiff" 

Contend with ocean gallantly? 
Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, 

And steep'd her leeward deck in foam. 
Why does she war unequal urge? — 

O Isla's maid, she seeks her home. 
O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark. 

Her white wing gleams through mist and spray, 
Against the storm-clad, louring dark. 

As to the rock she wheels away; — 
Where clouds are dark and billows rave, 

Why to the shelter should she come 
Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave? 

O maid of Isla, 'tis her home. 

As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, 
Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, 

And cold as is yon wintery clift", 

Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. 



* Written after a week-s shootiiig^.and fishinfj, in which 
the poet had been engaged with some fiiends. 



• Jihiujn, llie seat ot'thc lord Soniervillc, now, alas! unte- 
nanted, l)y the laniiiitcd death of tliat kind and hos])itable 
nobUnian, the author's nearest neighbour and intimatii 
friend. 

f. is/if si >»l, the jioet's residence at that time. 



MISCELLANIES. 



429 



Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, 
Still, [sla's maid, to thee I come; 

For in thy love, or in his grave, 
Must Allan Vourich find his home. 

THE FORAY. 

Set to music by John VVhitefield, Mus. Doc. Cam. 

The last of our steers on the board has been spread, 

And the last flask of wine in our goblets is red; 

Up ! up, my brave kinsmen ! belt swords and be- 
gone! 

There ar£ dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be 
won. 

The eyes, that so latj^y mix'd glances with ours. 
For a space must b^^im, as they gaze from the 

towers. 
And strive to distinguish, through tempest and 

gloom. 
The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. 

The rain is descending; the wind rises loud; 

And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a 
cloud; 

'Tis the better, my mates, for the warder's dull eye 

Shall in confidence slumber, no^ream we are nigh. 

Our steeds are 'impatient! I hear my blith gray! 

There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his 
neigh; 

Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane 

Shall marshal your march through tiie darkness 
and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown; 

One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount and be- 
gone ! — 

To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the 
slain; 

To their health, and their glee, that see Teviot 
again ! 

THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S MAIICH 

Aiv—Tmdait/i Mionge. 
Written for Mr. George Thomson's Welch Melo- 
dies. 
Etheljiid, or Olfrid, king of Northumberland, 
having besieged Chester in 613, and Brockmael, a 
British prince, advancing to relieve it, the reli- 
gious of the neighbouring monastery of Bangor 
marched in procession, to pray for the success of 
their countrymen. But the British being totally 
defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the 
sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune 
to which these verses are adapted, is called the 
Monks' March, and is supposed to have been 
played at their ill-omened procession. 



Whew the heathen trumpet's clang 
Round beleaguer'd Chester rang, 
Veiled nun and friar gray 
March'd from Bangor's fair abbaye; 
High their holy anthem sounds, 
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds. 
Floating down the sylvan Dee, 

O miserere, Doirdne! 
On the long procession goes. 
Glory round their crosses glows. 
And the Virgin-mother mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled; 
Who could think such saintly band 
Doora'd to feel unhallow'd hand! 
Such was the divine decree, 

O miserere, Domine! 



Bands that masses only sung, 
Hand-s that censers only swung. 
Met the northern bow and bill. 
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill; 
Wo to Brochmael's feeble hand. 
Wo to Olfrid's bloody brand, 
Wo to Saxon cruelty, 

O miserere, Domine! 

Weltering amid warriors slain, 
Spurn'd by steeds with bl»ody mane. 
Slaughtered down by heathen blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid: 
Word of parting rest unspoke, 
Mass unsung, and bread unbroke; 
For their souls for charity, 

Sing O miserere, Domine! 

Bangor! o'er the murder wail, 
Long thy ruins told the tale, 
Shatter'd towers and broken arch 
Long recall'd the woful march;* 
On thy shrine no tapers burn. 
Never shall thy priests return: 
The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, 
O miserere, Domine! 

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS; 

OR 
THE Q,CEST OF SULTAUJf SOLIMAtTN. 

Written in 1817, 
O, FOR a glance of that gay muse's eye. 

That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing tale, 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly, 

When Giam Battista bade her vision haillt 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail 

Given by the natives of that land canorous; 
Italian license loves to leap the pale. 

We Britons have the fear of shame before us, 
And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be decorous. 

In the far eastern clime, no great while since. 
Lived sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince. 
Whose eyes, as oft as they performed their round, 
Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground; 
Whose ears receiv'd the same unvaried phrase, 
"Sultan! thy vassal hears, and he obeys!" 
All have their tastes — this may the fancy strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like; 
For me, I love the honest heart and warm 
Of monarch who can amble round his farm. 
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys. 
In chimney-corner seek domestic joys — 
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass. 
Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass; 
In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, 
Keep up the jest and mingle in the lay — 
Such monarchs best our free-born humours suit, 
But despots must be stately, stern, and mute. 

This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway — 

And Where's Serendib? may some critic say. — 

Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart. 

Scare not my Pegasus before 1 start! 

If Rennell has it not, you'll find, ma)hap, 

The isle laid down in captain Sinbad's map, — 

Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations 

Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience. 



* William of Malmesbury says, tliat in his time the ex- 
tent of the ruins of the monastery boi-e ample witness to 
the desolation occasioned by the massacre;—" tot semiruti 
parietes ecclesiarum, tot anfractus porticum, tonta tui-ba 
ruderum cjuantum vix alibi cenias." 

t The hint of the following tale is taken from La Ca- 
mitcia Magica, a novel of Giam Battista Caati. 



430 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter, 
He deign'd to tell thera over to a porter — 
The last edition see, by Long and Co., 
Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the row. 

Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction — 
This sultaun, whether lacking contradiction — 
(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses. 
To raise the spirits and reform the juices, 
Sovereign specific for all sort of cures 
In my wife's practioe, and perhaps in yours,) 
The sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter, 
Or cordial smooth, for prince's palate fitter — 
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams 
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes 
Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, 
1 wot not — but the sultaun never laugh'd. 
Scarce ale or drank, and took a melancholy 
That scorn'd all remedy, profane or holy; 
In his long list of melancholies, mad. 
Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad. 

Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried. 
As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room; 
With heedful glance the sultaun's tongue they 

eyed, 
Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside. 
And then in solemn accents spoke their doom: 
" His majesty is very far from well." 
Then each to work with his specific fell: 
The Hakim Ibrahim instanier brought 
His unguent mahazzim al zerdukkaut,* 
While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, 
Relied on liis munaskif al fiUfily. 
More and yet more in deep array appear. 
And some the front assail, and some the reai"; 
Their remedies to reinforce and vary. 
Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary; 
Till the tired monarch, though of words grown 

chary. 
Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour, 
Some hint about a bow-string or a sabre. 
Thex-e lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches, 
To I'id the palace of those learned leeches. 

Then was the council called — by their advice, 
(They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice. 
And sought to shift it oft" from their own shoul- 
ders, ) 
Tatars and couriers in all speed were sent. 
To call a sort of eastern parliament 

Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders — 
Such have the Persians at this very day. 
My gallant Malcqlm calls them coitroultaisi 
I'm not prepared to show in this slight song 
That to Serendib the same forms belong, — 
E'en let the learn'd go searcli, and tell me if I'm 
wrong. 

The Omrahs,^ each with hand on scimitar, 

Gave, like Serajn'onius, still their voice for war — 

«' The sabre of the sultaun in its sheath 

Too long has slept, nor owned the work of death; 

Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle. 

Bang the loud gong, and raise tlie shout of battle! 

This (h'cary cloud that dims our sovereign's daj' 

Shall from his kindled bosom fiit away, 

When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round. 

And the arm'd elephant shall shake the groimd. 



* For these linvd words sec d'llcrbclot, or tlie learned 
editor of llie Uecipes oC Avieenna. 
t Sec sir .loliu Malcolm's admirahli' Illstori) of Persia, 
I Nobility. 



Each noble pants to own the glorious summons — 
I And for the charges — Lo ! 3'our faithful commons ! " 
The riots who attended in their places 
I (Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) 
Look'd ruefully in one another's faces, 
i From this oration auguring much disquiet, 
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters; 
And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, 
Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the raousers, 
Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers. 

And next came forth the reverend Convocation, 

Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban 
green, 
Imaum and Mollah there of every station, 

Santon, Fakir, and Calendaj.were seen. 
Their votes were various — some advised a mosque 

With fitting revenues should be erected. 
With seemly gardens and with gay kiosque, 

To recreate a band of priests selected: 
Others opined that through the realms a dole 

Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit 
The sultaun's Aveal in body and in soul; 

But their long-headed chief, the sheik Ul-Sofit, 
More closely touch'd the point;^" Thy studious 

mood," • 

Quoth he, " O ])rince! hath thickened all thy 

blood. 
And dull'd thy brain with labour beyond measure; 
Wlierefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, 
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure; 
From all tlie cares of state, my liege, eidarge thcc, 
And leave the burthen to thy faithful clergy." 

These counsels sage availed not a whit. 

And so the patient (as is not uncommon 
Where grave physicians lost their time and wit) 

Resolved to take advice of an old woman: 
His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, 
And still was call'd so by each subject duteous. 
Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest. 

Or only made believe, I cannot say — 
But she professed to cure disease the sternest. 

By dint of magic amulet or lay; 
And, when all other skill in vain was shown. 
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. 

" St/mpalMa magica hath wonders done," 

(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,) 

" It works upon the fibres and the pores. 

And thus, insensibly, our health restores. 

And it must help us here. — Thou must endure 

The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. 

Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can. 

The inmost vesture of a happy man, 

I mean his shtrt, my son, which, taken warm 

And fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm, 

Bid every current of your veins rejoice, 

And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's." 

Such was the counsel from his mother came, 

I know not if slie had some under-game. 

As doctors have, who bid their patients roam 

And live abroad, when sure to die at home; 

Or if she thought, that, somehow or another. 

Queen Regent sounded better than queen Mother; 

I5ut, says the chronicle, (who will go look it?) 

That such was her advice — the sultaun took it. 

All are on board — the sultaun and his train. 
In giltlcd galley prompt to plough the main: 
I'lie old rais* was the first who questioned, 
" Whither?" 



Master of tlie vessel. 



MISCELLANIES. 



431 



They paused—" Arabia," thought the pensive 

prince, 
«' Was call'd the happy many ages since — 
For Mokha, rais." — And tliey came safely 

thitlier. 
But not in Araby with all her balm. 
Nor where Judasa weeps beneath her palm, 
Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste. 
Could tiiere tiie step of liappiness be traced. 
One copt alone profess'd to have seen her smile, 
When Bruce his goblet fiU'd at infant Nile: 
She bless'd the dauntless traveller as he quaff'd. 
But vanished from him with the ended draught. 

" Enough of turbans," said the weary king, 
" These dolimans of ours are not the thing; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I 
Incline to think some of them must be happy; 
At least they have as fair a cause as any can, 
They (h-ink good wine, and keep no Ramazan. 
Then northward, ho!" The vessel cuts the sea. 
And fair Italia lies upon her lee. — 
But fair Italia, siie who once unfurled 
Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered world, 
Long from her throne of domination tumbled. 
Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled; 
The pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean, 
And was not half llie man he once had been. 
" While these the priest and those the noble 

fleeces. 
Our poor old boot,"* they said," is torn to pieces.. 
Its topst the vengefid claws of Austria feel. 
And the great devil is rending toe and heel.| 
If happiness you seek, to tell you truly. 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni BuUi; 
A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, 
Poffaredio! still has all the luck; 
By land or ocean never strikes his flag — ' 
And then — a perfect walking money-bag." 
Off set our prince to seek John Bull's abode, 
But first took France — it lay upon the road. 
Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion, 
Was agitated like a settling ocean, • 
Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd 

him. 
Only the glory of his house had fail'd him; 
Besides, some tumours on liis noddle biding. 
Gave indication of a recent hiding.§ 
Our prince, though sultauns of such things are 

heedless. 
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless 
To ask, if at that moment he was happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he ft as commeilfaut, a 
Loud voice mustered up, for " Vive le Hoi!" 

Then whisper'd, "Ave you any news of Nappy ?" 
The snltaun answered him with a cross ques- 
tion, — 
" Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull, 
That dwells somewhere beyond your herring- 
pool?" 
The query seemed of difficult digestion. 
The party shrugg'd, an<l grinn'd, and took his snuff. 
And found his whole good breeding scarce enough. 

Twitcliing his visage into as many puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers, 
(Ere liberal fashion daran'd both lace and lawn. 
And bade the veil of modesty be drawn,) 



* The \vcll-kiio«ni resemblance of Italy iu tl>e map. 
t Florence, Venice, &c. 

X The Cal:iljri;is, infested by bands of assassins. One of 
tlie leailei-s was eiilleil Kia Diavolo, i. e. Brother Devil, 
Jv Or ilnibbiiii^, so eulled in die Slang; Diclioniu'v. 



Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, 

" Jean Bool! — I vas not know him— yes, I vas — 

I vas remember dat one year or two, 

I saw him at one place called Vaterloo — 

Ma foi ! il s'est tr6s-joliment battu, 

Dat is for Englishman, — m'entendez-vous? 

But den he had wit him one damn son-gun. 

Rogue I no like — dey call him Vellington." 

Monsieur's politeness could not hide his fret. 

So Solimaun took leave and cross'd the streight. 

John Bull was in his very worst of moods. 

Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods; 

His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw. 

And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. 

His wars were ended, and the victory won, 

But then 'twas reckoning-day with honest John, 

And authors vouch 'twas still this worthy's way, 

" Never to grumble till he came to pay; 

And then he always thinks, his temper's such, 

The work too little, and the pay to much.* 

Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty. 

That when his mortal foe was on the floor. 

And past the power to harm his quiet more, 
Poor John had well nigh wept for Bonaparte! 
Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd — 
" And who are you," Jolin answered, "and be 

d— d?" 
"A stranger, come to see the liappiest man, — 
So, seignioi-, all avouch, — in Frangistan."t — 
" Happy! my tenants breaking on my hand? 
Unstock'd my pastures, and untill'd my land; 
Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths 
The sole consumers of my good broad cloths — 
Happy? why, cursed war and racking tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs." 
" In that case, seignior, 1 may take my leave; 

1 came to ask a favour — but 1 grieve" 

"Favour?" said John, and eyed the sultaun hard, 
" It's my belief you came to break the yard! — 
But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner, — 
Take that, to buy yourself a shirt and dinner."— 
With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; 
But, with due dignity, the sultaun said, — . 
" Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline; 
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. 
Seignior, 1 kiss your hands, so fare you well." 

" Kiss and be d d," quoth John, " and go to 

hell!" 
Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg. 
When the blith bagpipe blew — but soberer now. 
She doucehj span her flax and milk'd her cow. 
And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, 
Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern. 
Yet once a month her house was partly swept. 
And once a-week a plenteous board she kept. 
And whereas eke the vixen used her claws. 

And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, 
She now was grown amenable to laws, 

A quiet soul as any iu the nation; 
The sole remembrance of her warlike joys 
Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. 
John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife. 
She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life. 
Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour. 
Who look'd to the main chance, declined no la- 
bour. 
Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon, 
And was d -d close in making of a bargain. 

* See the True-Boni Englishman, by Daniel de Foe. 
t Europe. 



432 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg, 
And with decorum curtsied sister Peg; 
(She lov'd a book, and knew a thing or two. 
And guess'd at once with whom she had to do.) 
She bade him " sit into the fire," and took 
Her dram, lier cake, her kebbock from the nook; 
Asked him " about the news from eastern parts; 
And of her absent bairns, puir highland hearts! 
If peace brought down the price ot tea and pepper, 
And \( the nit7migs were grown 0711/ cheaper? 
Were there nae speenngs of our Mungo Park — 
Ye '11 be the gentleman that wants the sark? 
If ye wad buy a web o' auld' wife's spinning, 
I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." 

Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle, 

In search of goods her customer to nail, 
Until the sultaun strain'd his princely throttle. 

And hollow'd — " Ma'am, tiiat is not what I ail. 
Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen?" 
" Happy ! " said Peg; " What for d'ye want to ken? 
Besides, just think upon this by-gane year, 

Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh." 
" What say you to the present? — " Meal's sae dear. 

To mak their brose my bairns have scarce 
aneugh. 
"The devil take the shirt," said Solimaun, 
" 1 think my quest will end as it began. 
Fai-ewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg — " 
" Ye'll no be for the linen then?" said Peg. 
Now, for the land of verdant Erin, 
The sultaun's royal bark is steering. 
The Emerald Isle where honest Paddy dwells, 
The cousin of John Hull, as story tells. 
For a long space had Jolm, with words of thunder. 
Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, 
Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg'd unduly. 
Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. 
Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, 
A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow;' 
His landlord, and of middlemen two bi-ace. 
Had screw'd his rent up to the stai-ving place; 
His garment was a top-coat, and an old one, 
His meal was a potatoe, and a cold one; 
But still for fun or frolic, and all that. 
In the round world was not the match of Pat. 
The sultaun saw him on a holiday. 
Which is with Paddy still a jolly day: 
When mass is ended, and his load of sins 
Confess'd, and mother church hath from her binns 
Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit, 
Then is Pat's time for fancy, vvhim, and spirit! 
To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free. 
And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. 
"By Mahomet," said sultaun Solimaun, 
•' That ragged fellow is our very man ! 
Rush in and seize him — do not do him hurt, 
>3ut, will he nill he, let me have his shirt." — 
Shilela their plan was well nigh after baulking, 
(Much less provocation will set it a-walking,) 
But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy 

Whack: 
They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripped 

him — alack ! 
Up-bubboo ! Paddy liad not— a shirt to his back ! ! ! 
And the king, disappointed, with sorrow and shame, 
Went back to Serendib as sad as ho came. 

THE POACHER. 

A rHAGMENT. 

Welcome, grave stranger, to our green reti-eats. 
Where health with exercise and freedom meets! 



Thrice welcome, sage, whose philosophic plan 
By Nature's limits metes the rights of man; 
Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls, 
Now gives full value for ti'ue Indian shawls; 
O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who flings. 
Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind; 
Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees. 
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese; 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, 
Our buckskin'd justices expound the law, 
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, 
And for the netted partridge noose the swain; 
And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke 
Tiie last light fetter of the feudal yoke. 
To give the denizens of wood and wild. 
Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. 
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair London's 

race 
Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase. 
And long'd to send them forth as free as when 
Pour'd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train. 
When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined. 
And scarce the field-pieces were left behind ! 
A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismayed, 
On every cove)' fired a bold brigade;' 
La douce HumcmM approved the sport. 
For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt; 
Shouts patriotic solemnized the day. 
And Seine re-echoed Vive la Liberie! 
But mad Citoyen, meek JMonsieur again. 
With some few added links resumes his chain; 
Then since such scenes to France no more are 

known. 
Come, view with me a hero of thine own! 
One, whose free actions vindicate the cause 
Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'er- 

tops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse. 
Leaving between deserted isles of land. 
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand; 
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen. 
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green. 
Here, little worn, and winding dark and sleep. 
Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dingle deep: 
Follow— ;but heedful, cautious of a trip. 
In earthly mire philosophy may slip. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy sti-eam, 
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam, 
We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the'smoke receives, 
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, 
Rise in the progress of one night and day, 
(Though placed where still the conqueror's bests 

o'erawe, 
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law,) 
The builder claims the unenviable boon. 
To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon 
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore 
On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.* 



* Such 19 the law in the New Forest, Hampshu-e, tend- 
ing greatly to imi-c.'ise the various settlements of thieves, 
smugglers, and deer-stealers, who infest it. In the forest 
courts the presiding judge wears as a badge of office an 
aiiti(iuc stirrup, sai<l to have been that of William Rufus. 
See Mr. William Rose's spirited poem, entitled « The 
Red King." 



MISCELLANIES. 



433 



Approacl), and through the unlalticed window 
peep — 
Nay, shrink, not back, the inmate is asleep; 
Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun 
Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand, 
While round the hut are in disorder laid 
The tools and booty of his lawless trade; 
For force or fraud, resistance or escape. 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. 
His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards. 
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affords— 
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret, 
That while his sermon's dry, his walls are wet.) 
The fish-spear barb'd, the sweepyig net ai-e there, 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare, 
Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. 
IJarter'd for game from chase or warren won, 
Yon cask holds moonlight,* run when moon was 

none; 
And late snatch 'd spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart. 
To wait the associate higgler's evening cart. 

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest: 
What scenes perturb'd are acting in his breast! 
His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain. 
And his dilated nostril toils in vain, 
For short and scant the breath each effort draws, 
x\nd 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause. 
Beyond tlie loose and sable neck-cloth stretch'd. 
His sinewy throat seems by convulsions twitch'd. 
While the tongue falters, as to utterance loth. 
Sounds of dire import — watch-word, threat, and 

oath. 
Though, stupified by toil and drugg'd with gin, 
The body sleeps, the restless guest within 
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismayed. — 

" Was that wild start of terror and despair. 
Those bursting eye-balls, and that wildered air, 
Signs of compunction for a murdered hare ? 
Do the locks bristle and the eye-brows arch, 
For grouse or partridge massacred in March?" 

No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe. 
There is no wicket in the gate of law! 
He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal must undo each bar; 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride. 
Will join to storm the breach, and force the bar- 
rier wide. 
That i-uffian, whom true men avoid and dread. 
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black 

Ned, 
Was Edward Mansell once; — the lightest heart. 
That ever played on holiday his part! 
The leader he in every Christmas game, 
The harvest feast grew blither when he came, 
And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance. 
When Edward named the tune and led the dance. 
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong, 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song; 
And if lie loved a gun, his father swore, 
" 'Twas but a ti-ick of youth would soon be o'er. 
Himself had done the. same some thirty years be- 
fore." 

But he, whose humours spurn law's awful yoke 
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are 
broke. 



' A cant name for smuggled spirits. 



The commc^n dread of justice soon allies 
The clown, who robs the warren or ercise, 
With sterner felons trained to act more dread. 
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. 
Then, — as in plagues the foul contagions pass. 
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, — 
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives 

draw. 
Their hope impunity, their fear the law; 
Their foes, their friends, tiieir rendezvous the same. 
Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfered game. 
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads 
To darker villany and direr deeds. 

Wild howled the wind the forest glades along. 
And oft the owl renewed her dismal song; 
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound. 
Red William's spectre walked his midnight round. 
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look. 
From the green marshes of the stagnant brook 
The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook; 
The waning-moon, with storm-presaging gleam. 
Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam; 
The old oak stooped his arms, then flung them 

high. 
Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky — 
'Twas then, that, couched amid the brushwood 

sere. 
In Malwood-walk, young Mansell watched the 

deer: 
The fattest buck received his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. 
Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their 

strife, 
O'erpowered at length the outlaw drew his knife! 
Next morn a corpse was found upon tlie tell — 
The rest his waking agony may tell! 

THE DANCE OF DEATH, 

NisiiT and morning were at meeting 

Over Waterloo; 
Cocks had sung their earliest greeting. 

Faint and low they crew. 
For no paly beam yet shone 
On the lieights of Mount Saint John; 
Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway 
Of timeless darkness over day; 
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, 
Mark'd it a predestined liour. 
Broad and frequent through the night 
Flashed the slieets of levin-liglit; 
Muskets, glancing lightnings back, 
Show'd the dreary bivouack 

Where the soldier lay. 
Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain. 
Wishing dawn of morn again. 

Though death should come with day. 
'Tis at such a tide and hour, 
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power. 
And giiastly forms through mist and shower, 

Gleam on the gifted ken; 
And then the affrighted prophet's ear 
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear, 
Presaging deat'n and ruin near 

Among the sons of men; — 
Apart from Albyn's war-array, 
'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay; 
Gray Allen, who, for many a dav. 

Had followed stout and stern, 
Where through battle's rout and reel, 
Storm of shot and hedgo of steel, 



434 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Led the grandson of Lochiel, 

Valiant Fassiefern. 
Through steel and shot he leads no more, 
Low-laid 'raid friends' and foemen's gore — 
But long his native lake's wild shore, 
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, 

And Morven long shall tell. 
And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,]' 

How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra 

Of conquest as he fell. 

Lone on the outskirts of the host. 

The weary sentinel held post, 

And heard, through darkness far aloof. 

The frequent clang of courser's hoof, 

Where held the cloaked patrole their course. 

And spurred 'gainst storm the swerving horse; 

But there are sounds in Allan's ear, 

Patrole nor sentinel may hear, 

And sights before his eye aghast 

Invisible to them have passed, 

When down the destined plain 
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, 
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance. 
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance, 

And doomed the future slain. — 
Such forms were seen, such sounds wei'c heard, 
When Scotland's .lames his march prepared 

For Flodden's fatal plain; 
Such, when he drew his ruthless sword. 
As choosers of the slain, adored 

The yet unchristen'd Dane. 
An indistinct and phantom band. 
They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand. 

With gesture wild and dread; 
The seer, who watched them ride the storm. 
Saw througii tlieir faint and shadowy form 
The lightnings flash more red; 
And still tlieir ghastly roundelay 
Was of the coming battle-fray. 
And of the destined dead. 



Wheel the wild dance, 
While lightnings glance. 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Our airy feet. 
So light and fleet. 

They do not bend the lye. 
That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, 
And swells again in eddying wave. 

As each wild gust blows by'; 
But still the corn. 
At dawn of morn. 

Our fatal steps that bore. 
At eve lies waste,. 
A trampled paste 

Of blackening mud and gore. 

Wheel the wild dance, 
While lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud. 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave. 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Wheel the wild dance. 
Brave sons of France ! 

For you our ring makes room; 



Make space fall wide 
For martial pride. 

For banner, spear, and plume. 
Approach, draw near, 
Proud cuirassier! 

Room for the men of steel ! 
Through crest and plate 
The broad-sword's weight, 

Both head and heart shall feel. 

Wheel the wild dance. 
While lightnings glance. 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And caU the brave 
To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Sons of the spear! 

You feel us near. 

In many a ghastly dream; 

With fancy's eye 

Our forms you spy. 

And hear our fatal scream. 
With clearer sight 
Ere falls the night, 

Just when to weal or wo 
Your disembodied souls take flight 
On trembling wing — each startled sprite 

Our choir of death shall know. 

Wheel the wild dance. 
While lightnings glance. 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave. 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, 
Redder rain shall soon be ours — 

See, the east grows wan — 
Yield we place to sterner game. 
Ere deadlier bolts and drearer flame 
Shall the welkin's thunders shame; 
Elemental rage is tame 

To the wrath of man. 

At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe 
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw. 

The legend heard him say: 
But the seer's gifted eye was dim. 
Deafened his ear, and stark his limb. 

Ere closed that bloody day — 
He sleeps far from his highland heath, — 
But often of the Dance of Death 

His comrades tell the tale 
On piquet-post, when ebbs the night, 
And waning watch-fires glow less bright, 

And dawn is glimmering pale. 

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. 

EtfCHATTTnEss, farewell, who so oft has decoy 'd me, 
At the close of the evening through woodlaudsto 
roam. 
Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me 
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. 
Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild 
speaking. 
The language alternate of rapture and wo: 
Oh ! none b\it some lover, whose heart-strings are 
breaking. 
The pang that I feel at our parting can know. 

Each joy tliou couldst double, and when there 
came sorrow, 
Or pale disappointment, to darken my way. 



MISCELLANIES, 



435 



What voice was like thine, that could sing of to- 
morrow, 
Till forgot iu the strain was the grief of to-day ! 
But wlien friends drop around us in life's weary 
waning, 
The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not as- 
suage; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remain- 
ing, 
The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 

'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents be- 
wailing, 
To sing how a warrior lay stretched on the plain. 
And a maiden hung o'er liim with aid unavailing, 

And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain; 
As vain those enchantments, O queen of wild 
numbers. 
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er. 
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers. 
Farewell then — Enchantress! — 1 meet thee no 
more. 

EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE. 
PiAiiir, as her native dignity of mind. 
Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd: 
Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll. 
Emblem of lovely form, and candid soul. — 
But, oh! what symbol may avail, to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense, we lov'd so well ! 
What sculpture show the broken ties of life. 
Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife! 
Or, on the tablet, stamp each title dear. 
By which thine urn, Euphemia, claims the tear! 
Yet, taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, 
Ilesign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, 
And brief, alas! as thy brief span below. 

MR. KEMBLE'S farewell ADDRESS, 

ON TAKlJfG LEAVE OV THE EDINBUHGH STAGE. 

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound, 
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground. 
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns. 
And longs to rusli on the embattled lines, 
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear. 
Can scarce sustain to think our parting near; 
To think my scenic hour for ever past, 
zVnd that those valued plaudits are my last. 
Why should we part, while still some powers re 

main. 
That in your service strive not yet in vain? 
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply, 
And sense of duty fire the fading eye? 
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? 
Ah no ! the taper, wearing to its close, 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows; 
But all too soon the transient gleam is past, 
It cannot be renew'd, and will not last; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. 
Yes! it were poor, remembering what I was. 
To live a pensioner on your applause. 
To drain the dregs of your endurance dry. 
And take, as alms, tlie praise I once could buy. 
Till every sneering youth around inquires, 
" Is this the man who once could please our sires?' 
And scorn assumes compassion's (^ibtful mien. 
To warn me oft' from the encumber'd scene. 
This must not be; — and higlier duties crave 
Some space between the theatre and the grave; 



That, like the Roman in the capitol, 
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall: 
My life's brief act in public service Sown, 
The last, the closing scene, must be my own. 
Here, then, adieu ! while yet some weil-graceil 

parts 
May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts. 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men: 
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget — 
O, how forget! — how oft I hitlier came 
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame! 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Sliakspeare's magic wand, 
Till the full burst of inspiration came. 
And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame! 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures. 
Those hours must live — and all their charms are 

yom-s. 
O favour'd land! renown'd for arts and arms, 
For manly talent and for female cliarms. 
Could tliis full bosom prompt the sinking line. 
What fervent benedictions now were thine! 
But my last part is play'd, my knell is rung. 
When e'en your praise falls faltering from my 

tongue; 
And all that you can hear, or I can tell. 
Is — friends and patrons, hail, and fare tou well ! 

EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL, 

SPOKEN Br MRS. H. SIDDONS. 

A CAT of yore (or else old JEsop lied) 
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride. 
But spied a mouse upon her marriage day, 
Forgot her spouse and seized upon her prey ; 
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw, 
Threw off poor me and pounced upoi) papa. 
His. neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose, 
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour 
Since the new jail became our next door neigh- 
bour.* 
Yes, times are changed, for in your fathers' age 
Tiie lawyers were the patrons of the stage; 
However high advanced by future fate. 
There stands the bench {^points to the pit) that first 

received their weight. 
The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see, 
Doom though unwigg'd, and plead without a fee. 

But now astounding each poor mimic elf. 
Instead of lawyers comes tlie law herself; 
Tremendous neighbour, on our right slie dwells, 
Builds high her towers and excavates her cells; 
While on the left, she agitates the town 
With the tempestuous question. Up or down?t 
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, 
Law's final end and law's uncertainty. 
But soft! who lives at Rome the pope must flatter, 
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. 
Then — ^just farewell! we wait with serious awe. 
Till your applause or censure gives the law. 
Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye. 
We hold you court and counsel, judge and jury. 



It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this 
piece are all local, and addresst-d only to the Edinburgh 
audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, 
are not far from the tluatre. 

+ At this time the public of Edinburgh was much agi- 
tated by a lawsuit bet wixt the magistrates and many of 
the inhabitants of the eity^ concerning the range of new 
buildings on the western side of the North Bridge; which 
the latter insisted should be removed as a deformity. 



436 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



SONG. 
Oh, say not, m)' love, with that mortified air, 

That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, 
Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair, 

For those raptures that still are thine own. 

Tho' April his temples may wreathe with the vine. 

Its tendrils in infancy curl'd, 
Tis the ardour of August matures us the wine 

Whose life-blood enlivens the world. 

Tho' thy form, that was fasliion'd as light as a fay's. 
Has assumed a proportion more round, 

And thy glance', that was bright as a falcon's at gaze, 
Looks soberly now on the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet rae again, 

Thy steps still with ecstasy move; 
Enough, that those dear sober glances retain 

For me the kind language of love ! 

THE PALMER. 

" O OPEX the door, some pity to show, 

Keen blows the northern wind; 
The glen is white with the drifted snow. 

And the path is hard to find. 
'• No outlaw seeks your castle gate, 

From chasing the king's deer, 
Though even an outlaw's wretched state 

Might claim compassion here. 

" A weary Palmer, worn and weak, 

I wander for my sin; 
O open, for our lady's sake, 

A pilgrim's blessing win! 

"I'll give you pardons from the pope. 

And relics from o'er the sea, — 
Or if for these you will not ope, 

Yet open for ciiarity. 

•' The hare is crouching in her form, 

The hart beside the liind: 
An aged man, amid the storm, 

No shelter can I find. 

" You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar, 

Dark, deep, and strong is he, 
And 1 must ford the Ettrick o'er, 

Unless you pity me. 

" The iron gate is bdlted hard. 

At which I knock in vain; 
The owner's heart is closer barred. 

Who hears me tlms complain. 

" Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant. 

When old and frail you be. 
You never may the shelter want. 

That's now denied to me." 

The ranger on his couch 'sy vratm. 

And heard him plead in vain; 
But oft, amid December's storm. 

He'll hear that voice again: 

For lo, when through the vapours dank, 

Morn shone on Ettrick fair, 
A cori)se amid the alders rank, 

Tlie Palmer weltered there. 

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 

There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that when 
Niedpath castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by 
the earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted be- 
tween a daughter of that noble famil)', and a son 
of the laii (I of Tushielaw, in Ettrick ibrcst. As 



the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, 
the young man went abroad. During his absence, 
tiie lady fell into a consumption, and at length, as 
the only means of saving her life, her father con- 
sented that her lover siiould be recalled. On the 
day when he was expected to jjass through Peebles, 
on the road to Tushielaw, tlie young lady, though 
much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to 
tiie balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the 
family, that she might see him as he rode past. 
Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her 
organs, that she is said to have distinguislied his 
horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But 
Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her ap- 
pearance, and not expecting to see her in that 
place, rode on without recognizing her, or even 
slackening his pace. The lady was unable to sup- 
l)ort the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in 
tiie arms of her attendants. Tliere is an instance 
similar to tliis traditional tale in count Hamilton's 
Fleur (V Epine. 

O lovers' eyes are sharp to see. 

And lovers' ears in hearing; 
And love, in life's extremity. 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower, 

And slow decay from mourning. 
Though now slie sits on Neidpath's tower, 

To watch her love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright. 

Her form decayed by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand, at night, 

You saw the taper shining. 
By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across Iter cheek was flying; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew. 

Her maidens tiiought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 

Seemed in her frame residing; 
Before the watcli-dog pricked his ear. 

She heard her lover's riding; 
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned. 

She knew, and waved to greet himj 
And o'er the battlement did bend, 

As on tlie wing to meet him. 

He came — he passed — an liecdless gaze. 

As o'er some stranger,. glancing; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase. 

Lost in liis courser's prancing — 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken. 
Could hardly catch the feeble moan. 

Which told her heart was broken. 

WANDERING WILLIE. 

All joy was bereft me the day tliat you left me. 
And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; 

O weary betide it! I wandered beside it. 
And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me. 

Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy fortune, 

Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain; 
Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting. 

Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 
When tlie sky it was mirk, and the winds they 
were wailing, 

1 sat on the^acli wi' the tear in my e'e. 
And thought W the bark where my Willie was 
sailing. 

And wished that the tempest could a' blaw on me. 



MISCELLANIES, 



437 



Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, 

Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame, 
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring, 

That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean 
faem. 
When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they 
did rattle. 

And blith was each heart for the great victory, 
In secret 1 wept for the dangers of battle. 

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. 

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen. 
Of each bold adventure, and evei-y brave scar, 

And, trust me, I'll smile though my e'en they may 
glisten; 
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. 

And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 

'tween lovers, 

When there's naething to speak to the heart 

thro' the e'e; 

How often the kindest, and warmest, prove rovers. 

And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. 

Till, at times, could I help it? 1 pined and I pon- 
der'd, 
If love could change notes like the bird on the 
tree- 
Now I'll ne'er ask if thine^yes may hae wander'd, 
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. 

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through 
channel. 
Hardships and danger despising for fame, 
Furnishing stoiy for glory's bright aiinal. 

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame! 
Enough, now thy story in annals of glory 
Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and 
Spain; 
No more shalt thou gi-ieve me, no more shalt thou 
leave me, 
I never will part with my Willie again. 

HUNTING-SONG. 
Wakeit, lords and ladies gay, 
On the mountain dawns the day, 
All the jolly chase is here, 
With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear; 
Hounds are in tlieir couples yelling. 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
The mist has left the mountain gray, 
Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming; 
And foresters have busy been. 
To track the buck in thicket green; 
Now we come to chant our lay, 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
To the green-wood haste away. 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size; 
We can show tlie marks he made. 
When 'gainst tlie.oak his antlers frayed; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay.'"' 

Louder, louder chant the lay, ^ 
Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 
Rua a course as well as we: 



Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, 
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk: 
Think of this, and rise with day. 
Gentle lords and ladies gay. 

THE VIOLET. 

The violet in her green-wood bower, 

Where birchen boughs with hazles mingle, 
May boast itself the fairest flower 

In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 
• Though fair her gems of azure hue, 

Beneath the dew drop's weight reclining, 
I've seen an eye of lovelier blue. 

More sweet through wat'iy lustre shining. 
,The summer sun that dew shall dry, 

Ere yet the day be past its morrow; ' 
Nor longer in my false love's eye. 

Remained the tear of parting sorrow. 

TO A LADY, 

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WAtL. 

Take these flowers, which, purple waving, 

On the ruined rampai't grew. 
Where, the sons of fi-eedom braving, 

Rome's imperial standards flew. 
Warriors from the breach of danger 

Pluck no longer laurels there: 
They but yield the passing stranger 

Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair. 

THE BARD'S INCANTATION. 

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION, IN THE 
AUTUMN OF 1S04. 

The forest of Glenmore is drear. 

It is all of black pine, and the dark oak-tree; 
And the midnigiit wind, to the mountain deer, 

Is whistling the forest lullaby: 
The moon looks through the drifting storm, 
But the troubled lake reflects not her form. 
For the waves roll whitening to the land, 
And dash against the shelvy strand. 
There is a voice among the trees | 

That mingles with the groaning oak — 
That mingles with the stormy breeze. 

And the lake-waves dashing against the rock; 
There is a voice within the wood. 
The voice of the bard in fitful mood; 
His song was louder than the blast, 
As the bard of Glenmore through the forest past. 
" Wake ye from your sleep of death. 

Minstrels and bards of other days! 
For the midnight wind is on the heath. 

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze: 
The spectre with his bloody hand,* 
Is wandering through the wild woodland; 
The owl and the raven are mute for dread. 
And the time is meet to awake the dead! 
"Souls of the mighty, wake and say. 

To what high strain your harps were strung, 
When Lochlin ploughed her billowy way, 

And on your shores her Norsemen flung? 
Her Norsemen trained to spoil and blood. 
Skilled to prepare the Raven's food. 
All, by your harpings doomed to die 
On bloody Largs and Loncarty.f 
" Mute are ye all: No murmurs strange 

Upon the midnight breeze sail by; 



• 'I'lie forest of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called 
Lliaiiiilearg, or Red-hand, 

t Where the Norsvegian invader of Scutlaud received 
two bloody def'-ais. 



J'0 



438 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nor through tlie pines -with whistling change, 

Mimic the harp's wild harmony! 
Mute are ye nowi" — Ye ne'er were mute, 
When Murder with his bloody toot. 
And Rapine with his iron hand, 
Were holering near yon mountain strand. 
" O yet awake the strain to tell. 

By every deed in song enrolled. 
By every chief who fought or fell, 

For Albion's weal in battle bold; — 
From Coilgach,* first who rolled his cai'. 
Through the deep ranks of Roman war, 
To him, of veteran memory dear. 
Who victor died on Aboukir. 
" By all their sVvords, by all their scars. 

By all their names, a mighty spell ! 
By all their wounds, by all their wars, 

Arise, the mighty strain to tell! 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain. 
More impious than the heathen Dane, 
More grasping than all-grasping Rome, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither come!" — 
The wind is hushed, and still the lake — 

Strange murmurs fill my tingling ears, 
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake. 

At the dread voice of other years — 
" When targets clashed, and'bugles rung. 
And blades round warriors' heads were flung. 
The foremost of the band were we. 
And hymn'd the joys of Liberty!" 

THE RESOLVE. 

IN IMITATION OP AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. — 1809. 

Mr wayward fete I needs must plain, 

Though bootless be the theme? 
I loved, and was beloved again. 

Yet all was but a dream: 
For, as her love was quickly got, 

So it was quickly gone; 
No more I'll bask in fiame so hot. 

But coldly dwell alone. 
Not maid more bright than maid was e'er 

My fancy shall beguile. 
By fiattering word, or feigned fear. 

By gesture, look, or smile: 
No more I'll call the shaft fair shot. 

Till it has fairly flown, 
Nor scorcli me at a flame so hot; — 

I'll rather freeze alone. 
Each ambushed Cupid I'll defy, 

In cheek, or chin, or brow. 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow: 
I'll lightly hold the lady's heart, 

That is but lightly won; 
I'll steel my breast "to beauty's- art, 

And learn to live alone. 
The flaunting torch soon blazes out. 

The diamond's ray abides. 
The flame its glory hurls about. 

The gem its lustre hides; 
Such gem I fondly deemed was mine. 

And glowed a diamond stone. 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I'll darkling dwell alone. 
No waking dream shall tinge my thought 

With dies so bright and vain. 
No silken net, so slightly wrought, 

Shall tangle me again: 

* The Galgacus of Tacitus. 



No more I'll pay so dear for wit, 

I'll live upon mine own; 
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — 

I'll rather dwell alone. 

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest, — 

" Thy loving labours lost; 
Thou shalt no more be wildly blest. 

To be so strangely crost; 
The widowed turtles mateless die, 

The phoenix is but one; 
They seek no loves — no more will 1— 

I'll rather dwell alone." 

EPITAPH 

DESIGNED FOB A MONUMENT IN tlCHFIELD 

CATHEDRAL, 
M the Burial Place of the family of Miss Seward. 
Amid these aisles, where once his precepts showed 
The heavenward path-way which in life he trod, 
Tliis simple tablet marks a father's bier, 
And those lie loved in life, in death are near; 
For him, for them, a daughter bade it rise. 
Memorial of domestic charities. 
Still wouldst thou know why, o'er the marble 
spread. 
In female grace the willow droops her head; 
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung, 
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung; 
What poet's voice is smothered here in dust, 

Till waked to join the chorus of the just, 

Lo! one brief line an answer sad supplies. 
Honoured, l»eloved, and mourned, here Seward 

lies! 
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship 

say, — . 
Go seek her genius in her living lay. 

THE RETURN TO ULSTER. 

Once again, but how changed since my wander- 
ings began — 

I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann. 

And the pines of Cambrassil resound to the roar. 

That wearies the echoes of fair Tullaraore. 

Alas ! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn ? 

With the scenes of my youth can its raptures re- 
turn ? 

Can 1 live the dear life of delusion again. 

That flow'd when these echoes first mixed with 
my strain? 

It was then that around me, though poor and un- 
known. 
High spells of mysterious enchantment were 

thrown; 
The streams were of silrer, of diamond the dew, 
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 
I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire 
At the rush of their verse and the sweep of their 

lyre; 
To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear. 
But a vision of noontide, distinguished and clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call. 

And renewed the wild pomp of the chase and the 

hall; 
And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on 

high, 
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.* 



* In ancient Irish poetiT-, tlie standard of Fion, orFin- 
pal, is called the Sun-burst, aii epithet feebly rtudercd by 
tiie Sun-beam of Macpherson. 



MISCELLANIES. 



439 



It seemed that the harp of green Erin once more 
Could i-enew all the glories she boasted of yore. — 
Yet why at remembrance, foiul heart, should'st 

thou burn ? 
They were days of delusiop, and cannot return. 
But was she, too, a i)hantom, the maid who stood 

And listed my lay, while she turned from mine eye? 
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view, 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam or melted to dew? 
Oh ! would it had been so ! — O ! would that her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the 

sky. 
And her voice, that was moulded to bielody's 

thrill. 
Had been but a zephyr that sighed and was still ! 
Oh! would it had been so! — not then his poor 

heart 
Had learned the sad lesson, to love and to part; 
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care. 
While [ toiled for the wealth I had no one to share. 
Not then had 1 said, when life'ssummerwasdone. 
And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding 

on, 
" Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your 

train. 
And restore me the dream of my springtide again!" 

ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 

" O TEIL me, harper, \vherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and wo 
Far down the desert of Glencoe, 

Where none may list their melody ? 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly. 
Or to the dun deer glancing by. 
Or to tlie eagle that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?" 

" No, not to these, for they have rest, — 
The mist-wrealli has the mountain-crest, 
The stag his lair, the erne her nest. 

Abode of lone security. 
But those for whom I pour the lay. 
Not wild wood deep, nor mountain gray. 
Not this deep dell that shrouds from day. 

Could screen from treacherous cruelty. 
" Their flag was fux-led, and mute their drum. 
The very household dogs were dum, 
Unwont to bay at guests that come 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blithest notes the piper plied. 
Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
The dame lier distafl" flung aside. 

To tend her kindly housewifery. 

" The hand that mingled in the meal, 
At midnight drew the felon steel. 
And gave the host's kind breast to feel 

Meed for his hospitality! 
The friendly hearth which warmed that hand, 
At midnight armed it with the brand. 
That bade destruction's flames expand 

Their red and fearful blazoniy. 

" Then woman's shriek was heard in vain. 

Nor infancy's unpitied plain. 

More than the warrior's groan, could gain 

Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
The winter wind that whistled shrill, 
The snows that night thatchoaked the hill, 
Though wild and pitiless, had still' 

Far more than soutliron clemency. 
30 



" Long have my liarp's best notes been gone, 
Few are its strings, and faint their tone. 
They can hut sound in desert lone 

Their gray-haired master's misery. 
Were each gray hair a minstrel string, 
Each chord should imprecations fling. 
Till startled Scotland loud should ring, 

' Revenge for blood and treacheiy!' " 

PROLOGUE 

TO MISS BAILLIE's PLAT OF THE FAMILY LEGEND. 

'Tis sweet to hear expiring summer's sigh, 
Thi'ough forests tinged with russet, wail and die; 
'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear; 
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, 
We list the legends of our native land. 
Linked as they come with every tender tie. 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, 
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. 
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil. 
Or till Arcadia's* winter-fettered soil. 
He hears with throbbing heart and moistened eyes. 
And as he hears, what dear illusions rise! 
It opens on his soul his native dell, 
The woods wild waving, and the water's swell; 
Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain, 
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain; 
The cot beneath whose simple porch were told, 
By gray-haired patriarch, the tales of old. 
The infant group that hushed their sports the while. 
And the dear maid who listened with a smile. 
The wanderer, m bile the vision warms his brain, 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, 
And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind? 
Oh no! for she, witliin whose mighty page 
Each tyrant passion shows his wo and rage. 
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire. 
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has raised the sail 
By Mull's dark coast has heard this evening's tale. 
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, 
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night 
Our humble stage shall ofl'er to your sight; 
Proudly preferred that first our eftorts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
The filial token of a daughter's love ! 

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, 

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. 
FROM THE GAELIC. 

The original verses are arranged to a beautiful 
Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the 
double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which 
is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorams, or 
boat-songs. They were composed by the family 
bard upon the departure of the earl of Seaforth, 
who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an 
unsuccessful effbrt at insurrection in favour of the 
Stuart family, in the year 1718. 

Farewell to Mackenneth, great earl of the North, 
The lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth; 



* Arcadia, or Nova Sccnia. 



440 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



To the chieftain this morning his course who began, 
Lanching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. 
For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, j 

Farewell to Mackenzie, high chief of Kintail ! 

O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew. 
May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, 
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil. 
Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean 

should boil: 
On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his bonnail,* 
And farewell to Mackenzie, high chief of Kintail! 

Awake in tliy chamber, thou sweet southland gale! 
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his 

sail; 
Be prolonged as regret that his vassals must know, 
Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their wo: 
Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale. 
Wafting onward Mackenzie, high chief of Kintail ! 

Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, 
To measure the seas and to study the skies: 
May he hoist all his canvass from streamer to deck, 
But O! crowd it liigher when wafting him back — 
Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale, 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, highchief of Kintail! 

IMITATION 

OF THE PHECEDINO SONG. 

So sung the old bard, in the grief of his heart. 
When he saw his loved lord from his people de- 
part, 
Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, are heard 
Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter 

gale. 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last chief of Kintail. 

From the far southland border a minstrel came 

forth. 
And he waited the hour that some bard of the north 
His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast. 
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast; 
But no bard was there left in the land of the Gael, 
To lament for Mackenzie, last chief of Kintail. 
And shalt thou then sleep, did the minsti-el exclaim j 
Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame ? 
No, son of Fitzgerald ! in accents of wo. 
The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin shall flow. 
And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wail, 
That laments for Mackenzie, last chief of Kintail. 
In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong. 
Fate deadened thine ear and impi-isonedthytongue; 
For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose 
The glow of the genius they could not oppose; 
And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael, 
Might match with Mackenzie, high chief of Kintail ? 

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love. 
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve; 
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell — 
In the spring-time of youth and of promise they 

fell! 
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male. 
To bear the proud name of the chief of Kintail. 
And thou, gentle dame, who must bear to thy grief. 
For thy clan and thy countiy, the cares of a chief, 
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left, 
Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft. 
To thine ear of affection how sad is the hail. 
That salutes thee the heir of the line of Kintail! 



• Bonail', or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a 
feast at parting: with a friend. 



WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN, 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN. 

FROM THE GAELIC. 

This song appears to be imperfect, or at least, 
like many of the early Gaelic poems, makes a rapid 
transition from one subject to another; from the 
situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the 
clan, who opens the song by lamenting the absence 
of her lover, to an eulogium over the military glo- 
ries of the chieftaian. The translator has endea- 
voured to imitate the abrupt style of the original. 

A WEAHY month has wandered o'er 
Since last we parted on the shore; 
Heaven ! that 1 saw thee. Love, once more, 

Safe on that shore again! — 
'Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word: 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord: 
He called his kindred bands on board. 

And lanched them on the main. 

Clan-Gillian* is to ocean gone; 
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known; 
Rejoicing in the glory won 

In many a bloody broil: 
For wide' is heard the thundering fray, 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay. 
When from the twilight glens away 

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. 

Wo to the hills that shall rebound 

Our bannered bagpipes' maddening sound; 

Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round. 

Shall shake their inmost cell. 
Wo to the bark whose crew shall gaze. 

Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays; 
The fools might face the lightning's blaze 

As wisely and as well ! 

SAINT CLOUD. 

Soft spread the southern Summer night 

Her veil of darkness blue; 
Ten thousand stars combined to light 

The terrace of saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sighed, 

Like breath of lover true. 
Bewailing the deserted pride 

And wreck of sweet saint Cloud. 
Tlie drum's deep roll was heard afar, 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good night to Hulan and Husar, 

That garrison saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 

With broken arms withdrew. 
And silenced was tliat proud cascade. 

The glory of saint Cloud. 
We sate upon its steps of stone. 

Nor could its silence rue, 
When waked, to music of our own, 

The echoes of sainrt Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note 

Fall light as summer-dew. 
While through the moonless air they float. 

Prolonged from fair saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more svveet 

His waters never knew, 
Though music's self was wont to meet 

With princes at saint Cloud. 

• i, e. The clan of Maclean, literally the race of Gillian. 



MISCELLANIES. 



441 



Nor then, with more delighted ear, 

The circle round her drew. 
Than ours, when gathei'ed round to hear 

Our songstress at saint Cloud. 
Few happy hours poor mortals pass, — 

Then give those hours their due, 
And rank among the foremost class 

Our evenings at saint Cloud. 
Paris, Sept. 5, 1815. 

ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. 

FROM THE PREXCH. 

The original of this little Romance makes part 
of a manuscript collection of French songs, proba- 
bly compiled by some young officer, which was 
found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained 
with clay and blood, as sufficiently to indicate 
what had been the fate of its late owner. The 
song is popular in France, and is rather a good 
specimen of the style of composition to which it 
belongs. The translation is strictly literal. 

It was Dunois, the young and brave, 

Was bound for Palestine, 
But first he made his orisons 

Before saint Mary's shrine: 
" And grant, immortal queen of heaven," 

Was still the soldier's prayer, 
" That I may prove the bravest knight, 

And love the fairest fair." 
His oath of honour on the shrine 

He graved it with his sword, 
And followed to the holy land 

The banner of his lord; 
Wiiere, faithful to his noble vow, 

His war-cry filled the air, 
" Be honoured aye the bravest knight. 

Beloved the fairest fair." 

They owed the conquest to his arm. 

And then his liege-lord said, 
"The heart that has for honour beat. 

By bliss must be repaid, — 
My daughter Isabel and thou 

Shall be a wedded pair, 
For thou art bravest of tlie brave. 

She fairest of the fair. " 

And then tliey bound the holy knot 

Before saint Mary's slirine. 
That makes a paradise on earth. 

If hearts and hands combine: 
And every lord and lady bright 

That were in chapel there. 
Cried, " Honoured be the bravest knight. 

Beloved the fairest fair ! " 

THE TROUBADOUR. 

Glowing wi'h love, on fire for fame, 

A Troubadour tliat hated sorrow. 
Beneath his lady's window came. 

And thus he sung his last good-morrow: 
•♦ My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my true love's bower; 
Gayly for love and fame to fight 

Befits the gallant Troubadour." 

And while he marched with helm on head 
And harp in hand, the degcant rung. 

As faithful to his favourite maid, 
The minstrel-burthen still he sung: 



" My arm it is my counti7's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
Resolved for love and fame to fight, 

I come, a gallant Troubadour." 

Even when the battle-roar was deep, 

With dauntless heart he hew'd his way 
Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, 

And still was heard his warrior-lay; 
" My life it is my counti-y's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For love to die, for fame to fight. 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive. 
But still, reclining on his shield, 

Expiring sung the exulting stave: 
" My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For iove and fame to fall in fight. 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

It chanced that Cupid on a season. 
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed, 

But could not settle whether Reason 
Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then? — upon my l^e, 

'Twas bad example for a deity — 
He takes me Reason for his wife, 

And Folly for his hours of gayety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason. 
He loved them both in equal measure; 

Fidelity was born of Reason, 

And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 

SONG, 

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETINO OF THE PITT 
CLUB OF SCOTLAND. 

O DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the 
omen, 
When the brave on Marengo lay slaughtered in 
vain. 
And, beholding broad Europe bowed down by her 
foemen, 
Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her reign ! 
Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave 
spirit. 
To take for his country the safety of shame; 
O then in her triumph remember his merit. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. 

Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the 
furrow. 
The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, 
He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow, 
And sigh while he fears he has sowed it in vain; 
He may die ere his children shall reap in their 
gladness, 
But the blith harvest-home shall remember his 
claim. 
And their jubilee-shout shall be softened with sad- 
ness. 
While they hallow the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Tho' anxious and timeless his life was expended. 
In toils for our country preserved by his care, 

Tho' he died ere one ray o'er the nations ascended. 
To light the long darkness of doubt and despair; 



443 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The storms he endured in our Britain's December, 
The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame, 

In her glorj-'s rich harvest shall Britain remember, 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. 

Nor forget his graj- head, who, all dark in affliction, 

Is deaf to the tale of our victories won, 
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection. 

The shout of his people applauding his son; 
By his firmness unmoved in success or disaster, 

By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim ! 
"With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his 
master, 

Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad 
measure 
The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid. 
To our prince, to our heroes, devote the bright 
treasure. 
The wisdom that planned, and the zeal that 
obeyed! 
Fill Wellixgtos's cup till it beam like his glorj% 
Forget not our own brave Daxhousie and 
Grjime; 
A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their 
storv, 
And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. 



SONG, 

ox TffE LIFTIS'e OF THE BANXER OF THE HOUSE OF 
BrCClErGH, 

At a great Foot-ball Jllatch (m Carterhavgli. ■ 
Fkom the brown crest of Newark its summons ex- 
tending. 
Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame; 
And each forester blith,fi-ora his mountain descend*- 
ing. 
Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game. 

CHORUS. 

T/wn up ivith the banner, let forest -winds fan her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; 
In sport lueHl attend her, in battle defend her, 
JVilh heart and -with hand, like our fathers before. 
When the southern invader spread waste and dis- 
order. 
At the glance of her crescents he paused and 
withdrew, 
For around them were marshalled the pride of the 
border, 

The flowers of the forest, the bands of BuccLEUGH. 
Then up -with tlie banner, &c. 

A stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her. 
No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen 
surround; 
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should 
scorn her, 
A thousand true hearts wculd be cold on the 
ground. 
Then up -with tlie banner, (Jc. 

We forget each contention of civil dissention. 
And hail, like our brethren. Home, Douglas, 
and Car; 
And Elliot and Prixgle in pastime shall mingle. 
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. 
Then up -with the banner, &c. 

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the 
weather. 
And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, I 



There are worse things in life than a tumble on 
heather. 
And life is itself but a game at foot-ball. 

T/ien up -with the banner, &c. 

And when it is over, we'll drink a blith measure 
To each laird and each lady that witnessed our 

fun. 
And to every blith heart that took part in our plea- 

svu-e. 
To the lads that have lost and the lads that have 

won. 

Then up -with the banner, &c. 
May the forest still flourisli, both borough and 

landward. 
From the hall of the peer to the herd's ingle- 
nook; 
And huzza! my brave hearts, for Buccleugh and 

iiis standard. 
For the king and the country, the clan and the 

duke! 
Then up idth the bannei', let forest -winds fan her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; 
hi sport we'// attend her, in battle defend her. 
With heart and -with hand, like our fathers before. 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME.* 

BEING NEW WORDS TO AX AULD SPRIXG. 

The news has flown frae mouth to mouth. 
The north for anes has bang'd the south; 
The de'il a Scotsman's die of drouth. 
Carle, now the king''s come. 
chorus. 
Carle, noxv the king^s come! 
Carle, no-w the king's come! 
Thou shah dance and I -will sing. 
Carle, no-w tlie king's come! 

Auld England held him lang and fast; 
And Ireland had a joyfu' cast; 
But Scotland's turn lias come at last — 
Carle, jio-iu the king's come! 

Auld Reikie, in her rokela gray 
Thought never to have seen the day; 
He's been a weary time away — 

But, Carle, no-w the ki/ig's come! 

She's skirling frae the Castle Hill 
The carline's voice is grown sae shrill 
Ye'll hear her at the Canon Mill, 
Carle, now the king's come! 

" Up, bairns," she cries, "baith great and sma' 
And busk ye for the weapon shaw ! — 
Stand by me and we'll bang them aJ! 
Carle, no-w t/ie king's come! 

" Come, from Newbattle'sf ancient spires, 
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires. 
And match the mettle of your sires. 

Carle, no-w the king's come! 
" You're welcome hame, my Montague !^: 
Bring in your hand the young Buccleugh; — 
I'm missing some that I may rue. 

Carle, no-w the king's come! 

" Come Haddington, the kind and gay, 
You've grac'd ray causeway mony a day; 
I'll weep the cause if you should stay, 
Carle, no-w tlie king's come! 



Composed on the occi^sion of the royal visit to Scot- 
land, in August, 1822.— Jm. Pub. 
t Seat of the marquis of Lotliian. 
} Uncle to the duke of Buccleugh. 



MISCELLANIES. 



443 



" Come, premier duke,* and cany doun, 
Frae yonder craigt his ancient croun; 
It's had a Ian" sleep and a soun' — 

But, Carle, notu the king^s come! 
" Come, Athole, from the hill and wood, 
Bring down your clansmen like a cloud; — 
Come, Morton, show the Douglass blood, — 

Carle, now t/ie kiiig's come.' 

" Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath; 
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death; 
Come, Clerk, and give your bugle breath; 

Carle, no-ui the king''s come! 
"Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids; 
Come, Roseberry, from Dalmeny shades; 
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids; 

Carle, now tlie king''s come! 
*' Come, stately Niddrie^: auld and true 
Girt with the sword that Minden knew; 
We have ower few such lairds as you — 

Carle, noiv the king''s come! 
" King Arthur's grown a common crier, 
He's head in Fife and far Cantire, — 
•Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire! '§ 

Carle, noxu the king's come! 
" Saint Abb roars out, ' I see him pass 
Between Tantallon and the Bass!' — 
CaltODjIi get on your keeking-glass. 

Carle, noiu the king's cornel" 



* Hamilton. t The castle. 

X Wauehope of Niddrie, a noble looking old man, and a 
fine specimen of an ancient baron. 

iTliere is to be a bonfii-e on the top of Artliur's seat. 
The Castle-hill commands the finest view of the Frith 



The Carline stopp'd; and sure I am. 
For very glee had ta'en a dwam. 
But Oman help'd her to a dram. — 
Cogie, noiv the king's come! 

Cogie, now the Mng's come! 
Cogie, now the king's come! 
I'se be four, and ye' s be toom, 
Cogie, now the king's come! 

IMPROMPTU. 

TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE. 

Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good 

To carr)' two visages under one hood; 

What should folks say to you, who have faces such 

plenty. 
That from under one hood you last night show'd 

us twenty ? 
Stand forth, arch deceiver! and tell us, in truth. 
Are you handsome or ugly? in age, or in youth? 
Man, woman, or child? or a dog, or a mouse? 
Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? 
Each live thing did I ask ? each dead implement too ! 
A work-shop in your person — saw, chisel, and 

screw ? 
Above all, are you one individual? I know 
You must be, at the least, Alexandre and Co. 
But I think you're a troop — an assemblage — a mob — 
And that I, as the sheriff, must taj^e up the job. 
And, instead of rehearsing your \wnders in verse. 
Must read you the riot-act, and bid you disperse! 
Abbot sf or d, QSd April, 1824. 



of Forth, and will be covered with thousands, anxiously 
looking for the royal squadron. 



THE END. 



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